I carefully selected my outfit, putting as much thought into it as I would for a close friend, considering what she likes, or at least what I believe she likes. I opted for Uber Black, the highest level of Uber available, for my journey to Malibu. The driver estimated it would take about an hour and a half to get there, giving me plenty of time to resist the urge to reveal my destination.
Finally, unable to contain my excitement any longer, I blurted out, “I’m going to meet Rihanna, to interview her. That’s where we’re going,” over the radio.
The driver immediately turned down the radio, intrigued. “Rihanna? No way! She’s my girl,” he exclaimed. “I love her. She’s so down-to-earth. Always keeping it cool with her friends and family. Her and Melissa, they’re the best celebrity friends. I always say that.”
I nodded in agreement, acknowledging his reference to Melissa Forde.
Excitedly, he showed me a photo of himself with Rihanna on his phone. She looked radiant, and he beamed with pride. “She heard my accent and asked me where I’m from. She’s so nice. I knew she would be,” he shared.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“I’m from West Africa, Niger. I came to play soccer for the University of Idaho. Oh, that’s another thing I love about Rihanna—she loves soccer,” he replied.
As the conversation flowed, I learned about Oumarou Idrissa’s journey surviving in Los Angeles after his student visa had expired. He recounted sleeping in laundromats and sending small amounts of money back to Niger, where his large family struggled to make ends meet. Our discussion carried us through the beach traffic, and as the SUV cruised along the coastal cliffs, the topic of Rihanna briefly slipped from our minds.
“I can ask her anything for you,” I offered.
Oumarou pondered this for a moment, contemplating deeply. “Yeah, here’s my question: When is she going to West Africa? Many celebrities avoid visiting there because of the poverty, but I believe Rihanna has a good heart and could pave the way for others to follow. Also, if she needs a driver, security, or even a French teacher.”
“Or a soccer teacher,” I added as we arrived at Geoffrey’s, a posh restaurant in Malibu. I informed Oumarou that I might be a while, but he insisted on picking me up after the interview. He was eager to hear Rihanna’s response to his question.
“Don’t be nervous,” Oumarou reassured me as I stepped out of the car. “She’s really nice.”
The next hour and a half was spent with Jennifer Rosales, Rihanna’s dedicated assistant. We sipped on drinks and delved into personal topics, including Jennifer’s plans for starting a family. I carefully balanced my alcohol intake, ensuring I maintained a light buzz throughout our conversation. It was a challenge, but it paid off when Rihanna’s manager, Jay Brown, informed me that this was one of her first interviews in years.
Suddenly, there she was—Rihanna, with her vibrant red lips, lavender nails, and captivating presence. As we sat down, she complimented my eyes, drawing her chair closer. I awkwardly reciprocated the compliment, feeling a bit tongue-tied in her presence. Glancing at my prepared questions, I searched for a suitable opening.
‘‘Do you search the Internet?’’ I asked, ‘‘And if so, what do you look up?’’
‘‘Oh, random things. Like I will be sitting around Googling childbirth.’’
‘‘Could be more random than childbirth.’’
‘‘Childbirth is putting it the not-gross way. I was searching the size of certain things, and how much they expand, and then what happens after. …’’
‘‘It’s gonna be fine,’’ I said from experience. Also, I wanted to add, ‘‘You have a special body. Nothing you can Google applies to you.’’ I asked her what kind of apps she had on her phone and she mentioned something called Squaready.
