Going My Way?...

Last night, I was walking home from a friend's place when a rumbling, old truck pulled up beside me. I was slightly conscious that I was carrying more money than I usually do when I'm out walking, but I wasn't too worried. After all, I have a distinct size advantage over most Pakistanis. So I continuted walking and looked over at the truck that was now keeping pace with me. A man leaned out the passenger window and asked me something. From the intonation in his voice and his gestures, I guessed that he was asking directions. I just stared at him for a moment. It was dark, so I wanted to give him a second to register just who he was asking for directions, but it didn't seem to phase him. He thrust out a piece of paper with an address written on it.

Now, there's something in me that always makes me stop in these scenarios. I don't know what it is. I can be walking in a city I've never been in before in my life and if someone stopped and asked me directions, I would listen to them, contemplate, and then tell them I have no idea where they're talking about. All this would be much simpler if I just started out by saying, "No, I don't."

So here I was, with a piece of paper in my hand, sweat dripping down my forehead, looking at the anxious man in the cab of the truck. I held the paper up to the light, and was surprised that the address was in English. Even more surprising, I knew where it was! Miracle of miracles. Now this was exciting. A Canadian was about to give directions to a Pakistani in Karachi, in Urdu even. What fun! Quickly, I drove through a mental map, assembled a patch work quilt of my Urdu directional words (those being strictly limited to... right, left, forward, back), and then told the man where to go, so to speak.

I stood on the side of the road gesticulating wildly. The men in the truck nodded and smiled, every once in a while one of them would say something that I couldn't understand anyway. Anyone passing by must have thought we were involved in some sort of crazy, cross-cultural game of charades.

I finished my masterful description and stepped back. They smiled and thanked me. I felt a swell of satisfaction at having accomplished such a monumental task. Self-Satisfaction which admittedly deflated slightly as I watched them head down to the intersection and drive off in precisely the wrong direction.

Oh well.