Visa issues have plagued my first month in Kuwait at Gulf University for Science and Technology. When someone with pull in the Human Resources department resolved the visa issue favorably, I journeyed out by taxi that evening, when the temperature was still above 100, in search of a chocolate shop to buy a thank-you gift.
No luck. The nearest mall had nothing. Neither did any of the shops for blocks around. I returned to the mall to seek help.
A cab driver was outside, having a smoke. Did he know of any chocolate shop nearby?
His gestured in Arabic but I couldn’t understand a word. After a couple of attempts, I surrendered to language barriers and gave the driver the name of the hotel where I was ensconced for a few more days.
As he pulled into traffic, the driver made a phone call. After a minute or so, he handed me the phone. “English,” he said.
On the other end of the phone was someone who spoke some English. I said I hoped to find a store to buy chocolates for a gift. Pause. I repeated. Pause.
Finally, I guessed that he wanted me to hand the phone back to the driver. They talked more in Arabic.
The cabbie drove past the hotel. After a few blocks, he stopped in front of a chocolate shop. Gift baskets were visible through the windows.
The driver motioned to the bench seat in his taxi. “Stay,” he said. I thought he was asking, so I said, no, he could drive on and I would walk back. It looked to be about six blocks.
No, he gestured. Stay.
I went inside, bought the first box I saw, paid in Kuwaiti dinars, and returned to the waiting cab.
I saw the taxi fare meter had been turned off. I asked, “how much,” and hoped he would understand. He just shrugged his shoulders. I gave him more than I had paid the other taxi to head to the mall. Was that fair?
“No problem,” he said in English and shrugged again. “No problem.”
This Kuwaiti taxi driver could have just settled for collecting another fare. He could have privately grumbled about a visitor not speaking the language. He could have bemoaned his station in life, earning a subsistence living dependent on the whims of the carless while hanging around a fancy-pants mall.
Instead, he called a friend who understood some English. He had his friend find out what I needed so he could translate it for him. He drove me to the shop and insisted on waiting while I bought the chocolates. And he asked for nothing but gratitude.
That’s a real gift.
No luck. The nearest mall had nothing. Neither did any of the shops for blocks around. I returned to the mall to seek help.
A cab driver was outside, having a smoke. Did he know of any chocolate shop nearby?
His gestured in Arabic but I couldn’t understand a word. After a couple of attempts, I surrendered to language barriers and gave the driver the name of the hotel where I was ensconced for a few more days.
As he pulled into traffic, the driver made a phone call. After a minute or so, he handed me the phone. “English,” he said.
On the other end of the phone was someone who spoke some English. I said I hoped to find a store to buy chocolates for a gift. Pause. I repeated. Pause.
Finally, I guessed that he wanted me to hand the phone back to the driver. They talked more in Arabic.
The cabbie drove past the hotel. After a few blocks, he stopped in front of a chocolate shop. Gift baskets were visible through the windows.
The driver motioned to the bench seat in his taxi. “Stay,” he said. I thought he was asking, so I said, no, he could drive on and I would walk back. It looked to be about six blocks.
No, he gestured. Stay.
I went inside, bought the first box I saw, paid in Kuwaiti dinars, and returned to the waiting cab.
I saw the taxi fare meter had been turned off. I asked, “how much,” and hoped he would understand. He just shrugged his shoulders. I gave him more than I had paid the other taxi to head to the mall. Was that fair?
“No problem,” he said in English and shrugged again. “No problem.”
This Kuwaiti taxi driver could have just settled for collecting another fare. He could have privately grumbled about a visitor not speaking the language. He could have bemoaned his station in life, earning a subsistence living dependent on the whims of the carless while hanging around a fancy-pants mall.
Instead, he called a friend who understood some English. He had his friend find out what I needed so he could translate it for him. He drove me to the shop and insisted on waiting while I bought the chocolates. And he asked for nothing but gratitude.
That’s a real gift.
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