“Lili, it’s where I belong. I want a sweet life. A life where I know that if another man hates me, he does because of my actions, not because of my skin. I need to be in a country that knows how to pronounce my name.”

I tried to let his words sink in. “Akin, I’ve wanted to go too. Many, many times. But what about everyone else?”

“This is about you and me, no one else. I would love for you to come with me—”

“Akin, I want to go with you, but . . .” I had to stop and refocus. It was vital that he understood where I was coming from. The envelope was burning up in my pocket. I wanted to take it out and show it to him. I wanted that envelope to change everything, but something kept me from pulling it out. Before I gave it to him, I needed us to be on the same page.

I told him that while he was away, the New York Times had announced that Amadou Diallo’s family would be settling for three million dollars with the city. They wrote up a succinct account of what happened like it was normal: a Black man was shot forty-one times by cops who wrongly suspected him of being a criminal. And so, the city pays a few bucks. The cops get off scot-free.

Then I told him about overhearing some of the students in the after-school program I volunteer with; they weren’t struck by how utterly ridiculous it was to shoot an unarmed man forty-one times. They weren’t upset that the cops were acquitted of his murder. Instead, they focused on the money. They asked each other what they would have done had their families come into that kind of jackpot.

“Lili, I’m sorry. I know that it’s tragic that kids have to face that,” he said.

“Akin, it’s more than a tragedy. These kids have no idea how valuable they are. They don’t know that the only thing that’s changed in this country is the way slavery is packaged. We have to show them that the auction block has been traded in for the city blocks, and our bodies are still up for sale.”

“You have done so much for those kids. You expect more from them than any of the other volunteers. You show up to their games, to their plays, and you stay until dark if they need to talk. You have done enough.”

“It doesn’t feel like it”