The White House Chef and the Dignity in Labor of Love.

"Having you here is something you don't want to know."

This video reminds me of something. And it is a vivid manifestation of the different world that we live in. It is about our definition of a sense of fulfillment, joy, and happiness. 

I attended the end of year party of an Alumni association while living in New Jersey. At the time, I was working in Manhattan, New York. And it was my first time attending such an event. I joined the association a year earlier, after a series of invitation letters from them, welcoming me to the Garden State.

The event was at a hotel, located in an affluent community. I was not the only black in the audience, but I was the only African. There were more brothers than sisters in the audience and about four of us (Blacks) were on my table. With us, were five other guests - Caucasians. One of the brothers, in an earlier chat with me, told me that he had lived and worked at Ibadan, Oyo State, for a few years as a consultant for a multinational in the 80s. The third black guy came with his wife. Sitting to my right, was a caucasian lady, the Vice President of the association. And on my left was a gentleman, also a caucasian. The majority of us ordered baked salmon with green beans.

When the food arrived, mine was conspicuously and intimidatingly extraordinary - larger and looked more appetizing than what I saw on the plates of the other guests at my table. As I was going for my folks and knives, I used corner eyes to peep at the plate on my right and the one on my left, boy, no comparison. Why me, I asked rhetorically. I hope they are not mistaking me for someone else? I kept on soliloquizing, not expecting any response. I had a regular supply of red wine to boot. And every now and then, there is a waiter by my side, bending and whispering to my ear if I need something.

As the dining progresses, I noticed a gentleman in a black suit and tie, working around, greeting guests, and ensuring that all is well. My mind told me that he must be the Manager of the Restaurant Department. Though he is Black, he looked Trinadian or Afro-Caribean. When our eyes met, he nods his head and I responded gladly, nodding my head in return, without uttering a word. That was the first culture, prominent amongst "Brothers" that I cultivated when I began working in Manhattan. When you walk by another black dude, and once your eyes meet, you just nod and he would respond amicably. It is unforced.

When the party was coming to an end and guests were now moving around, chatting and exchanging phone numbers, the gentleman and I met. The moment he grabs my hand for a handshake, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "you don't know how happy and proud I am to see you here, sitting down with them at the same table, chatting, and eating." "We don't see that often when they come around."

(Hearing that reminds me of the trouble or the dominant thought in my mind that I was fighting prior to my joining the association. I was the only Black student in nine out of the twelve graduate-level courses that I took in that school before my graduation. And I didn't want to join an association again where I will be the only or one of the few black faces in the audience. So, I knew what the restaurant manager was talking about, when he said, we don't see that often when they come around).

Then, he asked, with a smile all over his face, you must be an African. And I said, no doubt, I am. A Nigerian, to be precise. He said, "I thought as much but wasn't so sure which country." He introduced himself. And I was right, he is of the Caribean Island. Here I am with an elderly gentleman who is not even an African like me, yet, happy to identify with me. He made a tremendous effort to ensure that his staff serves me the best-baked salmon fish I have ever tasted in the States. The hospitality was one of a kind, not because I paid for it, but because my presence means a lot to him.

As I was driving home after the party, the thought of that gentleman and the celebrity service he encouraged his staff to give me, just by seeing me in the midst of the usual masters, the big guys of the big industries, the legal titans, and Wall Street moguls, overwhelmed me tremendously.

For me, it was a moment of epiphany; here I am, always critiquing myself and worrying my head unceasingly for not meeting the goals I set for myself. But here comes a gentleman, a Restaurant Manager, having a marvelous moment of his life, happy, just by meeting, seeing, and serving someone who looks like him, though from the motherland, dining with the big guys from the big university.

Yes, I know the joy and the feeling of the African American Brothers who were happy to see one of their own, President Barack Obama, in the White House, not as a Buttler or Chef, but the Master in charge.