Zufiker

Zufiker - Zufi was our houseboy in Dubai.  He worked during the day as the "Tea-boy" at a construction company.  At night he hurried between two or three flats like our corporate flat.  He wasn't very good at cleaning but our flat was barely occupied so it didn't matter.  Zufi was from Kerala State in India.  I got to know him over a three year period as he came over 6 nights a week to clean.  He had a wife and two young children in Kerala - we would wistfully look at his village in Google Earth and then look at my (to him) mansion.  I got to go home to my family every few weeks, he:  once a year, probably for the rest of his life.

One day Zufi came in the door and proudly announced that he'd gotten his Dubai driver's license - quite a feat for an Indian as they were discriminated against.  I recall getting pulled over by a local cop for driving too fast and taking an illegal turn.  What this? he asked of my Missouri license.  USA I said - he looked at me, looked at it and concluding it must be true waved me on with an irritated gesture.  Zufi would have gone to jail.

I said, great!  Let's go for a drive!  He gulped.  "Me?" he said.  "Yes, you" I impishly replied.  Zufi considered me to be the equivalent of some Fortune 500 CEO from America, not the part owner of an unprofitable one horse tech distributorship.  To drive the Big Dude from America around in the Company Car freaked him out.  That first time we went out he only drove 10 minutes and came back drenched in sweat.  But over time he became comfortable and I would have him drive me around in the evenings.  I think he actually lost money doing it - he drove instead of cleaning other client's flats.  But he loved it.  The freedom, the sense of mastery and control, something that a poor boy from Kerala never dreamed of experiencing.  And I got a kick out of it too, despite the fact that his English was awful, and both of us could hardly order soup in Hindi, we had fun.  He would pick out south Indian songs on the radio and sing them to me, I'd pick out songs on the classic rock station and sing to him.  It was a hoot.

On one of the last trips that I made to Dubai before the collapse Zufiker came in downcast.  Didn't want to drive.  I asked him why.  His slim, tiny frame was stooped in defeat - he could hardly look at me, tears glistened in his eyes.  He said:  "my company - they no pay".  How many months?  "Three".  "My wife say I have Dubai lady, I no have".  It turned out that his construction company had gone 'bankrupt' which in Dubai meant they stopped paying their people.  I had read of it happening with increasing frequency but I had never seen it up close and personal (I would almost experience it a few short months later).  What would he do?  What could he do?  His company held his passport, controlled his Visa.  His job in Dubai was the only hope his parents and children had - as it was he lived off of his houseboy fees and sent everything else home.  What was he going to do?  I pulled all the money I had out of my wallet:  500 Dirhams, about $150 and gave it to him.  I left the next day - he disappeared, I never saw him again.

I pray for him sometimes, for his family and his two daughters.  Life is hard for the poor of this world.  But I most like to remember him driving next to the "Big Boss" in Dubai, accelerating to 90 MPH on the freeway, singing to Pop Indian tunes, smiling, laughing, alive.