There are occasions where my patience and unwillingness to "seem rude" have really been positive. Usually, it just wastes my time, but then again I've always been an attentive listener. One of those occasions happened today at work, when an old man leaning on a cane hobbled over to my door.
I walked up to the building entrance where the remnants of a rainstorm was still sprinkling down. I took him as far as the entryway out of the rain and began our conversation.
The man introduced himself to me as Mansef Hailu, and upon asking what it was I could do for him, he bluntly replied "Oh, just to talk for 5 minutes." I wanted to be hospitable and invite him in for a drink of tea or coffee, but I'm not allowed to let people in. I was so conflicted. I felt so rude making the man stand in the door way, but I obliged him at least with an open ear.
He told me where he was from, what his name means, about his brothers and sisters, what there was to do in his country, and a couple of stories about his beloved mother. He didn't ask any question of me beside what my name was. He genuinely wanted someone to talk to. Looking into his eyes and seeing his joy at finding someone new and willing to listen to his words wanted to make me cry.
I wanted to cry because I've been in this situation before with the elderly. A situation where I felt ashamed at feeling like one of the few persons to give someone in the twilight of their years the time of day.
I wanted to cry because of how happy he was to talk to me, and I, to JUST LISTEN.
I wanted to cry because I realize time and time again how something so simple is what is truly meaningful to a person. It's something that brings humans back to their roots of what we are; social, emotional beings that are living in a world we created that distances ourselves from our origins.
I wanted to cry because I wondered when he would again find me to talk to.
He told me that I was a good person, and his reasoning was simply because he could see it in my face. I told him "I don't know about that..." but he insisted. We bid each other a "God bless you" farewell and I told him that the rain had stopped and sky was parting.
He nodded, as I began to close the door he caught the handle lightly and began to sing. If I wasn't moved by our conversation already, I felt a wave of emotion run through me. Although being born and raised in his country of Eritrea, his English voice was smooth and clean. I had never heard the song before, but it was something about the rain, his cup being full, and things always getting better. He sang the tune as though it was something he knew by heart for decades. And he sang it to me.
As he finished the song, he closed the door and smiled. It was as if he had done all he wanted. His brief talk, his song, and a new friend...this was all. And I gave him 5 minutes.
