half past nomad

I open the door, slip off my cellphone and get in the car. Painted white and golden, the air conditioned Corolla taxi whips off immediately. The pathan driver casually flicks the meter.

“Where?”
“Straight please. Behind the Al Muhairy Center.”
“Hmm”

He shrugs it off. He’s driven the streets of this tiny capital a thousand times. He knows the beat of the traffic signal, the rhythm of the street, the curves of each bend here. We zip, crawl, glide through traffic endlessly, a giant dodgeball game where you’re all ‘it’. Catch me if you can!

We pass by Mercedes, BMW 7 series and giant black Cadillacs. We spot a nexus of Lexus, huddled together as some sheikh drives by. We fly by Ferraris, Aston Martins and Porsche’s. We skim and dance away from the obvious Z’s, the fanch shmancy Mustangs and the freshly washed wet Vette. We drive in silence.

The Quran is on FM98.7

Soon I’m home and fumbing for change in my pocket. I can hear him breath easily, I can hear his fatigue whisper in his breath, I can hear his imaan articulate in his hearbeat.

“Assalamlaaikum wa rahmatullahe wa barakatuhu”
May Allah bless you with Peace, with His Mercy and His Barqat.
“Walaikum assalam wa rahmatullahe wa barakatuhu”
And may Allah bless you too with Peace, you too with His Mercy, and you too my brother in Islam with His Barqat.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 28th, 2004 at 12:16 pm and is filed under General Lee.