Others try to get away from the liquid fire by buying a fast car and driving to their big mansions perched up on high. Only to learn that it rains up on the hill too. And some Black folks are just so traumatized by the rain and the fact that it’s actually man-made, they just stand there and pretend it’s not happening: What racism? Everything is all good, as the flesh slides off their bones.

Akin wasn’t like any of the folks above. He understood racism in all its forms. He didn’t pretend it wasn’t there. He was just as well read as I was, if not more. He confronted things when they needed to be confronted and didn’t back down. But a few months after he’d started his new job, I noticed his smile had dimmed.

The more injustice I saw, the more fired up I became; I joined civil rights groups, marched, and boycotted as much as I could. But Akin retreated inside himself. The stars I saw in his eyes were fading. He’d been reading biographies on James Baldwin, Marcus Garvey, and Josephine Baker. He read more but talked less. I guessed he was looking for answers.

Tonight started off well: Akin entered my apartment and we quickly embraced. It felt so good to be near him again. He’d been gone for a whole month. And yes, his smile was back; not only was it back, it was brighter than ever. He told me that as soon as he set foot on African soil, he felt a peace he’d never felt before.

“In Nigeria, when they address me, they address me as a man. Not a Black man, just a man,” he said, absolutely beaming. “Lili, going to Africa was like finding a cure to an illness I didn’t know had already been ravaging my body.” He was practically dancing as he paced up and down my living room.

The only time he called me “Lili” was when he was excited about something. I was overjoyed to see him this way. I suggested maybe I could go with him the next time he visited. That was when he looked at me with a mix of joy and caution. That was when it started to click . . .

James Baldwin

Marcus Garvey

Josephine Baker

Akin wasn’t looking for a way through; he was looking for a way out. My heart plummeted down to the soles of my feet. I felt chilly, although the apartment was warm. I put a hand in my pocket and rubbed the envelope like it was a person I was trying to comfort.

“You want to go back to Nigeria,” I said.