Shadows of Tehran by Nick Berg

Author:Nick Berg
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798991971416
Publisher: Fortis Publishing
Published: 2025-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

29

DETROIT

You can always count on Americans to do the right thing—after they’ve tried everything else.

—Winston Churchill

Detroit’s airport was familiar, and yet it wasn’t. Ricardo remembered many things from his first visit, but nearly a decade of change and modernization made him feel like he might as well be stepping onto the moon’s surface. He was nervous and excited, but at the same time, fear was gnawing away at his bones. He had one suitcase, an American passport, and just $48 in his pocket as he walked toward immigration control.

The man on the desk seemed impatient, reeling off a lot of short, quick sentences that Ricardo barely understood. He did his best and tried telling the man he didn’t speak English well.

The official shook his head. “But you have an American passport; why can’t you speak English?”

Ricardo apologized.

“On your way,” the official said, returning the passport. “Everything seems to be in order. Have a nice day.”

Ricardo walked out of the airport and into the street. There was a massive line of taxis, and suddenly, the realization hit him like a hammer blow. Where would he go? How much would the taxi cost to wherever he was going? Where would he sleep?

He sat on a bench outside the airport, unable to even think. He didn’t know any neighborhoods of Detroit, not even a street name. The enormity of his predicament slowly started to sink in. Ricardo sat for five minutes watching the taxis and buses, weighing his options.

“Hey, son!” A man sat beside him. “I’ve been watching you. Do you need a taxi?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“What do you mean you think so? Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Ricardo stammered.

The man laughed. “Well, that’s a first. I’ve never had a fare from someone who doesn’t know where they want to go. So you don’t have an address?”

“No.”

“A hotel?”

“Yes, I need a hotel, somewhere to sleep.”

The man nodded. “At last, we’re getting somewhere; which hotel do you want?”

“I don’t know?”

“OK, how much do you have in your pocket, son?”

“$48.”

“That’s it—$48 to your name?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have a bank account?”

Ricardo shook his head.

The man picked up Ricardo’s suitcase. “Well, I’m afraid that won’t get you far, but we’ll figure it out. Come with me.”

The taxi driver walked him to his car on the other side of the concourse, and Ricardo climbed into the passenger seat. The taxi driver told him he was heading for Detroit’s West Side, to Brightmoor. He said it wasn’t the best area of Detroit, but he knew a YMCA hostel, and Ricardo could buy a bed for a few nights.

The taxi driver would only take $8 from him and explained that his remaining $40 wouldn’t last very long. He bid him goodbye, and the taxi pulled away. Ricardo had never felt so lonely in his entire life.

He checked in at the YMCA. It was $10 a night, and he paid for two nights, keeping the remainder of his money for food.

—

Later that day, Ricardo wandered the neighborhood streets, lined with crumbling buildings and vacant lots choked with weeds.

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