My Morning Commute

 

Not being able to communicate with my driver, Mohammed, is such a missed opportunity. The guy used to be a policeman and there's so much I want to ask him about, but we can only communicate in the vaguest of hand gestures and conversations with other people who speak our respective languages.

This morning he fished around for a cassette tape and then proudly played the one American song he seems to have been able to lay his hands on. It was Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting," a song I adored when I was a senior in high school about 20 years ago! I started to sing along, to acknowledge my appreciation for this touch of home he was able to provide for me. On the way home this afternoon, it was back again, this time on repeat... I wonder if now I'll have to hear that song several times a day for the rest of my stay here. A very sweet gesture, though. Shoukran!

Mohammed has been extremely reliable and dependable and he sort of treats me like he's my uncle or something. I am always happy to see his smiling face waiting for me. I come out my gate and there he is every morning. We take off towards the office and head out on the divided highway that runs north-south through the city. The sun is rising to my right, coming up above the mountains that surround the city. In the distance is the obscenely sized al-Saleh mosque, built by the president at some ridiculous cost -- I've heard reports of $20 million and $120 million! Either way it's a vulgar cost for a country that can't provide its citizens with their basic needs.

 

We swing a U-turn just past the mosque and head back on the other side of the highway, past Pizza Hut and KFC and in the direction of Fun City amusement park. The need for U-turns can be infuriating sometimes... Whenever possible, Mohammed takes a little shortcut that requires us to lawlessly drive the wrong way in oncoming traffic for a short stretch. It's something that would probably drive me crazy in another country, but here it's kind of funny to me and it shaves a good five minutes off the drive. Not that I mind though. It's an easy commute -- 15 minutes maximum. 

When we get in the area of the office, we turn right and pass a tea shop where dozens of men are always sitting on the ground having their breakfast. I always wonder who they are and what they will do with the rest of their day. If I could, I'd ask Mohammed. I'm sure he'd have a story to tell.