Original Medium Post HERE

This blog is available in five different languages. To select your preferred language, simply click on the yellow button located in the lower right-hand corner of your screen.

Against all odds

“If they knew you were trying to leave, they could shoot you. We had friends who didn’t make it.”

We were to learn this was just the first step in a harrowing journey.

On the ride from the Atlanta Aquarium back to our hotel, my wife Vanessa and I (and our kids, when they took a break from playing with toys) had the privilege of hearing our rideshare driver’s[1] story.

It started because of a question: he said he wasn’t from Atlanta — and I asked what led him there.

— —

Escape from Eritrea

When he told us about his start in Eritrea, we wondered why he wanted to leave, despite risk of death.

“Eritrea is a small country. 5 million people. All the men age 18 to 50 are in the army,” he said. “You can’t work. You earn $100 a month. You have two weeks vacation a year, maybe a month, to return home. The rest of the time you are on the border — fighting there. Sometimes, they make us start a new war with Ethiopia.”

Unable to see his loved ones, unable to work, he wanted a better life.

—

Finally he had seen his opportunity.

“We took the long walk into Sudan. When you get there, you go to the embassy and tell them you ae lost,” he laughed. “You give your paperwork with some dollars. They process it for you.”

“Sudan?” I asked. “Was there a war then?” I know, from the work of my friend Dan, about Sudan’s instability and several wars there.[2]

Luckily, he was traveling in a time between wars.

— —

Aiming for America

“From there, we went to Dubai. We were there six months to work and save to come to the United States.’

“There were people who smuggle people. We had to pay $8,000. For others, it was $10,000 or $12,000.”

I asked how he paid for it, knowing his past low military pay could never cover it.

Friends and family members who had gone before helped pay for him — and he would pay it forward now that he was in the United States.

—

“We went to Nigeria, then Gambia. We were going to go to Ecuador. We were almost ready to go . . ..’

“As we were preparing to get on the boat, they arrested us and held us for three months.’

Vanessa and I were on this roller coaster with him. How was he going to make it? How could he persist with all these obstacles?

— —

Choosing connection

Vanessa and I were choosing this conversation. We were choosing connection — this time.

I try to use public transportation. When I need a rideshare instead, far too often, I spend my trip sending emails from my phone. (Same when I’m on public transportation).

On our recent trips to Cleveland and Atlanta, Vanessa and I (and sometimes our children) spoke with our drivers instead. We learned more about yoga and cold plunges, marriage and children, local sites and places to eat, divorce and loss.

We learned a great deal about the cities we were in, and these connections were some of the best, most inspiring parts of our trips.

—

In rideshares closer to home, I am surprised how often I connect with people who worked at or attended East Boston Social Centers (where I work). I learn about the immigrant experience. I learn about myself.

Hopefully, we make the ride a little more interesting for the driver too. Hopefully, our driver in Atlanta gained something as he continued to share his story . . .

— —

Trying again (and again)

After jail, “then back to Dubai. Another four months.”

“Next time, we were going through Angola to Brazil.”

As he mentioned Angola, I thought about the many struggles that nation has experienced. I was noticing the theme of his having to pass through potentially unstable places, and facing continued risk, throughout his long journey.

“In Angola, we had to cut up our passports — they were not helpful there. We paid the people at immigration. They took the money . . .’

“And then they put us in jail. For three months.’

—

“Then Dubai for another few months.”

I asked: had he considered staying in Dubai?

He responded, “You can’t: Americans and Europeans there are fine. They don’t treat Africans like me the same. You work and it’s hard to get out. They don’t pay you well.”

I asked him about people dying in construction in the heat there. He nodded.

—

He continued.

“This time, we went to Moscow and then to Cuba.”

Vanessa and I were sitting forward in our seats, hopeful; he was so close to the United States.

—

“And then we flew to Ecuador.” We were deflated.

He responded to our question: there was no way to the US from Cuba.

— —

Smuggled through the Americas

“We cut up our passports when we arrived. There were no use there.’

“We received South African passports. They can use the same one 10 times for ten different people, because they aren’t used to seeing Africans. I looked nothing like the photo, but I could use it.” He laughed.

“A smuggler brought us to the border with Colombia. Every day of the month, the immigration service and guards are stationed there.’

“But they all take one day off. That was the day after we arrived. They coordinate with the cartel. There is only one immigration officer at the border.’

“We folded $50 into our passports. The guards saluted our smuggler. We handed our passports over. The guard looked at them, took the money, and we walked right through.’

—

“Once you cross the border, you hand the passport over to someone so they can use it again.’

“Then they brought us to a smuggler. These people are also smuggling drugs,” he told us.

We asked if he felt safe with the smugglers. He absolutely did.

“They need us. They bring a few people so if they are caught, they can leave the drugs and only be charged with smuggling people. It’s not a serious crime.”

He also noted the smugglers didn’t care about the migrants’ payment for their transit. They got all the money from the drugs.

“They were carrying millions of dollars of cocaine. If they have to leave the drugs — we saw them do it — they leave them in a careful place. Someone picks them up from around the corner. It’s all planned.”

— —

Then by sea

The choppy, rocky sea off Costa Rica. Choppy even on a very sunny day.

He continued, “Then we got on a boat at night. We got off on an island and waited near a cave for the next boat.”

Before this, I wondered: had he had to pass through the Darien Gap? He confirmed he did — and that it was dangerous. He continued.

“They {the smugglers} left the drugs near the opening to the cave. We were there a few hours. We saw the next people pick the drugs up.’

“Before sunrise, the next boat picked us up, and we went to Nicaragua.”

As he was telling us this, I was reminded of very choppy water off the coast of Costa Rica (when we took a fishing trip there). I imagined a boat going so quickly could easily capsize. I asked if it was scary — and he said yes, but he didn’t sound too phased in remembering it — perhaps because dramatic risk was present throughout the whole journey.

Rocky outcrops all over — perhaps one of these was the small island

— —

Finally to Atlanta

Now we were getting close to the hotel, and our daughter really needed the bathroom — so he shared the end of the story in less detail.

From there, they went to the border with Mexico. His sponsor in Atlanta helped him get through.

—

We stepped out, deeply grateful for, and inspired by, his story — and all the untold stories of amazing resilience behind so many people we see each day.

He told us we weren’t alone in suggesting he should write a book.

— —

Connection is worth the risk

As I reread this, it felt jarring to even talk about conversation and connection as a risk — when looking at all the risks our driver had taken. There are risks in connecting — from having a tough time ending a conversation when running to a meeting to having a big argument.

But the unpredictability, and vulnerability, of real connection are just one part of what make conversations and connection so worth it . . .

— —

Little choices

Little choices can make a big difference for connection. Here are some choices I’m trying to make more often:

· Writing a thank you note instead of crossing off a few more emails (I don’t do this nearly enough. I hold thanks in my heart. I’m sorry for being so slow.)

· Doing the New York Times Connections and Wordle with Vanessa, instead of listening to another few minutes of a podcast alone.

· Catching up with a friend or family member with an 8-minute call, rather than sending emails on the way to work

· Meeting friends at a park with our kids, instead of crossing one more item off the task list.

· Seeking stories of those impacted by policies from multiple perspectives, to be able to approach political discourse around tough, divisive issues with more compassion and kindness

—

Sometimes, we have to do other work — alone. But when we choose the email or the work or the isolated activity too often, we slowly make ourselves — and our communities — more isolated.

Fortunately, we can strengthen ourselves and our communities by choosing connection too. I don’t choose connection or relationship nearly often enough — but I am trying to choose it more. I hope that through those little choices, I can build new habits. I hope from those new habits, I can make myself a better person and contribute in some small way to a better community.

—

We won’t bat 1000, but we can say “Today (or right now), I choose connection.”[3]

And that can make all the difference.

— —