Kindness of strangers

Orienting oneself to a new place often involves embarrassing mistakes, cultural ineptitude and the kindness of strangers.

Getting from downtown Nablus to my apartment requires taking either a 10 shekel taxi or a service (pronounced: ser-vees), a shuttle service that typically costs 2 shekels.

I took a taxi home from downtown after my first day out in Nablus.  It was getting dark and I didn’t know where to catch a service.  I ineptly stuttered through the name of the small convenience store near my home, a landmark I was told to use when taking taxis.  The driver, who spoke no English, indicated he understood where I wanted to go.

As we drove away in the wrong direction, I wondered where we would end up.

We eventually pulled up next to An-Najah University campus, which is where I will work, but not where I live.  I said “la” (no) and pointed in the direction of my apartment, across the valley and on the next hill under a copse of trees in the distance.  He then drove me to another place that must have been student housing associated with the university.  Again I said, “la” and pointed.  While living in India, I knew enough Malayalam to get myself places.  Here, I can’t yet complete a full sentence.

One of the An-Najah students, Muhanad, had shown me to my new apartment a few hours earlier.  He spoke beautiful English and was very kind.  He had given me his phone number and encouraged me to call whenever I needed to.  So, I called my Nablus lifeline.

“Hi Muhanad, it’s Catherine.  I am so sorry to bother you, but I don’t know how to get home!”

I handed the phone to my ever-patient taxi driver and Muhanad saved the day.  When I took the phone back from the driver, Muhanad said, “Call me when you arrive safely.”  It reminded me of what my girlfriends and I would do after a late dinner or night out in Chicago.  We’d part ways and take the CTA home, texting each other when we arrived.

The driver pulled up to the supermarket I knew was near my apartment but, even now, I wasn’t sure which way was my apartment.  He must have seen the look of confusion in my eyes, because he pointed to a driveway and nodded at me with encouragement in his eyes.  I paid him 20 shekels, not sure if it was jipping him or me (after all the driving, I’m pretty sure it was jipping him), and walked down the driveway, quickly realizing where I was.

I called Muhanad to let him know I was home and thank him for helping me.  A few minutes after tromping through the apartment, my seven roommates began to return home after their day.  Most of them are internationals who speak Arabic well if not fluently and they told me what to say to the taxi driver next time.  If it weren’t for a patient taxi driver, my emergency lifeline, Muhanad, and seven welcoming roommates, I might still be circling the city searching for my apartment!