Treks In The City

I love the city...any city. Everything about a city makes me feel alive. My senses are assaulted. Even thick fog, which would depress me at home, is beautiful in the city as it rolls down the streets and alleys, enveloping buildings, covering them in moving gray and white clouds.

Part of really seeing and experiencing a city is exploring on foot. There's always a new smell, color or unique "situation" hanging out on a street corner that you'd miss if you were moving quickly. I walk everywhere I can, opting for subways, buses and trains only when I cannot arrive at my destination within a reasonable amount of time(an hour or so isn't unusual for me) and taking cabs only when the other transportation offerings are not an option. This is the case this evening when I hail a cab to drive me from the IO Theater near Wrigley Field, where I witnessed some of the funniest stand up comedy of my life, to my hotel near O'Hare.

The cabbie was black. African. He spoke English with a limited vocabulary and a thick accent that made it difficult for me to understand him unless I paid very close attention. He is working to improve his English skills and practiced by asking me my name, birthday, etc. Kenny - this is his American name - tells me he is 37 years old and has been in America for a year. Like so many others, he came here at the promise of great opportunity and now is working every waking moment. I tell him I'm returning to school to study communications and film. He wants to go to school next year "after my birthday on November 24," he tells me. Kenny says he was a broadcast journalist in Nigeria. I find this oddly coincidental but fitting and I choose to believe him.

He asks me why I'm not married. Not knowing how to explain my newly single status to him, I simply answer that I do not want to be. He is taken aback. In his culture, he explains, marriage is highly regarded and sought after. It is insulting to your family to not marry at your earliest opportunity. He explains to me that marriage is about showing respect to your family, your community and yourself. I ask Kenny why he is not married yet at 37.

He tells me stories of his future wife who is still in Nigeria. He spins tales of life in Africa and war and poverty and beauty. He talks about being an African man in America and not feeling like he is a part of any culture here, white or black. He makes phone calls to his kinfolk and I listen to the beauty of his native tongue. Time passes.

The cab ride should have taken 25 minutes. It is dark and Kenny is lost. I gave him very careful directions in the beginning, but he did not understand me and now I do not know where we are either. He pleads with me to help. I ask for directions several times and then navigate from the backseat. Kenny disregards me and we tunnel deeper into the city and further away from my destination. We drive for more than an hour and finally find a Marriott who will take me via shuttle to my hotel. Kenny does not sense, or maybe just doesn't acknowledge, my frustration. I try to keep it at bay as this ride was slightly amusing and maybe just what I needed on this mild night in Chicago. As I depart the taxi, he hands me a note that reads:
Kenny
773-555-5555
a cab man (Nigerian)

He asks me to call him the next day so he can drive me around. I think I'll pass...my feet are more reliable, thank you very much.