I nestled into the passenger seat in the yellow cab in NYC on my way with my cousins to Carnegie Hall for a concert. I always like the front seat because I can engage the driver in conversation. That’s what you do when you’ve spent your whole career as a journalist, a storyteller (and listener), really.
I didn’t get his name, but I wanted to know his story. I wasn’t sure of his accent. Many of NYC’s cabbies come from all parts of the world.
I ask cab drivers how long they’ve been driving to gauge if they’re open to conversation. In his case, it was 25 years.
He has an easy smile, an infectious laugh, and a good sense of humor.
This was his dream: to come to America. He won the green card lottery.
The Green Card Lottery is officially known as the Diversity Immigrant Visa Program (DV Program), “a random selection lottery that provides a limited number of immigrant visas to individuals from countries with low rates of immigration to the United States. The program, administered by the U.S. Department of State, makes up to 55,000 visas available annually.”
So, he came from Egypt 25 years ago and has been driving a cab since then. He lives with his wife in a house he owns in Brooklyn and also owns a house in Egypt, where he visits often.
He’s from Alexandria, where he worked as an accountant in an office. He taps the dashboard of his cab and says that now this is his office.
Alexandria, he says, is a big city that never sleeps, like New York City. He goes on to talk about Egypt and its people, peace-loving and embracing all people, all religions – Jews, Christians, Muslims. People of the book, he says, mentioning the Torah, the bible, the Koran.
As he talks, he lifts his hands from the steering wheel (we were stopped) and holds them out as if in an embrace, saying how people in Egypt embrace and love everyone. Whether you agree with his perception or not, it is his perception, and he’s easy to believe.
We agree that if the world could share that belief, we’d be so much better off.
We arrive at our destination. I look down quickly at the meter, before it has a chance to adjust to the miles and time, and see that it reads a little over $13, which seems low. I handed him a twenty, and looked at the meter again, and it was a little over $21. I go to hand him another $10, and he tries to refuse, saying $20 is enough, saying how he enjoyed the conversation. I too enjoyed the conversation, but the twenty wasn’t sufficient. I handed him another ten to make sure the trip and his tip were covered.
I was thankful for the conversation and validation of the value of immigrants like him, who bring not only a great work ethic, but also an understanding that we can only survive and thrive in a world that is willing to embrace everyone