Subway Ride to the Airport in LIsbon.

It was 6:30am and I was sitting in a noisy Lisbon subway. We were on our way home. Two subway rides, and then the airport. The subway was pretty crowded at this hour. People going to work. We needed to make a change of trains, and most  subways stops have only extremely long stairs to their trains. We have all our luggage with us. It will be our morning exercise. I sat across from an African man. I look like a tourist. Camera bag over my right shoulder. Small purse over my left shoulder. Small canvas bag in my lap. I am wearing western clothes. My hair is still wet. It was not my best look, but, for the time of day, it had to work.
After a few stops, I look up at the African man. I notice that he has been staring  at me. He does not move, he does not blink. I watch him as his deep brown eyes examine my soul. Stop after stop, he continues to watch me. I say nothing. But for the rest of the day, hours after the subway ride, I feel his eyes examining me. Hs intense eyes were not kind, his eyes were judging me. Those eyes had only hate in them. If his eyes could talk, he would be telling me that I do not belong in his county and to quickly go away.
I have other experiences with African men on the trains and subways. One man purposely cut in front of my as I made my way to the escalator. These men were proud men, and you could tell that in their culture that I was inferior to them.
At the airport stop, I watched a very tall African Man walk in front of me. He wore a long sand colored dress, and wore hand made sandals on his feet. He had a long stride of a walk and his dress flowed open as he walked to his gate.