Despite the impression I gave in my last post about my being a sucker for the two movers, it is misleading to think that I would be regarded derisively if I saw them again. On the contrary, they love me and expressed it with avid smiles on both their faces, especially the mutawah when my brother-in-law and I returned to the used furniture souk to hire a truck, though not necessarily theirs, as it was too small for the amount of furniture N. wanted to transport to Abu Dhabi.

They popped up shortly after we arrived. We were dickering with another Pakistani with a mobile phone who was summoning a bigger truck.

N. has a way with lacking words that I don't have in my dumb show of my stammering ESL teacher fluency in English. One must not be fluent in pidgin English but rather in haggling, getting from one hurdle to the next and knocking the opponent's price down without pause and compunction. One must be totally unscrupulous. One must only show impatience for the lack of words that cannot express the audacity of the opponent's high price. One must be aggressive if one is on the defensive and cool and calculated on the attack.

N. is a master at negotiating and haggling, though he was handicapped by my presence, the white boy. The Pakistani mover was grinning when I shook his hand and the mutawah grinned with a girlish sparkle of glee in his eyes when I shook his hand. He probably remembered that profligate gesture of generosity, plunking a dirham coin in a gumball machine at J.'s that day and getting a handfull of chocolate rabbit turds that I gave to him and he munched with relish.

N. expressed a sudden indignity when the Pakistani with the mobile asked for N.'s mobile number.

-- Why you want my mobile number?! I will not give you my mobile number. You will not tell me the price! 'Shoo hatha'! What you want it for?!

N. stood his ground as the Pakistani with the mobile phone grinned at his mobile whose buttons he was pawing with his thumb as he held it in the same hand. N. had a valid point I thought. Who knows when his truck would arrive? It was getting close to the noon prayer-call on Friday, the Muslim day of congregation, and we had no time to lose before everyone would be at the mosques.

The price he had quoted was 400 dirhams to Abu Dhabi for a big truck. N. had looked away in derisive disgust and maintained his hands on his hips.

I told N. we could go to Sanaiya, the industrial part of town, to find a truck, so we left them in the lurch and drove away. No, they did not come running after us with an offer at a lower price. They did not even sniff at N.'s initial offer of 200 dirhams.

I got the idea to call R., who knows his way around town, and get his opinion. He directed me to Buraimi, the sister city of Al Ain, which is in Oman. Before the border check point we found some trucks parked, bigger ones, where he had said. Once I had come to a stop, the car was surrounded by about a half dozen Pakistanis and Afghanis. Most of them were laborers. The driver insisted on two movers to accompany him, but N. just as insistently said he had laborers in Abu Dhabi, that he just wanted a driver and a big truck. The driver said 350 dirhams. To prove his point N. began to caress his mobile phone by lightly touching the buttons with his thumb just as the Pakistani had done. N.'s laborer did not answer his call, however. Nelson compromised by deferring to at least the offer of one laborer at 50 dirhams, to make it an even 400. (Keep in mind that's about $100 U.S. for a trip 135 km. away, from Al Ain to Abu Dhabi. It takes me half a tank in my Honda MRV for the round trip and that's about 45 dirhams.)

We told them to follow us in my MRV, but we noticed that three or four laborers got in the back of the truck. N. went over to the truck and gesticulated with his arms waving no, and only two remained in the truck with the driver. I told N. that perhaps we should have chosen which laborer we wanted. One of the Pakistanis at my window had gently poked my shoulder, smiled and pointed to himself with a nod.

The driver did not lift a finger for the lifting, leaving all the moving to the laborers, which is customary for reasons of spreading the wealth around I suppose. They did their work quickly and finished the loading in good time.

N. gave each of the laborers 20 dirhams and they protested that it wasn't enough to take a taxi from Abu Dhabi, a development I had not forseen, as if N. and I could help it whether the driver was not going to drive them back to Al Ain from Abu Dhabi! N. then gave them another five dirhams each for a taxi in Al Ain and got in the truck in a flurry of gesticulations with his arms and a strident voice of protest against their insoluble plight and looks of dumb despair and jumped into the truck. His laborer had finally called N., so he did not need them afterall. They appealed to me with looks of bewilderment, but I deferred to the master N. and calmly closed the gate on them and returned to the shelter of my flat.

Shortly later I left my flat, a bit apprehensive that they would have stormed my flat and pounded at my door. They had vanished in a matter of minutes, probably hurrying to answer the noon call to prayer.