The spark

Tonight I had dinner at the Diner on Elm/Marrakech Café, which is my second home these days. Nancy, the co-owner, has become a close friend.Over a fantastic meal (special burger, no bun, lots of mushrooms and salad), I told her about my idea for a new project: I want to help newcomers to Cincinnati to settle into town, find their niche in the community, create lasting friendhips, and make the city a home rather than some random place to which their employer has coaxed them into moving. (I have heard many times what a hard time companies like Procter & Gamble have getting staff to move here and stay here.)

A guy who had been sitting at a table in front of me, facing me, for the last half hour or so piped up. “That’s me,” he said, in heavily accented English. “I just moved here to work at Chiquita, and I don’t really know anybody – just the people I work with. They’re all married and have families, so on the weekends, I have a hard time knowing what to do with myself.”

He is from Costa Rica and has been in town for two weeks. I gave him my email address and my phone numbers, and assured him that there is plenty to do in this town and people he should meet. He needs to take the initiative and contact me, because I’m not going to hound anyone into anything.

After he left, another guy at another table spoke up. “I heard you say you used to live in London,” he said. “I lived there, too, in Lewisham.” I resisted the urge to express my condolences. (South London! The horror!)

“You speak French,” I said to him. “I can tell.” Yes, he can, because he spent years in Brussels after leaving his native Rwanda. He’s in Cincinnati working for an exhibitions company. He doesn’t know anybody, either. I gave him my details and told him I could introduce him to some people and things to do.

We’ll see what happens.