Welcome to New Orleans.

“Where you from, darlin’?” she drawls in her thick, Southern accent.

Worn sandstone and balconies fenced with filigree iron fly past as the car swerves its way through the tiny streets. Mardi Gras beads, bars, antique stores. Troubadours, cafes, shouted football scores. I’m in the French Quarter of New Orleans. My taxi driver, an African American woman, negotiates every turn and dodges every stray tourist with ease.

The happiest person I’ve ever met, her face is constantly illuminated with a smile that engulfs her entire face. I marvel at her driving skills when, in the rearview mirror, I can see her eyes are almost closed due to her extravagant grin, and her head rocks from side to side with laughter.

“I’m from Australia,” I reply, finding myself smiling broadly, too.

“That’s a long way,” she says, laughing. “And what’re you doin’ down here?” Her voice is slow and warm.

I explain that I’m travelling the Deep South to visit important locations of the Civil Rights Movement, and I was heading to Memphis next to be at the National Civil Rights Museum for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

That brilliant smile widens, flashing like a sudden explosion of fireworks. I see her crooked, yellow teeth in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, yeah…he was an amazin’ man…You know, I got a 15-year-old son in school. The other day I ask him who Martin Luther King was, and he says, ‘he’s the guy who freed the slaves, wasn’t he?’” She unleashes another round of laughter and her whole body shakes.
“I said, ‘well…kind of…’”

It’s contagious. I can’t help it. I’m laughing, too.

We pull up at my destination, and as we do so, her laughter dies down for just a moment. She’s suddenly still and I notice a tone of reverence enter her voice.

“Mmm-hmm…Oh, he’d be amazed. He’d be amazed if he was here today.”

She helps me with my bags, takes my hands in hers and laughs.

“God bless you, darlin’,” flashing me one last beautiful smile.

Welcome to New Orleans.