Last night I had a great, positive encounter with someone wonderful. But it almost didn't happen.
I arrived at Salt Lake City Airport weary, after a long day of traveling, but mostly travel delays. I was so ready to grab my bag, get a cab and get to my hotel room which was about 45 minutes away in Park City. It was getting late...and I was getting tired and crabby. Sometimes I wonder why I tell everyone I love to travel because sometimes, well, I just don't.
While waiting for my luggage to arrive, I made my way over to a counter that said "Park City Transportation." I felt something inside me saying I should forgo the cab and try something different. I now realize that voice, a common one that I listen to, is not my friend. It is the voice of fear and oppression. Would I once again listen to it?
After taking one brochure, then proceeding to knock all of them off the counter and into one of the employee's lap, I found out how much a private transport to Park City would be: $99! That seemed like a lot of money so I took the brochure and picked up my bag.
Once outside the chill of the night hit me hard and woke me up. I went to the cab stand and asked the attendant how much a cab to Park City would be. She said she really didn't know, but that "we" could ask the next cab driver when he or she arrived. About five minutes later a cab pulled up and the driver got out. I asked him how much it would be to take me to Park City and he said the price depended on where in Park City. Basically his quote lined up with the booth inside that I had just visited.
But something inside me felt unsure, torn. Why? Sometimes when I travel, I feel apprehensive. I think some of that is a good thing, like fearing a flame or a hot stove top. But too much is not healthy. Anything that is not of faith is bad. That's what I believe, deep down, but I am a woman that travels alone for business all of the time and sometimes it gets the best of me. This was one of those times. I'm rarely this apprehensive about taking a cab. I usually just get in. What was wrong with me?
The cab driver didn't get it; he said his price was the same as what I was quoted inside (I had already told them what they had told me). He looked at me quizzically, almost defensively. I looked at the attendant, asking her what to do. She said she couldn't really advise me. I looked back at the cab driver who just did not get my hesitancy. Finally I said OK and off we went.
Soon after our trip began, I started to relax. Muhammad, my driver's name, started to engage with me, something that a lot of cab drivers don't do willingly. I am not one, when engaged, to back away, even though I am an introvert. I clam up in a crowd, but one on one? Rarely, if ever. I live for such opportunities.
Muhammad was not from the United States, I knew. A lot of drivers aren't. Just when I started to ask him where he was from, he told me he was from Sudan. He asked me where I was from and I told him Colorado. It turns out he was born in Fort Collins, a college town about 1.5 hours from Denver that I happen to be quite familiar with. Mohammed's father was quite educated and obtained his Master's (and maybe PhD.) from Colorado State University (the same college I graduated from years ago). He told me the story of how his father earned his education and how Muhammad and all of his siblings had been born in Colorado...and how he and I at least had that in common.
As we talked, I felt guilty about thinking negative things about him. He was very educated himself and could carry a conversation in English better than a lot of people I know that are from the United States.
I asked him about languages he spoke and he listed about 8 or 9. He spoke of the different tribes in Sudan and how his parents had come from different ones. He knew both of their tribal languages, along with Arabic, English, German and many more. I told him he was so much smarter than me because I only speak one language. He was quick to point out that it is not about being smarter than another person; that we are all at the same smartness level. He said it's all about your environment. He said that Americans didn't need to learn a bunch of languages; all we needed was English. This made complete and total sense to me and made me feel better about myself.
I then asked him about what religions are practiced in Sudan. He said half are Muslim and half are Christian. I asked if the two groups got along well and he said, "Oh, yes. It's not like it is in the Middle East. Everyone gets along."
He then talked about the Muslim/Christian/other religion thing and said, quite simply, that he was raised to judge people not on their religion, but on their character. He said Islam is not the same a being a Muslim any more than Christianity is the same as being a Christian. In other words, he was saying you cannot judge Islam based on how certain Muslims act any more than you judge Christianity based on how certain Christians act. There were good Muslims and bad; bad Christians and good.
He talked about how all religions lead to the same God; how everyone on a plane, whether they are in first class or coach, have the same destination and get there no matter what. I then said, okay....He must have sensed the hesitation in my voice because he said, "You may not agree with me, but that's my point of view." I responded, "I definitely agree with you on judging people based on their character and not their religion." This was something that hit home with me as I have judged many based on their religion and not on their character, many, many times. I could not agree with him on the "all religions lead to God" because as a Christian I simply do not, cannot, believe that. But we found common ground as two completely different people which was really the amazing part about all of this.
Muhammad taught me a lot on that 45 minute trip from Salt Lake City to Park City. When we got close to our destination he told me he liked me, really enjoyed talking to me. I said the same to him. When I got out of the cab, he said again how much he enjoyed our time together and told me if I needed a cab back to the airport, he would take care of me. I reached out my hand to him and asked for his name. He told me Muhammad. I just had to smile. Of course that would be his name, I chuckled to myself. I enjoyed my conversation so much that I did end up calling him back and using his service for the trip back to the airport. My conversation with him on the way back was even more pleasant than the previous talk had been. In fact, when we said good-bye, we hugged each other! And to think I could have missed out on the blessing just because of the judgments I had made...
An (Almost) Missed Opportunity
