Who pays you

 A few dayz ago, I was attempting to buy a used mini refrigerator for my camper from a tall, kinda jovial shaved head older white guy who was fixated on my "Refugees Welcome" sign. The fridge won't fit in the exact space I need it to fit in but by this time, we're having a kinda friendly conversation.

When he gets to to "Now don't get me wrong...." I breathe deep and prepare to attempt to hold his hand (not literally...in case this reader doesn't know me) and lead him toward justice.

"I think those people should be allowed into the country but look at the terrible things they're doing at the border, those people. Besides, I didn't see a poor one among them."

OMG what to focus on so I ask him if he's ever been to the border. He pinks a tiny little bit and says "well no".

"I have" I say and he kinda stands up taller with a slight nod. "These people, these human beings are desperate: some to escape poverty, most to escape extreme violence in their countries, some only seeking the quality of life you and I have in this country."

He repeats his "I've seen them on tv and they are dressed like they are wealthy." I tell him judging people's poverty or wealth by the clothes they wear is not really a good indicator, given both the fact that we dump so much almost perfect clothes in other people's countries, but also that people fleeing know that they HAVE to look their 'best' if they will even be considered for asylum, let alone treated as a valued human being.

Furthermore, I point to my keen shoes, I paid $15 for these $150 sandals. A better indicator would be to look at a person's (lack of) teeth, how (non) obese they are (like 46% of u.s.ofa. adults are), look into their eyes, their face, the curve of their backs.

But lastly, are you pretending that the people at the border have any where close to the resources you or I have?

He can only retort with "they need to end the legal way."

I ask him "and what way is the legal way?"

Of course, he doesn't know but guesses they should go to the courthouse and apply.

I ask him if he's ever gone to a courthouse to do anything and to imagine attempting to go to a courthouse in the u.s. when you don't speak the language to the standard most usofa'ers demand.

He's feeling really comfortable with me I guess because he abruptly changes the subject, asking me if it's alright if he asks me something.

Of course it is.

He steps a bit closer and towers over me a bit taller, grinning uncomfortably. "Tell me the truth, okay?"

Immediately I am remembering my grandchild asking me the same question, with the same demand and apprehension behind it when asking me to tell him the truth about how real santa claus is.

The male wants to know instead if I'm getting paid to be this activist.

I can't help laughing in his face. But I answer him seriously. "No, no one pays me."

But this week, now that I've broken down close to Philly almost 3000 miles from my home base, I realize I should have answered this tall white guy differently.

For I - and my grandchild who is traveling with me - have not only been taken into her home, but have been chauffeured back and forth and around - anywhere we need to go, cooked for and provided meals and snacks and all we can eat, drink, have given us beautiful, comfortable beds to sleep in and bathrooms to use - and not just for one night, as everyone originally thought would happen, but now for almost a week. Plus handed me her credit card.

I met Celina at the Walgreens parking lot when I had stopped to go pee before heading to the 'detention' center i.e. jail to protest the separation from their mothers and incarceration of children refugees. She was also stopping with a carload of sistar commadres also taking a bathroom break before heading to the demonstration.

And this is not the first time strangers, near strangers, chosen family, friends around the country and at home have taken me in, provided for me, and supported me.

So in a very real way, I do get paid for what I do!