1. Danger to Society: The Educated Black Man

Wellington, New Zealand gives no shits about what day of the year it is. A Friday in the peak of kiwi February summer? Your birthday? Expect rain. And wind, a lot of it.

This New Years Eve was no different and the sky was grey, choked with fog as I ordered an Uber to drop off three huge bags to the local community center. I thought to myself that it was best not to enter the New Year with the baggage of the past. A symbolic fresh start for things that await in 2025. When the icon popped up for the driver that would be arriving in 2 minutes, I waited with intrigue.

I had previously had rides with Singhs, Mohameds, and Juanchos, a testament to the mosaic of the Wellington Uber workforce, but never a Mesfin, and wondered what was to come. Soon enough, the white Toyota Prius slowly pulled up to the driveway.

"Hello Sir! I apologize for all the stuff"

He was a kind faced 60-ish year old man, his eyes already starting to rim blue, saturated with the experiences of life. He smiled and said not to worry. I did not hesitate the instant my seatbelt was clicked in, and asked him where he was from.

"Eritrea"

My mind scoured for a topic to demonstrate I knew the existence of the nation without delving into any of it's ugly truths. Italian occupation, lack of freedom of speech, ethnic conflict spillover... coffee.

"Amazing coffee!"

I saw I had prompted his enthusiasm. His eyes widened and a smile spread on his gentle face.

"Yes in Eritrea and Ethiopia, coffee is not like here, it's a ritual. You go to someone's house, you have to stay one hour! Minimum! And you will take very small glasses, every 20 minutes or so, your host will hand you to drink, and you must drink it Whop! Like that, like a shot."

"Ethiopia and Eritrea both like coffee, but you guys are the ones with nice beaches."

"Ah yes, yes we do, amazing beaches."

"I would love to go to Djibouti too one day."

"Ah, yes yes, amazing beaches there too. You know we are all the same people. We are all the same, only politics cut us apart. But inside we are all the same people. Ethiopia, Eritrea, Djibouti. All of us in the horn, many problems, but we forget we are the same."

A wave of relief washed over me. Often I found it difficult to speak to those who came from the horn, especially Ethiopian Habeshas, who tended to look down on the rest of the continent. They held a fervent pride I had seen rarely expressed so outwardly in other Africans, although some Habeshas deny they are even that, African. But to know this kindly Mesfin was open minded and educated, a free-thinking African man, I knew I no longer had to tread lightly around the subjects I wanted to speak about.

"You know my Mother, she is from Congo? I was born there."

At the sound of this, Mesfin's eyes gaped with wonder and an excited ooooo escaped his mouth.

"Beautfiul country! But a suffering people, too many minerals, too much wealth. Both the poorest, and the richest nation at the same time."

Our conversation soon fell into a natural cadence, oscillating between talking about both the good and the bad of many of Africa's regions. From his experience learning Arabic in Sudan, to the atrocities happening in Darfur, from the beauty of Rwanda's forests, to the echoes of the Hutu-Tutsi genocide that built the basis of the war that trembles the East of Congo today.

And as I arrived to my destination, I thought to myself. Mesfin, this kind, soft spoken man, is the epitome of what the world fears. A man raised in a world of divisions, who could've easily been coaxed into believing in borders, tribal antagonisms, but instead had fed himself with knowledge and empathy. He carried a soft security in his manner, a sense of self worth not based in identity, but in knowing man was more than any lines that could be drawn on a map, that brotherhood was shared in both beauty and in struggle.

The truly educated black man.