My taxi driver

His name was Emmanuel, cross dangling from the rear view mirror. Big smile with the whitest teeth. He just had a baby girl on Tuesday. He's a proud papa. That drive from Wrigleyville to Midway was so pleasant and fun. He's from Nigeria. I always bring up two people immediately when I meet someone from Nigeria. A doctor I work with, Dr. Famuyide: an amazing, strong, brilliant woman. And a doctor who took care of Dad, Dr. Oluwatade. The sweetest man I've ever met. I have to squat down to hug him. He called Dad "Papa", which I found out from Dr. Famuyide is a term of respect for elders and/or position, in Dad's case both because he was older and was a physician. Dr. Oluwatade was a source of strength for my dad, for all of us. He was joyful and kind and gentle. He was honest and hopeful. He told us over and over to never ever give up, to give it more time, that "the trial of our faith works patience". I love that man for speaking truth into our scared, unsure minds and hearts. And then Dr. Famuyide, sending encouraging, prayerful emails of hope and support. I bend down to hug her, too, although Dr. Oluwatade is even shorter. They are two sincere, wise people that I'm very thankful for and love being reminded of.

Emmanuel is from the tribe of Ibo. By his account, Ibo is a 99% Christian tribe. He is so proud of his tribe. He spoke of the importance of education, the packed-full classrooms. He had to take notes from the lecturer from outside the window because there were no more seats. He never missed a day of school. No one did. He spoke of the poverty: 8-year-olds going to work for other families and being taken care of so well that they didn't want to go back where there was no food. The fact that daughters do not inherit from their fathers, only from their husbands, but their suggestions are never questioned or ignored and they hold high posts in public arenas. When the slave trade happened, people paid more for men from his tribe because they're so intelligent and would be put in charge of other slaves. And he couldn't understand how some of his friends can leave their wives and children at home and come to America without them, only seeing them once a year on holiday. He and his wife were sent here by payments from his mother's work community. His mother is a 35+years midwife in the maternity, and people love her. Those people made a way for Emmanuel and his wife to come here. And then I had to get out at the airport. We both laughed and wished each other a good day. What an enjoyable, enlightening taxi ride.