JEDDAH, 26 June 2003 — Once at home, I had to select what I was going to wear carefully, as I was told that the nationality of the driver determines who his customers are. Surely this couldn’t be true I thought to myself, but I wanted to see for myself. So I put on a pair of jeans and a checked shirt and hit the road. I used Jeddah International Market and Hera’a Mall and the Danube area near Tahlia Street as the testing grounds. They proved to be good spots for picking up fares. Over the next three days I picked up close to forty people from those areas.
As I sat in the taxi line in front of gate number four at Jeddah International Market, I saw a woman approach the car at the head of the queue. The driver was a Saudi wearing the traditional headdress. She passed him by and got into my car. I told her it was not my turn and that she should get in the front car with the Saudi driver. She ignored me and got in my car anyway, simply saying that she doesn’t ride with Saudis. When I prompted her for a reason, she told me that her Saudi husband does not allow her to ride with Saudis because of an incident in which the driver made a pass at her. I asked her what she was going to do when the taxi business in Jeddah was Saudized.
“We will probably have to buy a car and hire a driver,” she said. For this woman buying a car and hiring a driver was a viable and affordable option, but what about those that cannot afford to do that? What will they do?
A few hours later I was made to feel what the Saudi woman must have felt as she was hit on by the Saudi driver, as I picked up a 15-year-old named Omar. Omar got in my taxi and didn’t talk much, so I started a conversation with him in the best Egyptian accent I could muster. Omar responded immediately and started telling me a little about himself. Unfortunately for him, his ride ended abruptly as he got too fresh and friendly for comfort. Subsequently he was booted out of my taxi, accompanied by a few curt words that would probably get me fired when spoken to a customer in any other job.
I had been warned about this kind of thing happening but didn’t really believe it. In the three days I drove the limousine, similar things happened three more times. Once from another man and twice from women who didn’t want to pay the fare. At the Arab News office, my colleagues told me that this was not an uncommon occurrence.
One evening I picked up a young woman going from the city center to the Karantina area of Jeddah. The Karantina is an area well known for criminal activity such as drug dealing and prostitution. As I arrived at the destination, this young lady told me she had no money on her and that she needed to run upstairs to get money from her parents. I felt that this could be a scam. However, I was put at ease when she offered to leave her purse with me until she returned. Considering the area I was in, I agreed. I waited almost fifteen minutes for her to return with the cab fare.
When she didn’t show up, I asked the building’s caretaker where she went and he told me she went out the side exit immediately after entering. I retrieved her purse from the back seat where she had left it and opened it. It was empty and in very worn-out condition.
Each of the approximately 40 people I gave rides to had a story to tell. This was the aspect of the job I truly enjoyed. For a few minutes, you can interact with someone that you would otherwise never have met and engage in a conversation you would probably never have had. I realized that if you make a passenger comfortable enough, he or she will share with you something about their life. Perhaps the anonymity in the relationship between passenger and driver encourages people to talk.
In the past I was unforgiving on the road when it came to taxis. I would always insist on my right of way and wouldn’t think twice before cutting off a taxi.
After seeing the road from their perspective, I have become more understanding. After all, these taxi drivers are hustling to pay the lease on the car, competing for passengers with the other 50,000-odd taxis on the road and struggling every day, uncertain if they will make the money to turn a profit at the end of the day.
It is not an easy job. I averaged 13 riyals an hour when I drove.
Admittedly, I am not an expert taxi driver by any means, and the amount I made is not representative of those that know the ins and outs of Jeddah and all its districts.
Veteran taxi drivers know which areas of town to avoid at what hour of the day, and they know the backstreets and shortcuts of Jeddah. Those are the ones that can turn a profit.
To all the taxi drivers out there reading this, you have this journalist’s respect. To those that ride limousines, take a moment to talk to the driver, and for heaven’s sake, tip, tip, tip.