Yussef

I didn't know whether to be offended or amused when Yussef jumped off the couch, beckoned me to him with open arms, engulfed me in the first hug I've received from a French person since arriving in this country four months ago, kissed me on both cheeks, and proclaimed loudly with joy, "J'ai fait le bise avec un noir!!!!" (The French "faire le bise"--give a kiss on each cheek--instead of shaking hands.)

I, apparently, am the first black person that Yussef has ever met. He was ecstatic to have me in his home for two days during my trip to Grenoble to visit my friend Laura. She had warned me before I arrived that Yussef, her host-father, could not wait to host un noir, so I was ready. But still. I can't be the first one he's met in his 60-something years of life. Impossible.

"I have to tell all my friends un noir is staying with me! I'm cultured now, I'm cultured! Do you connais les Blues? J'adore les Blues! Tiens, put down your things!"

He proceeded to ask me about Mississippi.

"Je viens de MisSOURi," I corrected, careful to emphasize the last syllable so that he would not pronounce it "Misery" like most French people do.

"Ahhh, donc tu aimes les Blues!"

At this point, I just went with the flow.

Yussef was born in Lebanon, but he has been in France since practically the beginning of time. He's the kind of person whose wife (a white French woman named Monique) always reprimands him for saying exactly what's on his mind in front of the guests, the kind of guy whose wife has to watch his diet because he eats too much sugar and now has "heart tension." He never stops talking, and since he's hard of hearing, his voice roars through the house because he talks so loudly. Though he speaks perfect French (minus Monique's corrections to his occasionally misplaced adverbs), he purposely rolls his Rs, because, "Mon accent, c'est mon identité, tu voie."

Yussef loves films, reading, jazz, and, as I learned last weekend, black people. He asked me about everything from my cotton-picking ancestors, to the Civil Rights Movement and the integration of southern schools, to my family's origins (I told him that in Trinidad, they play Calypso, not blues), to how often I wash my hair. (He insisted that the 1957 Little Rock integration happened at a university, but I assured him that it took place at a high school. This and the slavery question were dinner conversation, by the way.)

There was really no point in being offended, because he meant no harm. I think he was genuinely curious about how us noirs live, and especially how we wash our hair. (Who'da thought we use shampoo just like everyone else?) And since I'm the official spokesperson for every single noir in the world ever, I [gladly] indulged him.

All that being said, I'd go visit Yussef (I mean Laura...hehe) again in a heartbeat. He's freaking hilarious, if sometimes candid and inappropriate, and after a while, you learn to ignore him. Besides, I hear he makes some mean falafel.