Jeepney Man

                This story has more questions than answers.

                It was my birthday. Two people from my team needed to go to the mall to get a few things. I decided to go along and treat myself to ice cream for my birthday. They got what they needed, I got Dairy Queen, and we traveled home. We rode back in a Jeepney, a public transportation vehicle that holds roughly 16 passengers facing each other on two benches that run parallel to the road.

                The Jeepney was almost full, but people slid over to let us sit by each other. We sat down, and across from us sat a white man. He was maybe around 50, wearing a black shirt and black shorts. He had fair skin and was slightly on the heavier side. I never asked his name, but thought of him as Jeepney Man.

                His eyes crossed over me and lingered near. I could tell he wanted to talk. I danced my eyes around in an attempt to make eye contact. He settled on my shirt, which was an Alabama shirt from the 2011 national championship football game where we played LSU.

                “Are you from Louisiana?” He asked. His voice was nervous and uneasy. His question was poor, there was a huge “A” in the middle of the shirt, but it initiated conversation, which it looked like he deeply desired.

                “No, I am from Alabama. The winners.” I answered smoothly, hoping to draw a smile out of him. It didn’t come.

                “Are you an American?” I asked. He nodded and I asked where he was from. He rattled off “Houston, Texas” quickly. He knew the answer. No worrying about what I would think of his words.

                The Jeepney pulled over. He looked at a Filipino lady roughly his age and said “I guess we are…” not finishing with “getting off here”. He started to leave the Jeepney and said “see you later” to me. This was almost certainly false. He got off and I wondered if he felt awkward about the way our conversation ended. Then he was gone. He occupied my world for at most two minutes, and most likely, I will never see him again.

                As we kept riding home, he would not leave my mind. Part of me wished I would have followed him and gotten to know him. He was interesting. I wanted to know his story. As I sat there, I began making up his story.

                He was rejected by America. His looks showed a fear of further rejecting but a deep desire for acceptance. His remembrance of past hurt made him nervous at the sight of a fellow American. The people in his life had failed him. They turned their backs on him and he ran. He ended up in a safe place halfway across the world from the pains of his past.

                Maybe he was a business man. His American education and background makes him valuable for an international corporation. Maybe his heart is to give jobs to those who need them the most. Maybe it is to give middle class jobs to some of the many extraordinary people shackled by poverty. Maybe he was a ruthless, profit-driven sociopath exploiting the poor to slash prices in American stores.

                Most chilling, was the possibly of involvement in sex trafficking. Did this man take young girls from their homes and exploit them for profit? Was he in the country for overall purpose of being a customer? Who was the woman with him? If a wife, was love the reason they married? Was it her choice to marry?

                He could have been a tourist, visiting the place where his loving wife grew up or visiting her aging parents. He could be a veteran formerly stationed in the Philippines, coming back after all these years to relive part of his youth. Maybe he is a missionary, dedicating his life to serving the people here.

                Maybe he reads this blog, and will write me and tell me his story. While I am extremely curious about this particular man, this isn’t about him. It’s about all the Americans we see here. I always wonder why they are here. Do they fit one of the possible descriptions I made up for Jeepney man?  Often, I am scared to know the real answer. Who knows, maybe the person I pass in the mall is an extremely humble servant of Christ or a heartless sex trafficker.

                Now one final question, why did I write this? I am still working on that one. I don’t know why I didn’t just go home and forget about Jeepney man, but I haven’t. Maybe it’s because I have never seen so clearly the line between light and darkness. When I see a white man, I know there is a good chance that what brought him to this country is one of those two things. Even so, with this man, I couldn’t tell. He was just like me. Nothing about me makes him any better than I, no matter why he is here. Jesus loves us both, died for us both, and both of us didn’t do a thing to deserve it. It gives me a bond with Jeepney man. A common ground, a common need. No matter why either one of us is here.