So I lost my cell phone today. I know I left it in the service taxi somewhere between Ramallah and Azzun. I took it out of my jacket and put it into my left sweater pocket and remember thinking, don’t let it fall out. My sweater pockets are shallow. It fell out. And after I had paid the driver, run over the freeway, dodged a military vehicle, jumped into a car with a local and got out in Jayyous, where I live, I realized my cell phone was missing. Now, of course, my first thought was damn, and then the mind races for a few moments while you think of how you can get it back, but within a minute the facts add up, and you know it’s gone. At least I would know that back home in South Africa; lose a cell phone there and you would have a better chance of ending the Israeli occupation by Friday. But this is Palestine. I tried to call. Twice there was no answer. It’s gone I thought. The finder will use all the credits and then simply buy a new sim card.
I told my colleagues and they suggested I call our regular taxi driver. These guys chat to each other all the time. Perhaps he knows something. So I did, and within a couple minutes the cell phone was answered, the situation explained, and a plan made. I got my cell phone back. Neither language, distance nor simple greed could get in the way of a complete stranger driving back to Jayyous to deliver my cell phone to me. I didn’t even tip him. That’s a Palestinian for you.
