The well-known adage, "God takes care of babies and fools," had never felt more true than on one of my weekend trips to Metz, France.
I usually traveled there solo and liked it that way. But for a change of pace, I invited my friend Tracy to tag along with me. I had met Tracy, a captain in the U.S. Army Reserves, through my security job in Kaiserslautern, Germany. We got along really well.
To my surprise, Tracy wanted to bring a friend with her. Reluctantly, I agreed. I should mention that I am an introvert. I am not open to meeting new people and allowing them into my circle. As I said, Tracy was OK in my book. Later, I found out that her friend was not my cup of tea.
The day before our trip, Tracy brought her friend, Francine, to my office. Meeting her was like a Democrat and Republican at odds over a bill. Of course, I was the Democrat. I felt no connection with her and couldn't understand why Tracy had befriended her because they were complete opposites. But I had made the commitment to Tracy and was stuck. So, I arranged to meet them on Saturday at my favorite breakfast spot, the restaurant at the Shell gas station just off Autobahn 6 near Ramstein Air Base.
After parking our cars in the lot, I ran over to Tracy and welcomed her with a warm, sisterly hug. As for Francine, all I could spare to give her was a quick nod and a terse hello.
As we walked into the restaurant, I bragged to Tracy about the delicious, hearty breakfast on the menu, knowing that it would be the perfect pick-me-up for the long ride ahead. When our meals came, Francine almost ruined mine to the point that I seriously considered canceling my trip altogether. But I still didn’t want to disappoint Tracy. My trip was still on.
I suffered in silence as Francine hijacked all our conversations, talking too much and too loudly about nothing that interested me. Those traits were a big turn-off for me. For these reasons, I nicknamed her "Foghorn," because she reminded me of Foghorn Leghorn but without his personality.
Before I got on the road, Tracy went downstairs to the ladies' room and left me stewing in misery at the table with Foghorn. Thankful that my bladder also kicked in, I pried myself away from her tedious talkative claws and headed downstairs to the ladies' room, too.
I became worried when I didn't see Tracy anywhere in the ladies' room because there was only one way in and out. "Where the hell did she go?"
After finishing up in the ladies’ room, I returned to our table, but Tracy wasn’t there either. I asked Foghorn if she had seen her because we needed to get on the road. Foghorn said that she saw Tracy go outside a few minutes ago.
Since I was driving, I had the bargaining chip of leaving whenever I wanted to. I knew it was time for us to get on the road, so I went outside to the patio to look for Tracy. Oddly, I found her in deep conversation with two young fresh-faced kids who looked no older than 14 or 15.
Curious about what drew her to them, I stepped closer and saw all three huddled over a huge, wrinkled map spread out on a white plastic table.
Tracy looked up and smiled as I approached. She filled me in on their plight, saying that the boys had stopped her to ask for directions to Nancy, France. Turns out, they weren’t kids after all—they were 19 and 20, and had hitchhiked from Novi Sad, Poland, two days ago.
The 19-year-old was named Lukasz (pronounced "Lucas") Duda. Duda? My sense of humor kicked in, and a few bars of the old cowboy song "Camptown Races sing this song, doo da, doo da" immediately played in my head. Shaking that off, the other young man told us that his name was Piotr (pronounced "Peter") and his last name was Czup. He saw the puzzled look on my face, so he told me how to pronounce it, but I forgot because it flew right past me. I stuck with calling him Peter.
Lukasz spoke very little English. He told us that Piotr, who spoke none, was his best friend. I thought, “Who other than a best friend would follow you across foreign countries or to the ends of the earth without questioning your sanity?”
I'm one who tends to notice details about everything. I saw that Lukasz's head was crowned with thick, curly blond hair. Ringlets of it framed his chubby, cherub-like face, which featured intense yet soft steel-gray eyes. Too much time in the sun had baked his once-pale skin into a deep bronze tan. His cherry-red cheeks stood out as well. The beginnings of "peach fuzz" on his otherwise smooth face and a toothy smile completed his angelic look. Looking at him, I thought I almost heard faint heavenly harp music in the background. Almost!
Piotr didn't escape my scrutiny. He stood about two inches taller than Lukasz. His long black stringy hair clung to his head as if he had just emerged from a swimming pool. His tanned skin contrasted perfectly with his dark features of brown eyes, thick black eyebrows, and a wide compelling, impish smile. Both wore wrinkled T-shirts, baggy shorts, and shabby brown leather sandals caked with dust and mud.
Piotr's slim build contrasted with Lukasz's somewhat chunky build. If I had to respectfully compare them to my favorite animals, dogs, Lukasz resembled a friendly, courageous muscular bulldog, and Piotr was more like a slim, athletic Greyhound.
Both of these young men radiated stubborn determination mixed with childlike excitement as they planned their trip across unfamiliar countries. They seemed oblivious to the sweat dripping from their pores, soaking their thin cotton clothing. Their bodies looked strong and sturdy. I imagined their boyish frames struggling beneath their dirty, overstuffed backpacks lying on the ground at their feet. Their backpacks were the size of military duffel bags packed for a long war.
Lukasz told us they planned to hitchhike through Germany, France, and Spain. He said they hoped to find work in France or Spain and save enough money to get to Morocco, where they hoped to earn enough money to buy a plane ticket to return home to Poland. I was thoroughly impressed by their spirit of adventure and itch to explore countries they had never visited before. Such bold decisions almost always spring from teenage naivete and wild abandon. But I admired their courage to face the challenges of making this trip on their own.
During more conversation with them, I noticed that Lukasz would wrinkle his brow whenever Tracy or I used unfamiliar words. Not to be discouraged, he quickly reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his Polish-English dictionary, whose fragile pages had aged and faded into a dull yellow. He flipped through it to find the words he didn't know so that he could continue his conversation with us.
Soon, my mother-hen protective instincts kicked in as I assessed their desire to continue this poorly-planned journey to parts of Europe clearly unfamiliar to them. From Poland through Germany, then France, on to Morocco, and back to Poland? At their age, I remembered being a spoiled kid comfortably living with my parents. I had no desire to find out what lay beyond the streets of my neighborhood in New Orleans, Louisiana. But these two kids were different. I admired their fearlessness and willingness to venture far beyond Novi Sad and the Polish border.
I saw several packets of snacks sticking out of their pockets––at least they thought of nourishment. Oh yeah, and one more thing: they were flat broke! I tucked that away in the back of my mind to deal with it later. Though neither spoke German, French, or Spanish, this disadvantage didn't discourage them from making this trip. Besides, who am I to argue with someone else's children hell-bent on a crazy-ass mission? So, Tracy and I hunched over the map with them to see what travel advice and safety tips we could offer for their trip.
At some point, I felt sorry for them and wanted to help them even more. These young men were somebody's sons. Silently, I prayed that someone would help my children if they were ever in a similar situation.
I knew that I couldn't leave these two young men to "the wolves" prowling the rest stops along the autobahns for any reason. The least I could do was to give them a ride as far as Metz, France.
Suddenly, I realized I didn't have much room in my compact car for their bulky gear. I thought about all the clutter stored in my trunk, which I kept meaning to clean out but never did. Still, I was determined to try to squeeze their gear in somehow. I knew Tracy wouldn't mind the extra passengers as she was also willing to help them out. I also knew that the "Foghorn" would be indifferent, but her opinion never even mattered to me.
When Foghorn came out of the restaurant, she didn't even stop to see what was going on with the young men. I wasn't concerned about her because if my new arrangements didn't suit her, she could take her talkative butt to her car parked nearby and head back to the base. But I quickly dismissed Foghorn's negative vibe and focused on the boys.
Stepping into the role of a 'Good Samaritan,' I told Lukasz and Piotr that I would make room for them in my car and take them as far as Metz, France, our destination. Lukasz smiled broadly and translated what I said to Piotr. Suddenly, Piotr smiled and both of them seemed to dance in their sandals as their faces radiated joy.
We all walked over to my car, and after opening my trunk, I rearranged what I could, but making room for their duffels was a problem. I needed more space. Tracy offered to put some of my stuff in the trunk of her car, which was parked near mine.
After packing Tracy's trunk with my things, we returned to my car and easily arranged the young men's duffel bags in my trunk. The obnoxious Foghorn had sprawled out in my back seat, reading a trashy magazine and, for the first time that day, was unusually quiet. When I opened my back door, she begrudgingly moved over to make room for Lukasz and Piotr.
After I started my car, Lukasz spoke up, sounding embarrassed, “We are sorry,” he said softly, “We have…no shower since Poland,”
apologizing for their unmistakable body odor. "Poor babies!" I thought, touched by his concern for our comfort. I told Lukasz that "it" was no problem. I lied. The stench was strong enough to take down an adult elephant. As soon as I got on the autobahn, I quickly turned the air conditioner to the max, praying and impatiently waiting for it to kick in some fresh, cool air to keep the odor at bay and prevent me from passing out at the wheel.
Tracy started talking more with Lukasz to help him feel at ease. I gave her a few questions to ask him while focusing on driving. Lukasz said that he asked several strangers for help but everyone turned them down except for one semi-truck driver who gave them a ride to Ramstein. And here we were, three Black American women taking two young Polish men to France. What are the odds?
Tracy asked about their family and the reason for this trip. Lukasz tried to explain as best as he could. He said that he and Piotr wanted to make this trip for the adventure of it all. They wanted to see other parts of the world, find work, and prove to themselves and their families that they could make it. OK, that made sense to me because it was a normal thing for teens his age to want to spread their wings, leave the comfort of their home nests, and fly solo. Lukasz admitted that his mom and dad thought he was crazy. Yeah, as a parent, I understood that, too. He said that his older brother encouraged him and accepted his desire to make the trip.
Then Tracy crossed the line with her next question. She asked Lukasz if there were any Blacks in Poland. I thought this question was unnecessary, pointless, and too intrusive, but Tracy is outspoken and often suffers from foot-in-mouth disease. I thought it would be difficult for him to explain his thoughts about such a hot, sensitive topic, but Lukasz took it in stride. He said that there were no Blacks in his tiny town of Novi Sad, in fact, no dark-skinned people at all. He added that his information about Black Americans came from, obviously biased and stereotypical, movies and television shows, which, he said were not always good. Tracy and I understood, but she brought up one question that begged to be asked and answered. She asked Lukasz what made him stop her, a Black woman, to ask for help. Lukasz said, “I don’t know. I just…feel safe.” That touched my heart. Honestly, I believe that God led these young men to us and knew that we would take care of them. I think that's why our paths crossed with theirs on our separate journeys that day. I felt good inside about our new passengers, knowing that there is a Divine purpose for meeting everyone in this life.
And so, we were well on our way to France. But suddenly, I had a wake-up call. I remembered that I had left a potpourri pot simmering on my stove at my apartment! Thank God He doesn't let fools like me fend for ourselves for too long.
In a panic, I told Tracy about my problem. She tried to calm me down as I pulled into the next rest stop. I grabbed my phone to call my landlady, but it was dead. Silently I prayed that I hadn't burned down her beautiful home, which included my apartment on the top floor.
But Divine intervention didn’t leave me stranded. Tracy pulled out her phone and was ready to help. “Give me your landlord’s number,” she said. But my mind went blank. Then Tracy snapped her fingers, “Wait a minute! You gave me your landlord’s number a few weeks ago.” Tracy opened her purse and there it was–my landlord's number which I had written on a crumpled post-it note. Thankfully, Tracy hadn't thrown it away. Another coincidence!
All I can say is that Divine intervention is real. Tracy reached my landlady and thank God she was home. She said she would take care of it and told me not to worry. What a relief! With that weight off my shoulders, we all got out of the car to take pictures with Tracy's camera and Lukasz' disposable one. After getting some much-needed fresh air, we piled back into my car to continue our journey.
About an hour later, we arrived in Metz. Since it was lunchtime, I thought that the young men were pretty hungry. I didn't tell them, but I looked for a big yellow M. I knew we could feed them well at McDonald's.
Lukasz, ever so polite, said they didn’t want to trouble us to buy food for them. But I calmly brushed away his humility and told him that it was no problem at all for us.
After parking, Lukasz, Piotr, and I sat at a table outside. Foghorn followed us like a stray cat. I gave Tracy some Euros to pitch in for food for the young men. Foghorn could fend for herself and buy her own damn food.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and I felt blessed to be sitting with these young men at that McDonald's table after being part of our good deed so unexpected that day.
Tracy came out to our table with a tray piled high with hamburgers, fries, drinks, and desserts–enough to feed a small Army platoon. Their eyes widened as Tracy placed mounds of food in front of them. They couldn't wait to dig in. I watched them eat as if they hadn't eaten any food in days. I was glad that we came along when we did.
After finishing eating we all got back in my car. I told them I would drop them off at a rest stop where it would be safer and easier for them to catch their next ride.
I drove about 20 kilometers outside of the Metz city limits where I found a clean, sprawling tree-lined area with picnic tables and play areas for children. The spot was filled with other travelers: families or couples with campers, families with sleek, expensive mobile homes, cyclists with fancy road bikes, tough-looking bikers in full motorcycle leather gear, and other hitchhikers headed for parts unknown, too. Aside from all the travelers and assorted vehicles, an information booth and several WCs (the European symbol for restrooms) indicated that this rest stop was a practical, safe place to leave Lukasz and Piotr.
After parking, Tracy and I got out to help unload their bags from my trunk and say our goodbyes. I felt like I was letting my own children leave home on their own. Foghorn stayed in the car, just as I expected her to. That is when I realized that she was selfish, the same flaw I picked up on when we first met.
Tracy gave each of them 20 Euros. They didn't want to take it, but she pressed the money into their hands. She told them, “You will need it.” Beyond grateful, Lukasz face lit up with a broad smile, “Thank you…thank you very much!” His voice was full of sincerity. Piotr didn’t say much–he didn’t have to. The gratitude in his eyes said everything.
Then Tracy and I hugged them like they were our own sons– motherly hugs that said, “Take good care of yourselves!” Then we got back in my car, and I pulled away slowly. As I drove off, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw them still standing there, waving at us until we disappeared from their view at the rest stop.
Watching Lukasz and Piotr tugged at my heart–part pride, part worry, and part joy. And as I got back on the autobahn headed to Metz again, I could have sworn I almost heard someone whisper in my ear, “Thank you.”