My Friend Helen - a Black Pearl in the Ocean

Living in a city like Montreal, Quebec, one immediately understands what the word "International" means as Montreal flourishes with many ethnic backgrounds. However, I don't want to write about "International Communities" right now. What I do want to write about presently is a small narration about my black friend "Helene", whom I strongly feel has contributed to the vastness of "Black History", in her own unique individualistic way, from the perspective of a caucasian female, namely me. The only reason why I'm emphasizing "black" and "white" at this point is because I believe that "black history" can be viewed and shared from an entirely different ethnic observation.
Her story may seem like an iota of information, but for me, "Black History" shouldn't have to be portrayed or illustrated with a dull technical presentation of facts as if one were reading off an encyclopedia or dictionary. I stand firm in my personal beliefs that facts can, as well, be heart warming to the soul.

My black friend Helene, whom I treasure spiritually, may perhaps be a drop in the ocean but that one drop made an incredible impact upon my life and showed me how truly ignorant I had been in my superficial understanding at the time of what "Black History" truly consisted of. Indeed, Helen, changed all that.

Little did I know that in the year 1990 it was destined for our paths to meet. At first impression, when I eyed this woman, she just warmed me with those big round eyes of hers. I couldn't help but spontaneously mention, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Oprah?". I will never forget that hearty laugh of hers with a beautiful smile spreading across her face. With that special accent of hers, she responded, "Girl...EVERYONE tells me that...", and we both had a good chuckle, but her eyes definitely left a glowing imprint upon my soul. It was then, the connection ignited between Helen and I as friends. As time trickled throughout the years, I began to understand more about my friend Helen and her family history. Now, I want to write about it.

Helen and her family originally migrated to the United States and Canada from Trinidad. First arriving in New York city in a fast-paced country, let alone the city itself, it wasn't easy for her. I still remember the warm summer nights when we'd sit together on the front hard-concrete porch leading to the building she resides in now, and Helene would make me laugh with stories of her experiences, and could simultaneously change my facial expression with concerns when she'd start recounting her hardships in breaking in as a new citizen to a whole new country. In essence, I learnt a lot from her.

One story I especially remember was when she was looking for a job in downtown New York city. She was just an adolescent at the time. Apparently, she had been searching for months, then finally arrived in front of a music store. The individual who owned the business was an old Jewish gentleman.
The way Helene described it, "Girl...he eyed me.....probably wondering if I could make sales for him". Then with a determined voice and without skipping a beat she said, "Well, I just eyed him back....and then he said to me 'Come in here' ...then I wondered what he had in mind and straight out he said to me, 'I'll hire you right now but I want to see sales coming in'....and then he told me his name was 'Sam'....".

At this point, Helen stopped for a bit, with obvious intent to keep me in suspense. She just roved her eyes down every direction of the road that was in front of us, while I kept staring at her waiting for her next response. Finally, my curiosity buckled and I exclaimed, "So? What happened??". She looked at me deep and said, "You really want to hear the rest of this?"....
I said, "No...that's why I'm sitting here...what do you think?". We both laughed, she beamed another smile and continued. Little did I know that this was just the tip of the iceberg to this woman's background history.

So Helen continued and I kept listening to her account of days which obviously mattered to her.

"On my first day in the music store, there were other girls working for him....and they looked at me ....and I knew right away...RIGHT AWAY.... they didn't want me there....but he wanted me to follow him and then he started showing me the store but the more the other women kept looking at me the more I wanted to walk out....but I STAYED...because I knew, girl, that I could sell those records".

I enjoyed Helen's emphatic declarations. I enjoyed the tenacity she was referencing to. Still, this was just the start.

"So what happened after that?", I asked her. She went on to explain, "Now I was very shy you know....but I needed the job to help the family...my sisters and brothers... medical bills were expensive...we all needed to work...". Helen remained quiet for a bit, roaming her eyes around the environment again. It wasn't hard to notice a type of seriousness which had slowly crept on her face. Then she softly said, "Girl.....it's not easy for black people....you can't begin to imagine...". No sooner said, I could see Helen beginning to spread another smile, and I knew something good was coming. Like a triumphant victory that she had to share with someone. And I was all ears.

She continued, "The next day I caught up to Sam who was just beginning to open the store...and he looked at me and said, 'What are you doing here so early?'....and I told him, '...You want me to work so I'm here...'.....then he told me a new shipment of records had come in so I started placing them all nice and neat where they were suppose to be....and girl, I KNEW he was watching me...but I just kept on working....and then the other girls came in and were surprised to see me there....I think they actually thought that I wouldn't have bothered to show up....".

At that moment, Helen paused and smiled even more. Judging by that smile, I could see that more was yet to come. "Well", she said, "...as I continued working there, I noticed that new customers would start to enter....and I thought they were only coming because they thought that 'black people and music go hand-in-hand'....but then one day one customer came in and actually asked me what in the world I was doing there".

Helen eyed me with a sigh at this point. I asked, "What happened?". The inevitable triumph came through when she said, almost in a whisper but in a wise and heart-felt voice, "What do you think I said...I said that black people and music do go together...and that's part of what we are....and I told him that if he didn't like it, he could go shop elsewhere". And she continued further to say, "Would you believe that he just stood there frozen but he stayed and from that point on he would always come at Sam's store and I would just continue my work not expecting more than anybody else working there".

At this point Helen beamed a smile indicating a small victory. Then she started doing it again...roving her eyes around the street, always with this smile on her face. I said, "Ok, there's more right?". She said, "Girl....there's plenty more". So I just sat back and waited. It was coming to the point where she had me glancing around the street also.
Finally, she broke the silence and continued, "One day, one of the girls working there started to get jealous but I didn't pay no heed....I just kept doing my work. Sam began to notice what was going on and, girl, I was scared because I couldn't afford to lose my job...we all had to keep working because everything was so expensive....and I knew that trouble was much easier to land on us even when we didn't ask for it because it was hard in those days...so I knew that I could lose my job easy because this other girl just didn't like me because I was black....and we needed food, we needed clothes, we needed good shoes and we needed to keep the rent paid ....and I prayed, girl...I prayed because I knew that other woman had more influence...". Helen stopped and rested, then continued, "The next day Sam came in and I was certain I didn't have my job no more...but you know what he did?". I said, "What..". Helen continued, "He walked right up to me and put some keys in my hand and said to me 'Tomorrow, open up the store as I usually do' .... oh girl!, you can't begin to imagine how happy I was!".
I chimed in her joy as she expressed another small victory, but she didn't stop the narration as she went swiftly into fast mode recounting how Sam had eventually left the store business in her name, how she was able to find her future husband in this way and came to have beautiful children, some of whom are still residing in New York city and have acquired prestigious careers for themselves. She went further to explain how one positive event led to another, despite the hounding echoes of racial tumult surrounding her.

Somehow, I began to realize that these were not just small victories for her. These were huge milestones which had all added up. I had not seen this yet. Maybe, it was because I took so much for granted. I had not seen that "Black History" was in the making, not by violence, but by tenacity and determination to succeed in every small endeavor. Indeed, Helen was teaching me when I cared to listen.

While the both of us were still sitting on the steps enjoying the warm summer night, I asked, "So? How did you find your way to Canada?". She looked at me, and said, "Girl? You ask too many questions".
I laughed, got up and then Helen and I hugged each other before she retired to sleep for that night. I walked home totally rejuvenated.

If you want to know about "Black History", you have to ask, but ask with your soul because that's the only way you'll ever truly understand.