Host: Jenifer Hixson

Jenifer: [00:00:12] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jenifer Hixson. 

I see you is a phrase people use to indicate that they understand what headspace you're in or what you're presenting. It's an acknowledgment of who you are. In this episode, we'll hear stories about seeing and feeling seen. 

Our first story is from Rae Wynn-Grant. And the people who really saw her were far from home, on the other side of the globe. She told it for us at a show at the Palace Theater in Los Angeles, where we partner with public radio station KCRW. 

[cheers and applause] 

Here's Rae Wynn-Grant.

Rae: [00:00:46] I was 19 years old and a junior in college when I embarked upon a life changing study abroad opportunity. At that point in my life, pretty much all of my family and friends were curious why I would choose something like this. But in retrospect, it all made sense. I was searching for some things. 

For one, I needed a connection to nature. I was a bona fide city girl and had essentially never been outside. Not only that, I was studying environmental science and had only learned about the outdoors through a textbook or in my classroom. I really needed my real experience in nature. This study abroad program would do just that. It was a wildlife management program in southern Kenya. We would be living in the bush, studying wild animals in their natural habitat and basically camping for a full semester. I was pumped.

The second thing, is that like many African Americans coming of age, I felt like I needed a connection to the African continent. I imagined that my ancestry stemmed from West Africa somewhere, but I figured spending time in East Africa would give me that ancestral connection I was looking for. I couldn't wait. And so, before I knew it, I was there. 

As soon as my plane landed, I was struck by two things. The first one was kind of a bummer. As it turned out, I was the only Black student in the program and the only Black student they had ever had in the program. [audience laughter] It seemed like my identity was going to be more of an issue in Africa than it was in the US. And the second thing was awesome. It was the wildlife.

As soon as our Jeep left the airport in the city of Nairobi and started driving into the bush, I was struck by the change in scenery, and I saw my first ever wild animal. Now, it wasn't one of those iconic African species like an elephant or a giraffe. It was a marabou stork. You don't read about those in textbooks. But marabou storks are five or six feet tall with a 12-foot wingspan. They walk along the landscape altogether like dinosaurs. I saw them and was transfixed. I knew that I had made the right choice in a study abroad program and also in a career studying wildlife. 

The other cool thing about the program was that it was situated within a Maasai community. These were people who chose to live a traditional tribal lifestyle, and they really stuck to it. I was thrilled, because I had so many questions for them, and I figured that our skin color could at least bridge that cultural gap. 

We were really, really different. So, it took a lot of time for me to make those friendships, but eventually I did. Some of the Maasai warriors were my age. Apparently, they had been waiting for a Black person to come on this program. Most of their questions for me were about the Black experience in America. They had heard these rumors about slavery, the way that Black people had ended up in this country. Before I knew it, we were spending days and days, weeks and weeks with me giving them lessons on African-American history. It was hard. It's a violent, oppressive history. I was telling tales of torture and bondage. It got to be pretty uncomfortable.

After a while, I decided, you know what, I think I'm painting the wrong picture here of America, because slavery is over and Black people have civil rights now. We're free. Even look at me. I'm a young Black woman pursuing higher education, traveling around the world. I insisted to them that actually, things were great. 

One day, one of the warriors that I had grown to know, named Saroony, came rushing to me in the field as I was collecting data on zebras. He had a look of terror in his eyes. And instead of embracing me with the normal hug, he shouted at me when he was still far away, “All of your people, they're dead in the water.” I didn't understand what he was saying, and so I asked again. He seemed a little bit angry with me. "You told us that everything was okay, but your people are dead." 

I was terrified, because I didn't know what could be going on. We were completely cut off. This was pre-internet, pre-cell phone Kenya and it was going to be nearly impossible for me to understand this news. I told him that he must have misunderstood something. Maybe there was some news lost in translation, or he got word of some weird tabloid story that was totally incorrect. I sent him back to the village with the message that this couldn't be true and everything was fine. 

The way we got our news from home was through bimonthly mail runs to Nairobi. And so, a few weeks went by until I could figure out what he was talking about. As my white classmates were opening their care packages of candy and new CDs to listen to, my parents had sent me Time magazine. It was September of 2005, and Hurricane Katrina had just hit. The cover of the Time magazine showed a flooded city and bodies floating in the water. 

Almost 2,000 people drowned in that hurricane, almost all of them the Black residents of New Orleans. I was shocked. I was ashamed of my country and I was ashamed of myself for misleading this entire group of people who depended on me. Of course, I had come into some kind of racial consciousness, but it took a national crisis like that for me to understand the scale and the magnitude of the impact of racism. I took the magazine into the village and I passed it around, doing my best to translate the news.

When I got to Saroony, I began to cry. He held me and said, my tears were exactly what was missing that day in the field, that the village had already cried for me and with me and that they were here. The next baby to be born in that village, they would name Katrina after the hurricane. 

Nine years later, after a number of wildlife experiences in East Africa, I was headed back to Maasailand. This time, the roles were reversed. I was an instructor for a study abroad program for undergrads. In about a decade, I had become an expert in African wildlife ecology. This was my chance to show my chops and to get some skills in teaching. I couldn't wait. 

I think about my grandfathers a lot. I have the privilege of having been very close to them throughout my childhood and even into adulthood. And so, it's easy for me to remember the day that my paternal grandfather, George, died. January 26th, 2014. It was the same day that I was to leave for Kenya to teach this course. All of a sudden, something that seemed so important to me, like my career coming full circle was the least important thing in the world. But it was too late to cancel. 

After an emotional conversation with my family, we concluded that I needn't halt my life because of a death. My grandfather had known how much I loved him. And so, with a heavy heart, I left for Kenya, chaperoned 12 undergraduates through Amsterdam successfully [audience laughter] and began the course.

All was well when we landed. I had the wonderful opportunity to watch my students experience the same thing that I had. As we left the airport in Nairobi and drove into the bush, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened at seeing their first African wildlife. And yes, it was a marabou stork, okay? They're very prevalent. [laughs]

The course went on without a hitch. One particularly exhausting day, I found myself sitting with the chief of the village, a Maasai man who I had grown to know over the years. He noticed that I was really fatigued and found a way to slip in some personal questions. "Where is your mind?" he asked. I opened my mouth to answer. And instead of words coming out, tears just started flowing. I admitted to him that I was grieving the loss of my grandfather and I was feeling selfish that I had chosen a professional opportunity over the ability to honor his legacy. The chief looked really confused. "Why can't you honor him?" he asked. 

I explained as the expert that in America, we usually do this thing where all the family and the friends get together when a person dies, and we view their body and then we talk a lot about the life they led and we say some prayers and then we bury them in the ground and walk away. [audience laughter] He nodded his head and said, “Yeah. Right. We do that in Kenya too.” [audience laughter] He insisted that my problem was indeed one of selfishness. Not that I had chosen the field course over the funeral, but that I hadn't figured out a way to honor my grandfather independently. "Let us help you," he said. "We'll bury him here." 

The next morning, I awoke hours before normal, long before my students. I walked in the pre-dawn darkness to the road. I met the chief, his wives and two elders from the village. They adorned me in traditional Maasai red cloth, and wiped red paint on my cheeks and my forehead. I walked with them in silence as they chanted in the Maa language down the road until we stopped at a giant over 1,000-year-old baobab tree. One of the elders got down and used his hands to dig a small hole at the base of the tree, and I was instructed to kneel.

As soon as my knees hit the ground, I started crying again and they tilted my head, so that my tears fell into the soil. In English, the chief said, "You exist because your grandfather existed. Your tears are a part of him and we'll bury them." I finished crying after some time and they patted the earth back over the hole. Altogether, everyone lifted me back onto my feet. When I was standing, I felt taller and lighter and I felt forgiven. 

We turned, and this time, we all walked in silence back up the road. We arrived back at camp as the sun was coming up. I thanked the chief, his wives and the two elders. I left to teach my course for the day. Before my time was over in Kenya, a baby boy was born in the village, and I would learn that they named him George, after my grandfather.

[cheers and applause] 

Jenifer: [00:13:27] That was Dr. Rae Wynn-Grant. Rae is a large carnivore ecologist. She uses field biology, statistics and mapping to study how human activity influences carnivores. I consider her pretty fearless, because Rae has studied black bears in the western Great Basin, grizzly bears in Montana and African lions in rural Kenya and Tanzania. 

Rae has lots of selfies with animals, most people, me included, consider ferocious, but she always looks calm and in control, because she is. To see some of her pictures and learn more about her work with the Museum of Natural History and National Geographic, we'll link to her site at themoth.org, where you can also find a link to share this story. 

When we return, a trip to Mecca and the awkwardness of trying to make new friends as a grown-up.

Jay: [00:14:40] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.

Jenifer: [00:14:50] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jenifer Hixson. 

We're listening to stories about being seen and being understood. This next story comes from Angelica Lindsey-Ali, who we met in Arizona, where she now hosts the Phoenix Moth StorySLAM with support from public radio station KJZZ. 

[cheers and applause] 

Angelica told this story when she visited us in New York City. Here's Angelica.

Angelica: [00:15:20] A little over six years ago, I got an invitation to take a five-day desert vacation, where I would sleep in tents, stand in line with thousands of people and use squatty potties. This wasn't Coachella. It wasn't Burning Man either. My first response was, “Oh, hell no,” because I was eight months pregnant. I don't like people that much, especially not when I'm eight months pregnant. [audience laughter] And the idea of living with thousands of strangers in the desert didn't appeal to me. But I said yes, because this was the trip of a lifetime. This was Hajj. 

Now, Hajj is one of the five pillars of Islam. It's a pilgrimage that thousands, millions of people take every year. They save up their entire lives to go. It's like if you complete Hajj, you've completed 20 percent of your religion. And in 2012, my husband and I were two of those people.

Now, I had serious imposter syndrome going into Hajj. I've always been a very spiritual person, but I color outside the lines a little bit. I pray every day, five times a day, sometimes more on a particularly rough day. But I curse a lot. The F bomb is my favorite. [audience laughter] I like to listen to the Quran at home with my children. But on the way to work, I listen to Prince and trap music. I wear the khimar every single day, but I have been known to go out in sequin leggings and thigh-high boots. I am a bit of a spiritual anomaly, and I wasn't sure that Hajj was the right place for me. 

But I had been dreaming about Hajj for a long time. It all started in Ms. Atkins' third grade social studies class. We were doing a unit on world religions, and she showed us this picture of what looked like thousands of people. It was the most number of people I had ever seen in one photograph. They were all dressed in white and they were circling this little black box. She told us it was the Kaaba, and this was Saudi Arabia, and these were Muslims and they were making Hajj. And right then and there, I made it my mission. I said, “One day, Ms. Atkins, I'm going to make Hajj.” 

] She said, “Angelica, didn't you just say you got baptized this year? [audience laughter] You have to be Muslim to make Hajj.” I figured my strict Christian mother and father wouldn't let me attend. So, I set my sights on more attainable pursuits, like winning the third-grade spelling bee and convincing Mario Lumpkins that he was indeed in love with me. [audience chuckle] 

But dreams of Hajj resurfaced when I was a sophomore in college. I had become disenchanted with the church that I had grown up in. I happened upon that same picture that Ms. Atkins had shown us in our third-grade class. I set out to understand the wonders of Islam. I was going to prove this religion wrong. What I found was a practicality, a simplicity and an elegance that stole my heart. At the age of 23, four years after I set off on my spiritual quest, I found myself kneeling in front of a Senegalese imam in a northwest Detroit Cape Cod style bungalow, saying the Shahada, the Muslim declaration of faith.

It was six years later that I met my husband. Now, unlike every other Muslim woman I knew at the time, I was not trying to get married. I wanted to travel the world, see the scene, teach dance. I didn't want to be tied down. But my friend Fardo said, "Angelica, you need to get married. Look, my husband has a friend. He's really tall, he's cute, he's smart. You'll love him." So, she set me up on a blind date at her house. 

I showed up four hours late for the date. He showed up five hours late. [audience laughter] She was right. He was everything that she said he was. He was smart, he was funny, he was engaging, handsome. But I'm 5’11” and he's 5’6”. He wasn't exactly tall. But what Fardo didn't know, is that I loves me a bite-sized man. [audience laughter] He was like a fun-size Snickers, just enough chocolate. [audience laughter] 

We got married six weeks after we met. Children soon followed. He helped me make good on my single woman's promise to myself. When he came home one day and said, "Babe, I got a job teaching English in Saudi Arabia. We're moving to Jeddah." Now, Jeddah is the jewel of the Red Sea. It's like a Muslim New York City, and it's only 45 minutes away from Mecca. My dream of Hajj was now closer than ever. But there was the imposter syndrome again. 

You see, I'm the only Muslim in my family. And on Hajj, the men and the women are in separate tents. So, I couldn't be with my husband. I would be with dozens of strange Muslim women. I was afraid that I was going to mess up their Hajj experience, [audience chuckle] because I'm wayward, very irreverent, almost always inappropriate. Like the first time I went to a western-style grocery store in Jeddah, I was super excited. It wasn't like the normal farmer's markets we were going to. This place had Cheerios, they had Pepsi, they had Cheez-Its and it was all in Arabic. It was so cool. 

I was dressed in a black abaya, the long flowing gown. I had a black face veil over my face. I was really trying to blend in. But the part that I couldn't turn off was my internal jukebox. See, it's a little raunchy and it plays music in my head at any time. Sometimes the music that's selected is almost always inappropriate. It was really hot that day. So, I'm walking with my stroller, and I'm going through the store looking at all the sights and, [sings] It's getting hot in here, [audience laughter] so take off all your clothes. I am getting so hot, I want to take my clothes off, get a little bit of ah ah. [audience laughter] 

I mean, my head is back, my eyes are closed. By the time I get to the second, ah ah, I open my eyes and every other person in the store is looking at me. And they're all men, because men do the majority of the shopping in Saudi Arabia. I was afraid that just like I ruined their shopping experience, I was going to ruin Hajj for some poor unknowing woman. 

But when we got to the tents, I realized that it really wasn't a tent. It was these multi-roomed, carpeted, air-conditioned deals. And the women inside were a different mix than I had expected. There was the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Mexican woman who had brought her nursing baby, and she would whip her boob out to feed him in front of all of the other women and they were all aghast and I was secretly laughing. There was the British-Algerian woman who was very prim and proper. I nicknamed her the Muslim Hyacinth Bucket. [audience laughter] 

There was the Irish woman with pink and blue cornrows and shaved sides. She was a white girl, but she had a big booty and she taught us all how to twerk. [audience laughter] There was the Somali contingent who wore triple black veils, and gloves, and bloomers and socks, but sat in circles and told ridiculously dirty jokes. They were nothing like what I imagined them to be. But I wondered, would they think I was cool? Were they cool? How was these five days going to go? 

The day after we got to Hajj is the Day of Arafat. Now, the Day of Arafat is the most important religious ritual in Hajj. You spend the entire day praying, engaging in these fervent acts of worship. But I had a secret. See, I knew just enough Arabic to make my five daily prayers, but I didn't have any extra credit prayers in my pocket. I knew one du'a, one short prayer. I sat in a corner by myself, just reciting it over and over and over again. 

The teacher showed up, like they do every time we have Hajj, and she said, "Okay, ladies. I'm going to teach you the very prayer that the Prophet Muhammad would make on this day. This is the most important prayer that you can make." So, I got out my notebook and my pen. I was ready. No more kindergarten for me. I'm ready to move up to high school Arabic. 

As she started talking, she began reciting the exact same prayer that I had been saying all day. I was feeling like maybe I wasn't an imposter after all. The women in the group, they were cool. They were kind of growing on me, especially when we went out to make our rounds. The men and the women are separated sometimes even when we're in the crowds. And Muslim Hyacinth, she was like a linebacker in the crowds. She told all the women, "Protect the belly." When a man tried to push me out of my seat on the train, she clotheslined him. It was a beautiful thing to see.

So, on the third day of Hajj, when we all sat down to have breakfast, I decided to take out a jar of jam. Now, on Hajj, we eat traditional Saudi food. We have a breakfast of ful, which is fava beans mixed with olive oil and spices. It's really delicious. They serve it with a flatbread called tamees. Now, normally, this would be a great breakfast, but there were squatty potties and I was pregnant and it was beans and bread. [audience chuckle] It wasn't exactly a good mix for my digestive system. 

So, I took out my jar of Bonne Maman all-fruit preserves and tried to slide a little bit on my bread, so that nobody would see. I told you I don't like people that much. [audience laughter] But the Moroccan woman next to me says, "Sister Angelica, can I have a scoop?" I figured, this is Hajj, so I let her have some. And just as I feared, the woman next to her asked for some and the woman next to her, and the woman next to her. I watched my jar of jam make its way around a circle of three dozen women. 

But something interesting happened. As each woman took a scoop of jam, she shared her mother or her grandmother's recipe. For the women who had come from cultures that they didn't eat jam for breakfast, they said, "Hmm, dessert for breakfast, I can get down with that." And just like I feared, by the time the jar made its way back around to me, it was completely empty. But my heart was full. 

On the last day of Hajj, we make a rite called tawaf al-wada, the farewell tawaf. It's seven circumambulations around that black box that I had seen in Ms. Atkins' third grade class. By this time, pregnancy had gotten the best of me. My feet were swollen, my head was achy, I was dehydrated. As I walked into the crowd, the sheer number of people lifted me up. I couldn't even feel my feet on the ground. I did the worst possible thing you can do when you're in a crowd. I looked around at all of the people and I began to hyperventilate. My blond-haired, blue-eyed, Mexican hippie mama friend said, "Angelica, close your eyes and just breathe." As I did, I could feel a wash of cool air flow over me. It was just enough for me to finish making those seven rounds. 

I had to walk back to the bus. It was about 2.5 kilometers. I was dragging my pregnant belly. I sent my husband ahead. I was certain that the bus had left me and had already gone back to Jeddah. But when I got on the bus, I saw that Hyacinth was sitting there saving a seat for me, just like she had done on the train. We went back home and picked up our children, and I spent the next few days eating fried chicken, ice cream, cookies, all of the things that a pregnant woman craves when she's on Hajj. And I reflected. 

I had gone to Hajj as a wayward, incomplete Muslim, and I came back from Hajj, a wayward, incomplete Muslim. [audience chuckle] Because Hajj is not about being in competition with the millions of other people who are there. Hajj was about refining and becoming a more complete version of myself. It made me stop and think about the stereotypes that I had foisted upon my Hajj sisters in the tent, the same type of stereotypes that I get upset when people lob at me. 

My daughter was born six weeks later, a miraculous Saudi home birth. That's a story for another time. And now, when she doesn't want to pray, she gets to tease her brothers and sisters and say, "Well, I've already made 20 percent of my religion, because I did Hajj in mommy's belly." [audience laughter] When she turned six this December, I didn't even get a chance to post her picture on Facebook, because when I opened my Facebook page, one of my Hajj sisters had already put her up on the page. We're all still very close. We trade stories, recipes, pictures of our babies. Those ladies from the tent, they're no longer strangers. They're my sisters.

[cheers and applause] 

Jenifer: [00:28:45] That was Angelica Lindsey-Ali. To see a picture of Angelica and her daughter, Kenny, the one she was carrying at Hajj, visit themoth.org. 

Angelica is originally from Detroit and is a certified sexual health educator. She's part of a global movement of women in 86 countries. She goes by the name The Village Auntie, and her lessons are no-nonsense, straightforward and yet so, so fun.

[hot in herre song]

This next story is another take on our theme, I see you. This is a bit more literal. It comes from our SLAM in Chicago, where we partner with public radio station WBEZ. Here's Grace Topinka. 

[cheers and applause] 

Grace: [00:29:39] You know those kids in elementary school that talk so much that the teacher had to move them around the classroom? Well, I was the quiet kid that those kids got sat next to, [audience laughter] and everybody knew it. I was always so shy, and every time I tried something new, I was like, “I'm going to be outgoing and I'm going to be popular. I'm going to make all these high school camp, middle school, college.” And it never happened. Not that I never made friends. It just took me a really long time to warm up to people. 

After college, I was nervous, because they say it's harder to make friends as an adult. And I was like, “Well, I wasn't even good at it before.” [audience laughter] But it's true. When you don't have school proximity, it takes a lot more effort to spend time with someone and get to know someone as an adult. 

So, I started going to therapy. One of the things that I wanted to work on was my anxiety around social situations. My therapist gave me an assignment that week and was like, “You need to go out of your comfort zone, and ask people what they're doing on the weekend and take any hint of an invitation that you get you need to jump on it.” [audience laughter] 

So, there was this girl at work named Chelsea, and I had my eye on her. [audience laughter] I feel like we shared a lot of similar interests. Like, maybe she would like to hang out with me. It really felt like I was trying to date her, except we weren't trying to see each other naked. [audience laughter] But I would find excuses to send her a DM on Instagram and talk to her. And then, one day, she mentioned that she had found this Groupon for this Korean spa. And I was like, “Oh, I'd totally be down to do that.” Like, “Let's go.” [audience laughter] 

So, on the day of, I was really nervous because I was like, “Okay, this is the first time we're hanging outside of work.” It made me extremely nervous, and that's why I was in therapy. [audience laughter] And I was like, “I need to put together a cute outfit.” So, I wore this bathing suit and these wide leg pants and a little sweater. Like, that spa, I-do-this-all-the-time vibe [audience laughter] is what I was trying to give.

So, we met up and we got to the spa and we check into the women's locker room. I can't help but notice there are signs everywhere that say no bathing suits in the hot tubs. You have to be completely naked, take a shower in front of everyone and then get into the hot tub area. [audience laughter]

Now, I had figured that some people would be nude at this Korean spa, because it's common in Korean spa and also in spas in countries all over the world. They don't sexualize everything and have these terrible views on the naked female body. But I didn't grow up in one of those countries. [audience laughter] 

[cheers and applause] 

So, I ignorantly thought that maybe you had the option to wear a bathing suit, but you did not. [audience laughter] So, we had come this far. The hot tub area looked so cool and inviting. I was like, “Okay, I guess we have to go.” So, we got naked and took a shower in front of everyone and got into the hot tub. And then, we saw someone in the locker room, and it was our boss' wife. [audience laughter] I was like, “How many colleagues are going to see me naked today?” [audience laughter] Like, I'm already nervous as much. Our first time hanging out, and we've already done way more [audience laughter] than I thought were going to do. She was nervous too. She was like, “Well, that'd be really weird if she comes in here.” Like, “Do we acknowledge her?” And I was like, “I'm not acknowledging her. She barely knows me.” 

But she ended up skipping out the hot tub part and going to the fully clothed sauna area or steam room area, which was good, because it suddenly made Chelsea and I's situation feel a lot less awkward. That could be way worse. [audience laughter] We ended up getting pretty comfortable and having a great time. As I looked around this room of naked women in a non-creepy way, [audience chuckle] I saw friends, sisters, mothers, daughters and I realized how important it was for me to get out of my comfort zone, because friendship, especially female friendship, is so important. [audience cheers and applause] 

Ever since then, Chelsea and I have become great friends. We've gone back to the spa multiple times, [audience laughter] and we even started a podcast together, which I consider to be the pinnacle of millennial friendship. [audience laughter] So, I don't think my therapist would officially say, getting naked is a great way to break the ice with a new friend. But in this case, it worked. Thank you. 

[cheers and applause]

Jenifer: [00:34:26] That was Grace Topinka live in Chicago. Grace is still going to the spa and bringing more friends, because she said she's totally over the awkwardness. Her weekly podcast with Chelsea, the friend in her story, is called Two Girls One Crossword. And it features trivia for people who are bad at trivia. In an ironic twist, Grace and Chelsea are known at work for their clothing, because they often coordinate their holiday party outfits. Visit themoth.org to see one of their recent ensembles. 

[00:34:57] Do you have a story about letting your guard down and making friends in an unconventional place, like a hot tub or against all odds? We'd love to hear it. You can pitch us your story by recording it right on our site, or call 877-799-M-O-T-H. That's 877-799-6684. The best pitches are developed for Moth shows around the world. 

[whimsical music] 

When we return, trying not to be seen as the ugly American while abroad and seeing your birth mother for the very first time.

[whimsical music]

Jay: [00:36:15] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org.

Jenifer: [00:36:28] You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jenifer Hixson. 

This hour is called I See You. And the next story is about not seeing at first. It comes from a Moth StorySLAM in Detroit, where we partner with public radio station WDET. Zakiya Minifee was celebrating her 27th birthday when she put her name in the hat. The fates smiled upon her and her name was pulled, and this is the story she told. Here's Zakiya.

Zakiya: [00:36:56] So, it was May of 2015. I had just graduated college and I was taking my second international trip. All I knew was I was determined not to be that American on the trip, you know, the one that speaks really loud English over and over again until you hope somebody understands you. I just hoped everyone thought I was Canadian. [audience laughter] 

I was going to visit my sister in Spain with my mom. We were excited. They're both severely type A, so the whole thing was beautifully planned and itinerary-based and I just had to go along for the ride. First week, I was doing wonderfully. I was muddling my way through Spanish, traipsing through tons of cities. And next up on our trip was Granada. We were going to spend a day at the Alhambra, which is this fortress palace, Moorish, Roman Catholic, just an amalgamation of things. And my history degree was absolutely swooning at the possibility of being there. 

I didn't want to be that tourist, right. So, we weren't going to take a tour guide. We were just going to go and explore the space but follow a tour. Do you know what I mean, so that you're not with the tour, but you're with the tour. [audience laughter] Because we didn't want to be with the group of Americans that were being the group of Americans, like tall white socks, short cargos, short sleeve shirts, wide brim hats, big sunglasses and the white orthopedic sneakers to bring it all home. [audience laughter] But we were behind the group and we kept trying to cut in front of them to get a really good view of the good stuff, but still hear a little bit of the tour guide in the back. But we just kept getting stuck. 

There was this fan favorite in the group, this older gentleman who was all the stereotypes wrapped in one. He had the real, like really big glasses. I had never seen anything like that before. [audience laughter] At every stop, it was, "Oh, wow. Ooh, aah," at every single stop. The first time I grinned, because it just made me happy. It was contagious. Then the second time, the third time, I had an indulgent smile, because I was willing to play along. And by the sixth time, my smile had slipped and my eyes were rolling into the back of my head. My sister and I were having one of those silent conversations that you can only have with someone firmly inside your squad, you know what I mean, where you're just thinking, what is he doing and why won't he stop? [audience chuckle] 

We got to one of the most famous spots in the Alhambra. It's this gorgeous patio with this big open fountain space. And he did it again like, "Oh, aah." Before I could get too frustrated, this very good-natured woman, who is better than I, I must admit, leaned over to the woman who was walking with him and said, "Wow, he's really enjoying it." [audience laughter] I thought, you bet he is, because he's killing it for me. The woman that was with him said, "Yeah, he just had corrective eye surgery. It's all really new for him." [audience aww] 

There goes all the wind out of my bitch sails. [audience laughter] “Oh, my-- What? I'm so horrible. [audience laughter] How did I not look at the big glasses, the really big glasses, how was I not paying attention to that?” And so, oh my gosh. I leaned into my sister, she leaned into me and we met in this moment of wonder. I'm like, “Oh, my gosh.” So, the rest of the trip was just, we were like, "Ooh. [audience laughter] Aah” Because now, it's even more amazing, because it was cool to see it to begin with. My history degree, because it wasn't going to pay me, was paying off here. [audience laughter] And now, I get to see it with these amazing new eyes of somebody that was really actually still looking and seeing it for something new and for something special. 

So, at the end of that tour, when I was alone and sitting on the steps in the Palace of Charles V, which was built 500 years ago with this big open roof and looking at the stars and getting misty-eyed, I'll be damned if I didn't say, oh, wow. [audience laughter] 

[cheers and applause] 

Jenifer: [00:41:43] That was Zakiya Minifee. She's a program manager in Detroit, but loves travel, live music, books, black garlic ice cream and her cat, Kevin. To see a picture of Zakiya, her sister and her mom on the trip in Spain, visit themoth.org, where you can also find a link to share this story. She hopes this story reminds everyone to keep their sense of wonder, let your oohs and ahs flow, but also socks and sandals, that's a no. 

Our final story is from Josh Holland. He was visiting from Maine when he told this at a StorySLAM in New York City, where we partner with public radio station WNYC. Here's Josh Holland.

[cheers and applause] 

Josh: [00:42:28] Thanks. So, I am in a pickup truck, and I get out and I look in the rearview mirror, because I want to see my face as my birth mother will see it for the first time in 39 years. I look tired and I look like I've been thinking about this moment a little too long. It's Alki Beach in West Seattle. I don't know if anyone knows Seattle, but you're over on the west and then there's Seattle over here and so there's a beach there. It's December, so it's empty. 

I turn around from the pickup and I see there's just an empty beach and there's a small Statue of Liberty statue to my left. Many hundreds of yards away, I could see one figure. She's got a leather jacket, red hair. I can see at a distance, black jeans. I know it's her. 

I start walking towards her, and it's like one of those people movers in the airports, you're just suddenly already over there. She's standing in front of me and she says, "Oh, here you are." I give her a big hug. She's so strong. I step back and I see for the first time in my life, except for the pictures she sent me, someone who looks like me. First time ever. I don't know if anybody else is adopted in the room, but that's a pretty intense moment. And then, as I'm hugging her, I have this-- the only time I've ever had this thought I have this physical response to her physical self. I'm from eastern Washington. I identify with it really strongly, but I'm from her.

I step back, and we'd exchanged letters and emails and so on, but this is the first time we're talking. She's on my left and we're walking down the beach. She is walking and just looking at me and she says, "Well, tell me everything." She's not joking. [audience laughter] And so, I start talking about this, I got a bunch of great friends and what I'm doing with my life and so on and so forth. She presses me, the questions and questions, and I'm walking, she's right here. Every time I look, she's just looking at me. I don't know if anybody knows teachers or principals or cops, [audience laughter] but there's this look that people who are good at this do where they're watching everything you do. 

She's doing it the whole time. She wants to know about everything, even stuff I've already said in the letter she's asking about. We walk down the beach. It's an empty beach, very beautiful. Water on the left side, houses on the right. I don't know if anyone's ever been subjected to that sort of gaze over time, but it's exhausting. The minute careful noticing. This is how my genetic son moves his hand when he's telling a story. This is how my genetic son moves his feet when he's walking on the beach. This is how my genetic son fixes his coat, this is how my genetic son moves his head away when he's nervous about how I'm looking at the side of his face. [audience laughter] We go down the beach.

Finally, I'm able to redirect the conversation a little bit to her and ask about what it's like to be a critical care nurse and tell me about owning horses, tell me about your sisters. She has four, and brothers one. As soon as it gets to her, she redirects to me. More and more, we get to the bar. Oh, I find it very difficult to face her. I can't really bring myself to square off, because it's so intense, because I'm sensing what it's like as far as a son can or any adopted kid can, what it's like to finally have that baby back in front of you. 

So, we go down the beach. We get to a bar. You have to sit across from someone in restaurants. That's the rules. [audience laughter] And so, I find myself shifting to the waiter, so I can deflect, because it's so intense, you know? This is how my son orders an IPA. [audience chuckle] This is how my son orders the second IPA, [audience laughter] and so on. We go back the other way. It's getting dark and it's still happening, the intensity. I'm really tired. 

We get almost to the Statue of Liberty, almost there. She's not next to me all of a sudden. I turn around and she's back a bit. I go back and I say, “What's up?” And she's like, “Are you mad at me?” And I said, “No, why would I be mad at you?” She said, “For giving you up.” And I was like, “No.” And then, I realized what this was all about, you know? I squared off with her shoulder to shoulder in the fading dark on Alki Beach, and I said, “Maureen, my life is full of beauty. I have so many friends, loving family. Stuff wasn't always great with my folks, but we worked it out like every family does, and I love them very much. Got two sisters, and my whole life I've chased my dreams. So, no, [chuckles] I'm not mad at you. What you did as a 19-year-old girl in eastern Washington was one of the bravest things I even know about.” I don't know if you guys have had that experience where you don't know something isn't in place until it falls into place. But I saw it hit her and then hit me. Thank you very much.

[cheers and applause] 

Jenifer: [00:48:24] That was Josh Holland. He grew up skiing, fishing, and camping in eastern Washington State and was very active in the Boy Scouts. After a good stint as a university academic, Josh now runs a sleepaway summer camp in Maine called Camp Cobbossee for Boys. 

Josh sees Maureen whenever he comes through Seattle, including one Christmas where he learned that Maureen's entire family gets matching flannel pajamas each year, just like his family does. To see a picture of Josh and Maureen, and one of Josh and his mom, and one of them together with his nephew, you can visit themoth.org. 

That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. And that's the story from The Moth.

[overture music] 

Jay: [00:49:31] Your host this hour was Jenifer Hixson, who also directed the stories in the show. The rest of The Moth's directorial staff includes Catherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin Jenness and Meg Bowles. Production support from Emily Couch. 

Moth stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Nelly, Percussions, Regina Carter, Blue Dot Sessions, Strunz & Farah and Ben Harper. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. 

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Viki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This Hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.