The Pick Up

Greetings Folks,

This week has been filled with old experiences with a new flavor.  There has been a flurry of activity that has kept me chuckling to myself for one reason or another.  For instance, taxis are a primary form of transportation for me in Dubai until I get my own car.  Those of you who followed my international assignment in Kenya know that I became quite accustomed to having a car and driver at my beck and call. 

I miss my daily exchanges with my former driver Brian (or Kinoti) who is truly an old soul who is wise beyond his years and has an opinion about everything.  Well, Dubai doesn’t require that level of care or security.  Companies are quite content with you getting a car of your own to dent and/or wreck at will.  Both gasoline and insurance are cheap here so employers are willing to take the risk.  There are plenty of nice cars driving around here all banged up. SMH. The more I watch the drivers on the road though, the more I think the driving here isn’t any worse than New York, so I’m good.

Anyway, I’m getting more and more accustomed to grabbing a taxi in the morning on the way to work and for the return trip in the evening.  The distance from my hotel apartment to the office is not far at all so it’s rare that I will have time to have in-depth conversations with the drivers, if at all. 

In the situations where I have had conversations, the discussions have been very basic.  

Most assume I am from Africa and are surprised when I say I’m from the States.  One driver even apologized for assuming I was from South Africa when I informed him of my nationality.  I told him that his assumption was not an insult to me.   I would be proud to be from just about any African country. 

Most of the taxi drivers have been from India or Bangladesh, but one day this week I had the privilege of meeting a taxi driver from Pakistan.   His name was Naeem (pronounced Nah-eem) and almost immediately I knew this was going to be a different ride.  As soon as I got in the car he asked, “Where can I take you beautiful lady.”  Now considering the fact that it is almost as hot as hell here, it takes a minute or two for me to remember my inviting personality. 

I quickly told him to take me to Deira City Center Mall and proceeded to look out of the window.  Now in the States, this would have been a sure sign that I didn’t want to be bothered.  When he continued the conversation by asking me, “So, where are you from pretty lady.”  I quickly looked up like, why is he still talking when I’m back here trying to cool down and remember my personality. 

Well, when I told him I was from the US, he quickly got excited and said, “Ah, you are an Obama girl!”  Now, I love my president, but I always find it interesting that people outside of the States assume all black people have to be for Obama.   You never know, I could have supported McCain or Romney.  LOL, okay even I couldn’t keep a straight face on that one.  But, in somebody else’s reality, that could have been the truth. 

Anywho, Naeem went on to tell me his views on race relations and why he thought that all people should be treated with respect.  For some reason hearing his monologue on race equality in his Pakistani accent made me smile.  Naeem must have taken my smile as a sign because he flipped the script and asked me if I was here with my family.  When I said no he asked me if I was married.  I told him that I didn’t think I could do something like this (work internationally) if I was married.  He then asked if I had a boyfriend.  I had been looking out of the window, but that question made me look at him. 

He had been looking at me through the rear view mirror.  I shook my head no and continued looking out of the window.  Naeem went on to say, “So what are your plans.”  I said, “Well I have a few things to pick up at the mall and I want to checkout the rest of the shops since its my first time here.”  He says, “No, no, no, I mean what are your plans for a boyfriend.” WTH!  I looked at him with confusion, not knowing exactly what the right response was. So I thought I would politely shut him down by saying, “Oh, I don’t have any plans for that.”

Naeem was not going to be deterred.  He began telling me how he was a nice guy looking for a nice girl.  He said he was a poor taxi driver, but he could make dinner for me or take me to the disco.  Disco?  Really?  I found myself staring at him with my mouth half open. He continued by saying, “I no want your money, just have a good time.” I just wanted to go to the mall and pick up a few things.  In the process I was being picked up by a Pakistani taxi driver.  SMH. 

Now Naeem wasn’t bad looking at all and he was a big guy (over 6’ and definitely 200 pounds) who clearly worked hard most of his life.   For a split second, the hood-rat in me thought, “you know it is kind of difficult to get taxis every now and then.” LOL. But the reformed Christian heathen in me said using him for taxi rides would not be the right thing to do. J The sane person in me said using this man in anyway would not be the ‘safe’ thing to do.   In Kenya, Master Pu ended every conversation about an African male with, “Don’t get chopped up.” Sure enough, his voice was in the back of my head.  LMAO!

Before I could say anything to Naeem he said, “You take number and think about it.  One weeks, two weeks, I still be free.” Right after that, because there is a God, we arrived at the mall.  He stopped the car and turned around and said, “You take number?” I had my shades on so he couldn’t see me glaring at him.  Since I wanted to get out of the car and he had the child locks on, I said sure. 

He went to hand me a pen and paper, but I said I will put it in my phone. 

He proceeded to spell his name and give me his number.  As he gave me the once over with his eyes that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck, I repeated his number back to him.  He said “uh hmm,” when I was done.  I paid him his money holding the furthest edge of the ten-dirham bill (arab dollar) I could without dropping it.  He said thank you and added, “You think about it,” shaking his head as I got out of the car.  SMH.

Needless to say, I didn’t call Naeem.  Then again, it hasn’t been one weeks, two weeks…he’s still free.  LOL.  Join me here next week folks so I can tell you about my first yoga class in Dubai and my first ride on the metro

Never a dull moment,

Della Rochelle

Copyright © Della R. Williams