Tribal Lessons #1

My grandma used to say,

“Child, best ya no complain ‘bowt makin’ good honest money, cuz it’ll run from ya like a ice cube in hell.”

It was nearing midnight when I was finally able to sit down and breathe. As if the air was a glass of ice-cold summer lemonade on the other end of a straw, I took in a good long deep breath and settled back on the sofa with a smile as I met Grandma’s eyes. Her voice bellowed through her Afrikan Blackwood framed portrait staring back at me from the middle shelf of the corner bookcase.

Today was Friday. Not one cha-ching had been recorded in my bank account all week but I was still determined somehow to close out the week in the black. My day started with a 6AM call from my business associate in West Afrika. He was so excited about our new venture that he had invited one of his Congressmen to lunch (it’s 11AM there) and wanted to introduce me and thought that I should give my spicy and sexy overview of the project. The timing was not opportune since I hadn’t finished my 100 sit-ups or read my affirmations with my first cup of coffee. And then there’s that last 17-minutes on Friday to wrap up the entire week I felt it would set the temperament of the whole weekend.

Our West Afrikan Congressman insisted that we video chat, so I had to implement my 30-second “I Woke Up Like This” routine. Shot myself with a few squirts of my homemade cucumber face spritzer, dropped my head wrap to my shoulders to transform my orange night shirt into business attire and jumped in front of my computer. Today my favorite mantra became reality, “Stay ready to always be ready.”

Our introductions were short with the usual “how’s your family and yard doing”, then my four-minute-45-second presentation and just like that… my business associate and now definitely business partner and I fielded his questions, got his signature to close a mega-dollar deal in my pajamas at 6:30AM on a Friday. (Yep, I did say mega-dollar deal.)

Since I had already missed the the water fountain rendition of the local news, I decided to wait for Good Morning America’s sexier version of the national news, have that cup of Carmel Macchiato I missed and celebrate rather than a bitter cup of “gotta make the bread”.

The phone rings requesting my video presence again. I stare at my phone deciding if I should swipe the green “Greetings and Good Morning!” button or the red, “Do you know what time it is?” button. It was 6:58AM nothing-special-Friday. By the third ring and second sip I picked the call. This time it was my business colleague who had traveled to Brazil to snatch another colleague from a financial fire. My skills were needed. I listened and forwarded my wire information to proceed. We small-talked until my bank notified me that they were receiving a credit. I shifted from small talk to Google “search and seizer” mode and within a few minutes, I was forwarding the documents they needed to be signed to close their deal.

By 7:30AM my to-do list null and void. My bank account had a few more numbers and my confidence to set a new daily goal was on overdrive. But before I could bask in my moment of glory, the phone rang again…and again…and again closing deal after deal until I saw the next caller ID. I answered with a little hesitation.

“Greetings!” I said a little chipper and a little worried too.

“Good morning Ms. MaSu, this is Amy calling from your bank on a recorded line, how are you today?”

“Well, what a surprise! My bank has never called me, is there something wrong?”

“First, on behalf of the stockholders, I would like to thank you for being a part of our banking family for 41 years. I’m reaching out because we noticed some activity with your account that is not your usual activity, and we would like to ask you a few questions?”

“Of course, Amy. What do you need!”

“First Ms. MaSu, are you safe?”

Well, this was different. My bank of 41 years was checking on the back-to-back deposits that were being made in a matter of hours from a few West Afrikan countries. Though I appreciate their script and sentiment to make sure there was no foul play happening, they never called me, texted or sent a courier pigeon when I received deposits 3-5 times these amounts from the UK, Belgium or anyplace that had a majority white population. And even after I proactively notified the private banking department that I would be traveling and doing business outside the US, they only called about countries that were; well let’s just call a spade a spade; countries of color.

“I am home safe. Is there anything I should be aware of?”

“Ms. MaSu, I’m sure you will understand that as a precautionary measure we want to place a 10-day hold on these funds to validate that the source is…”

Being the Black Woman I am, I quickly transformed into my “Becky” persona.

 Vernacular changed.

 Tone changed.

 Accent changed.

“Amy, with all due respect, let me see if I can understand what you just said to me. My colleagues Wang Xiu Ying from Stanford University and David Einstein from Oxford and I have just concluded the work of four mega projects that we established more than a year ago in the Sub-Saharan region. When we started this project, I insisted that they open an account with my bank because I have been doing business with you for more than four decades and thought it would make the disbursements a lot smoother if we were all banking with the same financial institution. My colleagues agreed with my suggested when they could have easily used their own. Each of the three accounts have been credited with the same amount. And, may I add that I can see that their funds have been released as we speak because I am their trusted joint account holder. So, Amy, can you please explain why the source of their funds are the same as mine; only the source of my funds in a separate account must be legitimized?”

“Oh Ms. MaSu, I’m not sure so do you mind if I place you on a brief hold while I check the notes on your account?”

In less than two minutes a new voice was on the line.

“Good afternoon, Ms. MaSu. I am Abigail Cohen, your private banker. Thank you for being a part of our banking family for more than 41 years. We appreciate your business. I would like to apologize for any misunderstandings conveyed by my associate. Your funds have been released and you may access them immediately. We would also like to express our apologies even further by offering you a gift that you may use, when and how you wish. Again, we are sorry for the misunderstanding. May I email a voucher for a round trip ticket to anywhere in the continental US with a 4-night stay at any Hilton in the country right now?”

I took a deep breath and tried to process Amy’s quick, smooth comeback. Was it the “Becky” voice, Stanford University or the name Einstein that changed the course of this obvious racial profiling? Big corporations have a sneaky way of getting your mind off of posting a negative social media post to your 200 thousand friends or suing them about their racially bias customer service representatives by giving you money or gifts.

I wanted to report the incident.

I wanted to not be “Becky” just to get what was rightfully mine.

And then I thought about the price of airfare and the cost of the best Hilton in Beverly Hills or on Park Avenue.

I wanted to go to the beach too.

So, it’s Friday near midnight and I can finally sit back and rest a moment because I can honestly say I put in a good day’s work all week and earned clean honest money. As I peruse the vacation destinations that I always wanted to go and resolved that I would except the “shut up and go-away gift” I heard Grandma’s voice say.

“Child, best ya no complain ‘bowt makin’ good honest money cause there just ain’t no reason when ya smiling between the “Thank ya’s and Glo-raays”.