Welcome to Dubai (The Traveler) by Omar Tyree Page B

on the floor and had to stretch out his legs to avoid stiffness. The armed guards showed him into a bedroom to the right of the kitchen that had been converted into an office. There was a small desk with a tall leather chair behind it where Mohd sat, and a much smaller chair in front of the desk where Saleem and the rest of the men were shown to sit. Behind Mohd’s desk were a small cot and a pillow for him to rest.
    Saleem sat in the chair across from the desk as a lone guard stood behind him with an assault weapon cradled in his arms.
    Mohd looked directly at the Pakistani and smiled. “You are a military man,” he stated.
    Saleem nodded. “Yes.”
    “But now you want to make a civilian living for your family.”
    Mohd spoke as if he knew everything. That was his way.
    Saleem paused and thought out his words before responding. “It was a very difficult decision.”
    Mohd nodded back to him. “I understand. I had to make difficult decisions as well. How many children do you have?” he asked next.
    Again, Saleem paused. He didn’t want to discuss it, but he had lost much of his family from the constant warring in and around Pakistan, including his young wife and children. It was a reason he had left his homeland, deciding to live a civilian lifestyle. If only that civilian lifestyle could be more profitable and respectful, he would have no complaints.
    “So you no longer have children or a family?” Mohd assumed.
    Saleem was surprised by this, and he remained hesitant.
    “I have lost loved ones as well,” Mohd told him calmly, “and my war was an economic one. I had a decision to make between my family and modest wealth, which was no decision at all. Every family must eat and have shelter; otherwise, you will have no family.
    “Do you know the man you used to work for?” he asked Saleem next. His questions were rapid and continuous, as if he had a lot to ask.
    Saleem shook his head, uncomfortable with not knowing. But he hadn’t come to Dubai to know all of his employers; he was there to work, provide a new living for himself and create some peace of mind.
    Mohd continued, “His name is Abdul Khalif Hassan. I used to work for him myself, when he was far too young to know his influence. I served as his first overseer on the construction of the International Suites hotel.”
    Saleem nodded. He knew that hotel. It was very popular with international tourists. He had imagined what it would feel like to have a room there for a night.
    “He owns that hotel?” he asked Mohd.
    The wise old man grinned momentarily. “Abdul owns many things, but he lacks the ownership of a strong
conscious.
In his world, the completion of a task overrules all of humanity. So the construction of his buildings will go on, regardless of who pays the price with death.”
    Mohd paused, then added, “Including my wife, Faiza, of thirty years, who needed money for an operation.”
    Saleem narrowed his hardened dark eyes, sharing Mohd’s pain. Men of pain could relate. It was spiritual. Even the armed guard flinched with irritation inside the room, and he had heard the story several times before. “You did not have enough for your wife’s operation?” Saleem asked him. He was immediately sympathetic. Deprived men lacked the monetary resources for many of the needful things of life, let alone the extravagances that men and women desired. Poor men had been trained to do without.
    Mohd smiled and remained calm. “I did. And my wife was able to have the operation. But I was not allowed to return home to be with her in the hospital, nor during the time of her recovery. I was asked by the
Emirati
child to keep it all in the hands of Allah. Not because of his faith, but because he needed my experience here in Dubai to finish the job of construction.
    “But I should have told him to keep his
construction
in the hands of Allah, and gone back home to Egypt to be with my wife and family during her operation and recovery,” Mohd added sternly.