A Man Named . . .

Finishing up the semester, I had to run over to the university printing office to get some certificates ordered.  The UAE being a third-world country, a simple task like this requires more than a simple phone call or email.

You have to

(1) travel across town

(2) meet some guy you've never met before and will likely never seen again

and

(3) pretend like he's a good friend.

In most cases, he isn't around.  And most of the time--since folks here rarely answer their office phones--you can only find out if he's there or not by traveling across town to his office.  The efficiency here is a model for the rest of the world.

Today I'm lucky.  I travel across town.  The guy is in his office!  I introduce myself.  He introduces himself.

"I am Jihad," he says.

I keep my face blank.  Part of my brain wonders if he's joking.  But then I remind myself that no one jokes in this country.  Still, it's hard not to laugh, or at least smile.  I know not to repeat his name, for fear of losing my composure.

I sense that a man named Jihad would not respond kindly to me laughing at him.

So, long story short, I have a new friend named.  His name is Jihad.  He's going to make 32 certificates for me by 3 p.m. Tuesday.