"Why are you so mean?"
"What?"
"Why are you so mean?"
"What does it mean? 'Mean'? I don't understand."
The African man gave a final sigh of frustration and waved his hand to brush her away. The white flight attendant maintained her composure and walked away, ascertaining first that the safety procedures have been followed despite the brief confrontation.
What happened? The African man asked himself. He was standing at the baggage claims now, waiting for his bag. He was still livid, but he was calm enough to ask himself what happened. From the beginning of the flight they had a confrontation. He was writing an important message to his family in New York before flying to Madrid. He didn't pay attention to anything the announcements were saying, but he was also pretty sure that the message didn't get to him, either it wasn't said or it was in some heavy Spanish accent he didn't register as English. And she demanded that he shut off the phone now that not only was the door to the plane closed but the plane was actually pulling out of the gate. He remembered something about switching off all electronics around this time in his few previous flights. But he was angry that the woman used demanding language on him when he wanted to say good bye to his family he hadn't seen for a while and wouldn't see for a while either. Even though she made the threat, as soon as she walked away he finished sending the message. Only after getting off the plane did he realize he hadn't actually turned it off.
"So the plane didn't go down after all, them and their stupid rules, those White idiots."
Since that moment he felt she kept a keen eye on him, like a predator. She was emotionless, neither defiant nor supplicating. He wasn't used to a woman showing no sign of nervousness after a confrontation with him, but he had never dealt with a white woman before. Perhaps all the whites can do this to him because they made themselves better than him and his whole continent of perpetually oppressed fools.
When the plane started its descent, he realized he had to print the landing card for Spain. He wouldn't want to get in trouble with the authorities there. He was an African man, not even an African American who would have all the protections and benefits of the most powerful country in the world, but an African man with a very obvious African accent. The border guards would be delighted to come up with some excuse to bar him from entering the country. And why not, so many that look like him tried risking their lives entering that country, who would think he was going there to start a new and very high paying job? The skin of your color says a lot more about your designs for your new country than any potentials you have. That was what he thought as he tried very carefully fill out that form. But by the time he got to the passport part, that same white woman voice with an accent said in a very stern voice, "Sir, you must stop. Now. We are landing."
He couldn't understand why she was picking on him. He understood, but only as a concept. He couldn't understand that it was happening to him. Despite his education and everyone's optimism about him, he was still be singled out.
"Why are you making me stop?"
"Because we are landing."
Then she, treating him like a child, took his pen and paper, put them on his hands, then closed the tray. He was taken aback, but that wasn't over. She asked him to put his seat back. He didn't understand. So she did it for him. He got angry now. He deliberately pushed it back.
"You must have the seat upright."
"Why are you making me do this?"
"Everyone is doing this."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Sir, if you want, we can walk around and see that everyone has their seats upright. Sir, do you have a problem with security?"
"No, I don't have problem with security."
"If you and I have a problem, we will need to find a solution."
"Why are you being so mean to me?"
He was angry by then, but in retrospect, as he looked for his bags, he realized he was scared. He remembered then that his armpit was all wet. He was sitting there while the white woman with the composed face looked at him without flinching. And even when he was walking out and showed that he was much taller than she was, she didn't seem scared.
They were never scared. They were the superior race.
But when he got hold of his two big bags, he thought about what he did. And he got confused. He could not longer understand what was wrong and right. He couldn't get over the idea that anything the white people did could be right, could be anything but abuse. And he put down his bags and he sat on the edge of the conveyor, and he wondered until he also wondered if some white person would come over and tell him he was not allowed to sit there.
