Lost & Found

When I tell you the story I am about to tell, those who know me well won't believe that it happened to 'a friend' and not me.... but it did! Being the first weekend after payday, a few of us decided to return to the bazaar for some intense retail therapy. And it truly WASN'T me who left a handbag containing... well EVERYTHING IMPORTANT in the back seat of the cab. After the vehicle pulled away from the curb, S's face froze and she must have muttered a certain 4 letter word at least 10 times before screaming at me to ring her. I pulled out my cell phone to ring her mobile- which was still in her handbag with her wallet full of cash and credit cards (not that there is a use for credit cards here) and possibly her passport. No answer. I rang again. No answer. I rang 15 times non-stop.

What are the odds that a non-English speaking taxi driver would pull over, search for the mobile in a woman's handbag and answer it knowing full well that the owner and none of her party spoke Kurdish? He did! After unsuccessfully trying to explain to him that we were still where he dropped us, I panicked, flapped my arms at the nearest taxi driver on the street and handed him my phone. As it turns out, the driver (Mahmoud) was the other driver's friend. He had us jump into his cab and drove us to where the first driver had pulled over.... a considerable distance. S retrieved her bag. The first driver refused to take any money for time wasted while waiting for us. And Mamoud, lovely man, took us all the way back to the bazaar again and tried to give back the money we offered him even though it was just the fare for the return trip from the bazaar and back. Although it is easy to interpret some of the attitudes of people on the street as hostility, you can see we also encounter lots of warmth and honesty in everyday dealings. But just in case of emergency, we now have Mamoud's number stored in our mobiles.