It was raining. My work colleague and I were in Manhattan standing on the corner of 58th Street and 7th Avenue during rush hour trying to hail two cabs. He going one way. I another. He kindly gave me the first cab. I jumped in – said hi and where I was going – preoccupied with making a call and sending one last email for the day. Aware, in the periphery, that my cab driver was very tall, dark, and singing along to Brazilian music playing on the stereo. As we slowly weaved our way through traffic, I put my phone away and looked out the window.

We were at Times Square – absolutely humming  with people and activity. I commented on the mass of humanity moving this way and that; thus, striking up a conversation with my Senagalese cab driver. Two years in Manhattan. After 8 years in Brazil. He spoke Wolof, French, Portugués, and was learning English. He was intent on improving. Said that now that he was driving a cab – one month in – his English would improve quickly. I asked him what language he spoke when not at work – Wolof, he answered. Sometimes, French. From that point, as we continued to converse, I took the liberty of correcting his English. He loved it. Asked me if I was a teacher. No, just an encourager – for people who wanted it. He wanted it.

He came to America to make more money than he could make in Brazil. But isn’t your lifestyle worse here?, I asked. Yes, he admitted. His lifestyle was better in Brazil, but would get better here too. He had friends in Brazil and didn’t work as much. In NYC, He lived with his brother up in Harlem, but hadn’t made many friends. And was too tired after work to try or to do anything anyway. I said at least he had family here. And he reminded me that they called friends brother and that the “brother’ he lived with in NY actually started as a friend of a friend – the one phone number he had upon arriving at the bus station in Manhattan. He called this guy cold to ask if he could stay with him for a few weeks. He could. And still does. A second moment of luck struck on the bus platform – he met someone else from Senegal who gave him $20 for the cab up to Harlem.

He hasn’t forgotten that welcoming gesture of generosity and frequently returns to the bus station with an eye out for his benefactor. To say thank you. To let him know what that simple act unlocked for him. He has not found him yet, but will keep looking. I asked if he is paying it forward with others in a similar situation. He answered that he keeps a flat of bottled water in the car at all times to hand out to the bike messengers. Before getting the cab gig, he ran deliveries by bike. He knows what it’s like to be in a hurry, under pressure, and thirsty.

We arrived at my destination. I wished we had more time to talk. I paid by credit card and gave him a $10 tip in cash. When the tip screen came up I added 20% on the meter. He said thank you and that he’ll use the $10 to replenish his water inventory. I told him that he has gumption and that he’s got this. He’ll reach his goals. That he belongs in America. That America needs him and more people like him.

He told me he was so happy to have met me. I still feel joy in my heart when I think of our interaction. Be well, brother.