7 Days in Savannah: We Ain't That Type Of Nigga

7 Days in Savannah is a recollection of my time growing up and being a young man in Savannah, GA. All stories are true and relayed to the best of my memory.


I was sitting at home playing NCAA football on the Playstation when my pager went off. From the code, I could tell it was my man, Kareem. From the 236 prefix, I knew he was calling me from the westside. I hesitated before calling him back, as I was about 3 minutes from winning yet another national championship; this time with Wyoming. With their subpar talent and ugly uniforms, that took some serious skills. As the confetti fell on the screen acknowledging my victory over the computer, I picked up the cordless and called the unfamiliar number on the pager display. I already knew what was up.


"Hello."

"What up, Kareem! You need a ride?"

"Yeah, but I need to talk to you. Meet me over on 37th and Jefferson. It's a house right down the street."

"Over there by where ol girl stay?"

"Yeah, I'll be outside waiting."

"20 minutes. Aiight, peace."

I hung up the jack, and put the colorful Fila shirt I was wearing earlier that day back on. I ran my brush over my head, then said "forget it" and threw on the Yankees cap I liberated from my brother. Grabbing the keys and the face to my cd player, I headed to my 91 Toyota Tercel and made the trip across town to pick up my homey. When I got there, Kareem's eyes were tinged with that familiar redness, a telltale sign that he had been smoking weed, drinking dark liquor, or worse.

"Yo!"

"Go head and park a minute. I wanna finish this blunt."

I parked and got out the car, walking towards an old house, that had 3 or 4 rough lookin' dudes hanging out on the porch. It was one of those places that in a few short years would be taken over by the Savannah College Of Art and Design in the name of urban renewal. Or gentrification depending on your point of view. Politics aside, I sat down on a makeshift chair, really a milk crate, and waited for Kareem to pass the blunt. The 3 or 4 other guys paid us no attention as we inhaled and exhaled the cannibis in silence. Finally, I broke the calm.

"What's going on, man?"

"I f*cked up"

"What happened?"

"For real, I f*cked up really bad."

I sensed this was something that had to come out on organically, so I said nothing else. Kareem stared off into space, stopping only to spit occasionally. When he was ready, he spoke.

"I hit Chandra."

"Huh?"

"I hit her."

Chandra was his girlfriend. He was living with her in an apartment on the Southside of town. She was good people. Perhaps a bit naive, but her nurturing nature was perfect for my friend. I wonder if she knew at the time that he was into drugs other than weed. I myself, had just recently learned that my best friend in the world was on that powder. It shook me to the core. It was difficult to fathom and even more difficult to reconcile. I can only imagine what it would have done to her. Kareem offered me the blunt, but I thought about the constant spitting and declined.

"Son, what are you talking about?"

"We got in a fight last night and she was in my face. I was geeked up. And I just hit her."

"I don't even know what to say. We may be a lot of things, my nigga, but we ain't that type of nigga."

"I know."

"I mean, where did you hit her? Are we talking a slap or full fledged punch?"

I don't know why I asked this question. It didn't make a difference. It was unacceptable, no matter how it went down.

"I punched her in the face."

"That's some f*cked up sh*t! You can't be doing sh*t like that."

"I know. You the only one I can tell about this."

"I hope you don't expect me to tell you that it's all right."

"I know it's not. And I know you will tell me the truth."

"Have you talked to Chandra? Is she okay?"

"She says she's okay. She wants me to come home, but I can't face her."

Then more silence. I didn't know what to say next. Part of me wanted to beat the tar out of him, but the other part wanted to be there for my friend.

"I'm not taking you over there. I'll drop you by your mom's crib, but I can't bring you back over there."

"I need to see her, dawg."

"You gonna have to find another way."

"She wants me there."

Tears formed in his already red eyes, although I could tell he was trying to hold them in. I could see what looked like grief and remorse on his face. I could sense an absolute sense of panic in his words, and against my better judgement, I finally relented.

"If she says its okay, then I'll do it."

We got in the car and drove back to the southside. No further words were exchanged by us. I sat there dazed, a little from the weed, but mostly from what I had just heard. Redman bumped from my 6x9 speakers as I pulled in the apartment complex.

"You ready to roll this weed up? Whateva, man"

"Turn the music down, Rashan."

"You ready to get this chedder? Whateva, man"

"YOOO!!! Turn it down!!!"

Kareem had a serious look on his face. I muted the cd player and listened.

"Park in the back, dawg."

He got out the car and sat on the trunk. I followed suit and did the same. I barely recognized the quivering voice that soon followed.

"I need to change my life. I can't keep doing this same sh*t every day. Getting high, running around with Tori. I got a good woman, and I treat her like crap. I need to get back with God, man."

"Do it."

"I need God's deliverence. I need him to deliver me from this coke."

"True."

"Jesus is the only one that can save my life."

"Word, son. I feel you."

"Pray with me, dawg! I got to get these demons out of me"

"Aiight."

So we prayed. Two high cats in the parking lot of an apartment that just hours ago was the scene of domestic violence. Kareem's tears flowed freely at this point. No longer did he hold them in. He had a breakthrough. I wont lie. I was filled with hope. Time would tell what would become of him, but in that moment, I had hope that my friend would turn his life around. The weed and liquor was inconsequential to me at that point. If I needed to give that up to get my brother back, then so be it. In his darkest moment, I felt closer to Kareem than ever. He walked to the door unlocked it and then turned around.

"You're right. We ain't that type of nigga. Thanks for reminding me."


There really is no moral to this story. What he did was horrible, and I don't know if at this point in my life I could be there to work through it with him. I'm not as forgiving now as I was 10 years ago. Nevertheless, this was one of the days in Savannah that always sticks with me. One of the days that I realized that people do messed up things to people they love. And sometimes it's people you know.