she was from niger and asked if i had ever heard of it.
i said every kid, especially black kids like me, were quickly informed of your country the day our classroom was presented globes.
why’s that? she asked.
she was 72, and beautifully dressed in a detailed white shawl covering other layers of colorful clothing.
i had picked her up at the whole foods across from the grove in its janky parking lot currently undergoing construction. she had waved me down from behind her walker which had three bags of fruits and vegetables hanging from both of its handles.
i was thrilled to have upgraded from a benz sedan to this new used tesla Y because it has a large hatchback that could fully accommodate a few cute bags of groceries and the unwieldy walker, which, although modern, never really folds up the way you want it to.
when she got into the back seat she turned around to coach me as to how to arrange the bags and walker. overly confident at first, it turned out i actually did need her advice.
once we were rolling east i asked, where in the motherland was she from?
niger, she answered. can you find it on the map?
if i was a smart person would i be driving for uber on a friday afternoon i replied and we both laughed.
as they say lovingly, she was black as night. beautiful. old but in the way we should all be so lucky to age. so smart. so sharp. a little bitter, especially as she told me how her country was treated by the French and later the Americans, including my hero Obama.
yes, even him, she scoffed.
always trying to turn people’s frowns upside-down i asked if her people speak french in niger.
bien sûr, she said with another scoff.
ok great i said upbeat. i took two years of french in high school and a year in college and i can’t parlez to save my life. but ive always been curious, if you wanted to say F You to the french oppressors, or my man obama, how would you say it en francais?
i would never say that, she explained. if i ever said that word, my parents would have told me to get a switch so they could thrash me.
same, but it’s just you, me and ozzy here on a beautiful day in la, i continued. (i was once told it’s fu-toi, but ive never heard that in any french films.)
it’s m-e-r-d-e she spelled quietly so the spirits of her parents wouldn’t reincarnate in the back seat.
no no, thats shit, i said, laughing. you wouldnt say Shit You, France. I want to know what F you, france sounds like in french.
she said, my brother lives in canada. i was watching his 6 year-old great-granddaughter one afternoon and when it was dinner, right there at the table she said, m-e-r-d-e. my brother said, is this what you’re teaching her when i’m out? i said, you know i would never teach her something as wicked as that.
did he get the switch?
no! which i don’t understand, she said. when he was young my brother said it once and our mother heard it and he ran up into the attic and pulled up the ladder because he knew what was coming next.
it was a short ride and too quickly it was over. when she got out i put the walker next to the car door and arranged the bags on her handles.
she said, i want you to drive safely and slowly today.
for you, mother queen of niger, i will.