‘The Interpreter’ is the English version of Arabic novel ‘Al Tarjuman’, authored by Ashraf Aboul Yazid, an eminent writer and poet of Egypt

“This country, from the start, was all sand… sand… sand… sand, maybe there were two palm trees, two camels.”

This country has suffered a lot. A country full of sickness. Full of pain. Full of sorrow. Full of death. There’s no easy day. There’s no simple day. Everything is hard.

A person comes to Kuwait all healthy. Health goes. He comes to Kuwait with lots of hair. Hair goes. Good teeth… teeth go. He goes to the hospital… but there’s no medicine. He waits for the doctor… but there’s no treatment. Everything is for Kuwaitis. A non-Kuwaiti has no rights.

Yes, in India, there are no Muslims, but we have the law above us. Everyone is beneath the law, no matter if they’re Muslim, Christian, Hindu… everyone is equal. But here in Kuwait, thank God… it’s all Islam… all mosques… all sheikhs… everyone holds a rosary and says “Allahu Akbar.” But the law is only for Kuwaitis. If you’re not Kuwaiti, “Go. Go. You’re worthless. A slave. A beggar.”

I have a generous Lord, I’m not a beggar. I have work. Morning work… afternoon work… night work. Sleep is little. Food is little. The money for “Shiko” in India is little.

My name is “Abdul Rahman.” I’m a taxi driver. I’ve been in Kuwait for ten years, working, but no benefit. The first two or three years, I paid installments for my work visa through an agency here.

After two or three years, the company owner said:

“I’ll pay the car installment, after five years, the car will be yours.” I said, “Okay.” Every day, I pay three dinars. Some days there’s work. Some days I make 10 or 20 dinars. But some days, there’s not even one dinar, or half a dinar. This is besides the fuel, the rent, the food, the phone for my children in India. It’s fate.

Sometimes, there’s a generous customer. I have a few customers, thank God. For example, “Mohsen” Pasha, an Egyptian, different from others. I thought at first he was Lebanese, but he didn’t smoke cigarettes, no high-strung nerves. “Abdul Rahman” only sees the smile of “Mohsen” Pasha.

The first time I met him, it was by chance, in the street. I drove him from his house to his office, which was very close. I told him, “One and a half dinars.” “Mohsen” Pasha gave me two dinars and said:

“I don’t have change. Maybe tomorrow I’ll give you just one dinar.”

He laughed.

The next day, I waited for “Mohsen” Pasha at the same time. He appeared, saw the car, and said, “You’re trustworthy.” I said, “No, I’m ‘Abdul Rahman’.” After that, he was like clockwork, appearing at the same time. I told him that Egyptians must be called “Pasha.” In our taxi company, every Egyptian calls another Egyptian “Pasha.” He laughed and said, “I’m not a Pasha, I’m an ‘Efendi’.” I said, “No, I’ll call you ‘Mohsen’ Pasha, no ‘Mohsen Efendi!’ Pasha is easier.”

I told him the history of this country. I was here in Kuwait first. He came after “Abdul Rahman.” I know more. I know the whole history of Kuwait; this country, from the start, was all sand… sand… sand… sand, maybe there were two palm trees, two camels. Kuwait… Dubai… Saudi… Bahrain… all of it, all of it, sand, two palm trees, two camels, then oil, people from Palestine, people from Egypt came to teach, but there was no knowledge, the donkey is still a donkey.

“Mohsen” Pasha laughed, but said he didn’t like insulting people or animals. I told him I’ve lived through a lot of injustice. I preferred to pay the car installment for five years, year after year, dinar after dinar. One month missing, and then the taxi car would be “Abdul Rahman’s.” No more sponsor, no more Kuwaiti. I only paid commission to the office, but all the dinars from the taxi fare were “Abdul Rahman’s.”

The company owner got angry. He said I had to buy a new car and start paying for a new car. I told him, no.

I took my car and went to the traffic department for a car ownership license. I had to transfer the ownership from the taxi company to myself, and the taxi should be under “Abdul Rahman’s” name. In the traffic department, the officer laughed as soon as he saw me and stamped the paper saying the car was junk, it couldn’t be driven on the road, it was dangerous!

Yesterday, the car was fine, today it’s scrap. God, this is unjust. The car was perfect. But the officer wanted to make a problem for me.

At the traffic department door, I saw the company owner laughing with the same officer.

I saw “Mohsen” Pasha… Ten years of “Abdul Rahman’s” work was wasted, and “Abdul Rahman’s” car was lost, because “Abdul Rahman” thought to say no once.

“By God, this is injustice, ‘Abdul Rahman.’ And how harsh it is, the injustice of one human towards another. The company owner didn’t want you to stand on your own, he didn’t want you out of the loop. They might stretch the rope for you, but you won’t move beyond the chain.

Listen, ‘Abdul Rahman,’ you told me you sold the car as scrap for 200 dinars. I’ll give you the same amount, and you have to decide. Go back to your family in India and start a life there, or stay and try to survive. But don’t torture yourself with thoughts every day, make your decision, Abdul Rahman, after the decision, you’ll rest. How hard it is to live on the swing of indecision.”

“‘Mohsen’ Pasha, you made the right suggestion, but ‘Abdul Rahman’ is a coward.”

Every day I wait for “Mohsen” Pasha in front of his house in the morning. The time is exact. And I wait in front of his office in the afternoon. The time is exact.

Once he told me:

“What do you think, Abdul Rahman? My daughter traveled to Canada yesterday. I don’t want to eat alone. I’ll invite you for lunch. I’ll bring you Indian food, exactly how you like it.”

Instead of going home after work, we went to a five-star restaurant called Avanti Palace. Sometimes I’d pass by this restaurant and look at the prices. Everything was overpriced. I grabbed the menu. All the prices were steep.

“Mohsen” Pasha told me:

“I really like a very nice dish here, butter chicken, Chicken Makhani. I’ll order it with garlic bread, and Prota bread, white rice, green salad, and lentil soup. I’ll order the same for you. Same, same. You’re my guest, but I’ll choose for you.”

After a Maharaja-style lunch, I drove “Mohsen” Pasha home.

The next day, I went at the same time in the morning. “Mohsen” Pasha was waiting for me. Five minutes later, he was in front of his office, got out of the car, and raised his hand in greeting. Peace. Peace. He had a big smile. He entered the building. At the time for leaving his office in the afternoon, I waited. But I didn’t see “Mohsen” Pasha. The building guard came out. I asked him about “Mohsen” Pasha. The guard was all sad. He told me:

“‘Mohsen’ Pasha went to the hospital.” (Continues)

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Published under International Cooperation with "Sindh Courier"