A rouged lip punctuating her placeholder portrait on Zoom was the first thing I noticed about her. I was introduced to the lioness that is Saidiya by her voice opening the meeting. A breath later her live image replaced her stoic square in the video gallery and the opening scene of our story was set.
Her presence read like an exclamation point when work felt like endless ellipses. Our Get To Know You call was brief. Unbeknownst to us, the clock was running out on the tenure of our employment. Yet the echo of her exclamation point reverberated beyond our meet and greet. The threat of our layoff was imminent but before the end I made sure we could stay connected beyond our work inboxes.
Zoom
A blurred background was our standard Zoom canvas, an inside joke we shared as we both were usually traveling while we worked remotely. Across timezones in temporary homes, we maintained the standard hours of the headquarters office in Chicago. In private Zoom rooms we exchanged stories about dating abroad, near missed flights, and Airbnb woes. We were giggling in the back of our own study hall, except we were thousands of miles away, hopping to a new IP address every few weeks. Then, Instagram hosted our new hangout spot after the start up we worked at hemorrhaged cash, burned employees out, and discarded us. We exchanged silly videos, personal travel archives, and floated the idea of connecting in person. She was based in Seattle and I in D.C., so of course it made sense for us to meet…in Hamburg, Germany.
Hamburg
“I’m leaving him…forreal this time.” In Hamburg, I lamented to a face becoming more in focus, more familiar. A refrain we would revisit during our tea times that lasted well until the evenings last call. Saidiya's beauty stretched five feet eleven inches and demanded a moments pause, compelling your eyes to ascend seeking the pinnacle as if Mt. Fuji itself stood ahead, unimpressed by its own adoration. She did not need to take up space for the room wished to accommodate her when she entered. Her empathy and compassion were always bespoke and sent with warmth and humor as couriers. Upon meeting face to face it rained giggles for days, our reservoirs of joy were overflowing. It was an instant connection, it felt like a well loved leather bag, patina and butter soft from aged love. We would wander the city of Hamburg unimpressed with its matter of factness and lack of will to try to be something, to be anything of interest. It was a dull third wheel, a blank slate for us to begin crafting the mosaic of our sisterhood.
Berlin
Within days of our budding friendship peeking out of its leaves, we were caught in our first rainstorm, navigating public transit and trains in a foreign country…together. Trekking from Hamburg to Berlin on the crimson Deutsche Bahn trains then navigating the city’s subway system examined our fragile petals. It tested our ability to bloom despite the summer showers. We made it. The stress of traveling slipped away with each bead of sweat evaporating from our brow as we entered our Airbnb. We were intact and our reservoir of giggles full. Together we would endlessly chat and wander the ruins of the Berlin Wall and meander in a group tour of the city ending at the face of Brandenburg Gate. Our backs stood guard in front of the hotel balcony Michael Jackson held his baby off of, a fun fact our Brooklyn, New York native now German immigrant host gleefully relayed to his tourist audience. Our inaugural adventure, chatting and wandering came to a close as I would go on to Budapest and she to Barcelona. We said goodbye as Celie and Nettie, as sisters, our hands rhythmically clapping and reaching for the expanding space between us as we stepped back into our separate journeys.
Bangkok
We intersected once more in the Kingdom of Thailand, Bangkok to be exact. Our flailing start up employer had severed ties with her months before my weekend arrival in the city. The giggle reservoir had sustained withdrawals but still warmly welcomed her smile to the table often. Here time moved at the pace of New York City. But, in her Thai pied-à-terre we savored every minute of episodes of Love Is Blind, pausing every other moment to dissect the participants.
“girl.”
“GIRL!”
We were on the other side of the world and chilling together as if I had popped over because I happened to be in the neighborhood. There was always a satiated ease to us. Job loss and heartbreak weren’t difficult topics between us. They were easily cleaved in, accompanying Real Housewives commentary and analyses of African diasporic relationship dynamics. Bangkok was heavily adorned with attractions and attention seeking unlike Hamburg. And yet, there we were chatting about Netflix as mopeds glided under her window and neighbors cooked, shopped, and lived their perpendicular lives arounds us. Thirty-six hours enveloped by the blanket of friendship was a brief respite as the tumult of life lay waiting outside her apartment door for both of us.
Dubrovnik
Saidiya’s first morning in Croatia illuminated the seemingly endless reflection of the polished glass waters of the Mediterranean through our patio door. Though it swiftly dissolved into the image of the wild French man next door. I had arrived a day or so ahead but she had just come the evening before. As she lay on the couch of our Airbnb in the early morning, glowing from the affection and fawning of her boyfriend over FaceTime, a wild French man began banging on the glass patio door so loud the sea rolled into an early tide awakened by his pleading. He had locked himself out and Saidiya looked at him eye to eye, peering beyond the lens of his hope and declined his pleas. Single women traveling alone rule number one, never let a strange man inside your apartment. He lingered then placed his hope at our feet and jumped over our balcony to the next neighbor. We never heard from him again. Shuttering our blinds, we didn’t even need to exchange glances to simultaneously vocalize our verbal handshake of mutual understanding.
“GIRL!”
“girl.”
Our next Airbnb was a fourth floor walk up without power and air conditioning. Tethered to our depleting iPhone batteries, slow responding hosts, and unaccommodating customer service representatives, yet and still our frustrations at the situation never turned their gaze onto our friendship. We gathered our things and taxied away. We maneuvered our luggage across cobblestones and downhill to the entrance of our new spot. Shaking our exasperated heads we said goodnight simply with our standard call and response.
“girl.”
“girl.”
Rio de Janeiro
Newly laid off but with a severance package to last me a few months I agreed to go to Brazil with Saidiya.
“I got you friend, I just want you to come, I’ll take care of the Airbnb and food too if needed!”
I got you. Her words echoed in my eardrums for days, placing a warm compress and salve on my wound of belonging. Me, as I am, was wanted. No strings attached. She was watercolor paint reinvigorating beauty over the cracked and distorted brush strokes that had been splattered across the canvas that had become my life. We blew kisses to pedestrians in the streets as we sped down the hills of Rio in the back of a pickup truck. We hiked to waterfalls and honored the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé altars we passed along our trek. We vibed in the Sambas until the middle of the night where time really did feel like a simple construct. We were sweaty, with achy hips from dancing when the Uber driver picked us up and swerved the whole way back to Ipanema. Our eyes exchanged our silent prayer.
“girl.”
“girl.”
cover image: the space in which we travel (2019) calida rawles