The human connection

       

I used to do things that I shouldn’t… at least a things that a wide-eyed, well-meaning girl of twenty shouldn’t do. I drove a string of beat-up classic VWs and believed to the bottom of my heart that driving past a hitch-hiker without picking up him, or her, or them, would break some fundamental law of the universe.

Of course, they had to also choose to get in… and my brakes only mostly worked (the heat and windshield-wipers never did). Never mind the rotted floorboards, the missing gas pedal (it was a cable line with a bolt through it, I’d drive in bare feet and pull the throttle open with my toes) and the stabilizer bar held in place with a shoestring. But somehow it worked out.

I also spent some time going alone to downtown Vancouver, chilling out on the corner of Main and Hastings and handing out granola bars. No real reason. I just figured maybe some of the regulars were hungry. Maybe I was in danger, but I didn’t feel it. I remember one of the regulars asking if I needed help. Was I lost? Did I need directions?

I travelled in Europe at 20. Once, wandering around lost on the streets of Worms, Germany (I seem to get lost a lot), I passed by a group of young men from north Africa. It was an isolated part of the city and they took instant notice of me, jeering and cat-calling. I nodded and walked quickly past, hoping to give the impression that I knew exactly where I was going and what I was doing. I turned the corner. One of the men peeled off from the group and began to follow.

The harder I tried to head for the main city centre, the more narrow and isolated the roads seemed to become. The man sped up, approaching me aggressively and still cat calling.

What should I do? Run (I was loaded with a 50lb backpack)? Scream? Fight?

Then the words hit me, they seemed to come from outside of me and they filled me up with warmth.

“Give him his dignity”.

I stopped and turned. The man was right behind me now. I stuck out my hand and smiled. I said, “Hello! My name is Charity, what’s yours?”.

I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know if he had time to think about it. He took my hand and shook it almost by reflex, and told me his name.

And everything changed.

I asked him about where he came from, if he had any family. He told me about his sisters and mother in Morocco. I shared some of my background as well.

We chatted like new friends do. After a few minutes, he asked me if I would like to go for coffee with him. I told him it was wonderful to meet him, but I had a friend waiting for me, and we parted with a wave and a smile.

I’ve always wondered what he told his friends. Something nice I imagine.

Now that I have children, and a very concerned husband, I take my personal safety more seriously than I used to but… I’m still the same. I really believe in the goodness of humans, given dignity. Despite what the news tells you about the ‘others’, the poor, the addicted, the displaced, the gang members, the immigrants, terrorists, LGBTQ2+… I learned that day that fear is what you carry inside of you, and the acknowledgment of basic human dignity goes a long way.