Every time I flew in 2023, the plane was filled with an inordinate number of immigrants. The day before I traveled the first time, I noticed a small group of seemingly African men perched underneath a palm tree, as I nonchalantly showed up three minutes late to my Global Entry appointment at the Customs and Border Immigration office adjacent to the local international airport. My TSA Precheck had expired so I figured I would apply for Global Entry since one of my credit cards would reimburse the cost. The ominous feel in the lobby of the building reminded me of the hall where Dorothy and her traveling companions spoke to the Wizard before realizing he was a complete charlatan. I was quickly buzzed in, told my tardiness was inconsequential, photographed and given a new, temporary Global Entry/TSA Precheck number. The idea of walking in socked-feet, where thousands of others have trodden effectively disgusts me. I carefully examined the men, entrenched, while I drove away – hovering heavy, under a thin, dehydrated tree. A few scattered satchels of worldly belongings haphazardly resided on their own island a short paved lane away. If these men, some appearing to be Muslim, were living outside of our local U.S. Customs and Border Protection office, how the story was not international news I couldn’t fathom. The Warm Couscous Salad I enjoyed tonight was first prepared with quinoa, by a woman who owns the number one restaurant in the nation according to Yelp, a Mexican, mostly vegan establishment, though I’m more into vegetarianism; I tasted it when she was striving, selling food with her Mother from a small table at a farmer’s market twelve years ago.

When we arrived at the airport the next day, the departure level was teeming with young African men, taut Spanish-speaking mothers and fathers with small children, and one very tall, young African woman. A polite, slight man asked me to help him check in. Thankfully he had already accomplished the feat, because my French is sufficiently abominable; obviously astute, the youthful traveler seemed to be seeking reassurance or connection more than anything. The air was thick, tense. Despite all assurances from the day before, I was sent back to the ticket counter three times – the problem was either my driver’s license or my boarding pass, still not sure which because no TSA or Delta Airlines agent ever bothered to explain what the problem was. As a Spanish speaking man in some kind of uniform yelled at me in Spanish, I began to wonder if I was going to make the flight. I finally made it through security then to the gate where my 85-year old Mother nervously perched in a wheelchair, awaited my arrival. We almost immediately boarded the plane as did the young Africans, and Spanish speaking families thereafter. No Ukranians ,nor anyone who appeared to be, were being yelled at in Spanish or any other language.

When I moved back to Tucson more than a few people asked me who I was, inquiring about my familial roots. I would often start by saying “my father was a dentist” and more than a few times people would exuberantly blurt “Dr. Thompson?!?” Hesitant to disappoint, I had to add “no, but he was my fathers’ mentor.” Dr. Floyd Thompson, born 1914 in Houston, Texas relocated to Tucson with his parents in 1919. Growing up in the Old Pueblo, he attended the segregated Dunbar School yet became fluent in Spanish while playing with neighborhood friends he could not go to school with. Graduating from Howard University School of Dentistry in 1942, Dr. Thompson participated as a member of the Dental Corp during World War II, stationed at then segregated Ft. Huachuca. After difficulty in finding a landlord willing to lease to him, he finally opened his Tucson practice in 1946; from that day until the late 1960s, Dr. Thompson was the only dentist that served Black or Brown patients in southern Arizona.

I asked the flight attendant what was happening to which she said even she didn’t know. She returned later to gossip and speculate, sharing that the non-English speaking passengers had been given food vouchers to use in the airport. Once we landed the young man I’d spoken to before said that he was being transported to New York City and that he would like to immediately find a job. I asked if he knew in which borough he would be living – he did not. We exchanged information on What’s App – I heard from him once.

The next time I flew a few months later, tension had subsided. The Southwest Airlines plane was full of Spanish speaking mothers with small children. We were late departing so we missed our connection, causing us to arrive at our destination close to midnight. I got a $25 veggie burger and fries in the Las Vegas airport; Mom didn’t want anything. She was sitting in a wheelchair near the boarding door, I had to sit a distance away because there were no available seats nearby. Quickly satiated, I walked over to give Mom the majority of my fries. When some small children began talking to her, she called me over because she doesn’t speak Spanish. She asked me to throw away the container of now cold french fries, which I did. I was devastated when I realized why the children had surrounded Mom – a Grandmother will always share her food. Like any former flight attendant, I always have some food stuff in my bag because you never know what will occur when you travel. I regretfully only had two packs of Scottish oatmeal cookies but with 3 to a pack, the mothers made sure everyone got something. If there were any food vouchers, these exhausted mothers did not know of them. I would have purchased them meals had I realized sooner what was happening. I spoke to the oldest child, a girl of near seven, about school and learning English, and why she couldn’t understand the only language Mom speaks. We have a Democrat now in the governor’s office yet we still are not communicating.

Make some legumes, perhaps Black Beans along with the best recipe for Warm Couscous Salad. Add broccoli or an entree of Guaymas Shrimp. Share with neighbors old and new.

Warm Couscous Salad

Warm Couscous Salad is a fine vegan entree or side dish that is ready in the time it takes to chop the vegetables.

• Paring Knife
• Measuring Cups
• Tablespoon
• Saucepan
• Large Spoon
• Fork
• Medium Serving Dish or Bowl
• 1½ cups Water
• 1 cup Organic Couscous
• 1 tbsp Olive Oil
• 1 Edwards & Sons No Chik'n Bouillon Cube
• ⅔ cup Organic Tomatoes, chopped
• ⅓ cup Red Onion, minced
• ⅓ cup Organic Cilantro, torn or chopped

1. Add the water, bouillon cube and olive oil to the saucepan and turn the heat on high.

2. Once the liquid reaches a rapid boil, add the couscous.

3. Stir the couscous, turn off the burner and immediately remove the saucepan away from the burner.

4. Cover the saucepan while the couscous slightly cools.

5. Chop the tomatoes, onions and cilantro.

6. Fluff the couscous with a fork.

7. Add the couscous, tomatoes, onions and cilantro to the serving dish or bowl. Stir to evenly incorporate the ingredients and serve immediately.