Gold in the City

NEW YORK, 14May 2009 — On a dreary overcast day, Salami’s glowing smile shimmers with a $150 gold tooth from Saudi Arabia. “I want you to remember me,” she had confided, “wherever you go.”

The golden tooth coordinates with the sunshine yellow of his uniform, a yellow vest over yellow shirt with tattered browned cuffs. Stout and compact, Salami Kamil strides confidently, but hardly arrogantly, as his eyes scope the sea of flowing and ebbing people, bobbing and weaving. Kamil bounces in a square dance between corners of his territory, the intersection at 34th and 5th in the shadow of the Empire State Building. His measured step quickens and he bounds to the opposite corner towards two guys pointing up at the tallest building in New York City. They wave him away. Kamil’s sincere smile does not flicker, and his eyes are already across the street on a meandering white couple in white sneakers.

“Winter is good for me. It is cold. Everybody wants to be inside, so I can make up to $900 a week. Now everyone wants outside.” New Yorkers elbow past him, mostly ignoring Kamil. But it’s not busy New Yorkers that he’s looking for. Kamil is after the tourists with the white sneakers, the Europeans in shabby chic, the wandering sometimes bewildered stare. Some might call Kamil a hustler.

Kamil is far from his village. 5,000 miles far. Nobody would know where his village, Kete-Krachi is, so he defaults to busy Kumasi city, the “heartbeat of Ghana”. Born on the second day of 1964, the same year the Beatles landed in the US, Kamil was born in a home with “nothing”. Traveling to Kumasi city, he visited distant relatives, “My mother is related to the father somehow.” After Kamil zones out in a moment of fond reminiscing, he continues, “Alhaji saw me and liked me.” For some reason, the wealthy relative’s son, Alhaji Mohammed took Kamil under his wing. Kamil began working for the family’s international business doing menial tasks. Days turned to weeks, then weeks into years as Kamil won the trust of Alhaji’s mother, Sakinatu.

“His mother did not understand at first. She used to ask, ‘Why? Why him?’” But Alhaji persisted in his watchful care of Kamil, and Kamil earned a role as a trusted manager of the family business. It was then, while overseas in Saudi Arabia, that Sakinatu insisted on buying a gold tooth for Kamil. Still, Kamil never received a fixed income. He had simply become part of the family; living with them, eating with them, working with them. He worried about not having his own money.

“What would happen if they died?” So Kamil immigrated to America. He began in the only place where he could get a job, security. His face darkens, “That was a depressing time of my life. Always depressed, always alone. So much stress then.” Kamil worked the night shift and spent hour after hour alone in an empty building and living alone in the Bronx. He looks like a different person as his shoulders slump when he recalls the loneliness and separation from his wife and five year old daughter. The separation was too much for their marriage. After five years working security, Kamil jumped at an opportunity to work for CitySights Bus tours selling tickets. As though released from a nightmare, Kamil’s face glows again, “This changed my life.” He loves people, “I thought people were more hostile and harsh. But I began to watch people mingle.”

Back under the Empire State building, Kamil has pulled out Manhattan on a glossy fold-out map from his vest which is stuffed with similar maps. Kamil has large thick hands and it seems he is pointing in every direction as he explains to the man wearing thick horizontal blue stripes and trainer pants. The rounded vowels roll as the man asks Kamil questions. His wife stands to the side looking disinterested, taking occasional drags from a smoky stub. A fleet of blue and red double decker buses pull up alongside the Empire State Building.

“See? They are always coming and going, you ride any!” declares Kamil victoriously. Now, the rhythm of Kamil’s spiel quickens and his voice crescendos, still friendly but more urgent. A credit card appears and Kamil has a sale. He swings a unwieldy credit card machine from around his neck. He has seen good business. The strap is well worn and is reinforced in places with clear packing tape.

The wife has joined the conversation now and is smiling warmly. While they wait for the transaction to complete, they ask Kamil where he is from. The receipt for eighty-six dollars each prints out followed by their tickets, a seemingly never-ending strip of thin toilet paper blowing in the wind. As on cue, the sun breaks through the clouds. They all pose for a picture together with smiles, arms wrapped around one another. They have become friends. Seven years after arriving in America, Kamil says, “This is America, we are all immigrants.”

kamil’s new friends