Joseph Quaderer is a student in the Langone program. On September 14th he’s going on a 6 month sabbatical to Kampala, Uganda to work for Educate! a non-profit organization that teaches native Ugandans and refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Burundi and Sudan the necessary skills to start and scale social enterprises - financially sustainable organizations that also address important social problems. While abroad he’ll be writing a bi-weekly column for the Oppy.
“There’s someone outside.” One of the girls said.
My friends and I were out at our summerhouse – a time-share in the East Hamptons that we’ve shared for the last three years. Everyone was playing beer pong, or listening to music or watching the Yankees game when the mysterious man appeared outside. He stood against the long vertical window on the side of the door peering into the house. He didn’t knock. He didn’t ring the bell. Nobody knew how long he had been standing there.
My friend Andy walked to the door. The man stepped back onto the porch. He was wearing a short, rounded hat and a thick cotton robe that stretched to his knees.
“Can I help you?” Andy asked the man.
“You called a cab?”
“We called Rafiqe.”
Rafiqe was the cab driver we’d befriended during our first summer in the Hamptons. He had the cheapest rates in the Hamptons - but he was also a kind man that knew each of us by name and would pick us up whenever we needed it.
“Rafiqe sent me today. His van is too big to make this trip.” He peered into the house. “He said you only have nine people.”
“Yeah.” Andy said. “Slow weekend.”
The man nodded.
Andy looked at his watch. “Its only 10:50. I told Rafiqe 11:30.”
“That’s fine.” the man smiled warmly. “I have no problem waiting – I just wanted you to know I’m here.”
Andy thanked the man and shut the door. “Cab is here people!” He yelled. Everyone began slugging down the remainder of his or her drink. The club was a half hour away and the drink prices were through the roof. As one of my friends says, “you don’t want to be feeling any pain when you get into the cab.”
We were going to a club named Dune. It was founded by Noah Tepperburg, the owner of some of the biggest night spots in the world - Marque, Avenue, Avo..etcetera. At any given time at Dune you could run into any number of celebrities from Lindsay Lohan to Fabulous to Scary Spice. Depending on your viewpoint Dune was one of the coolest places on earth or one of the lamest and most pretentious. I’ll leave that discernment to you.
After everyone had walked out of the house Andy asked me to shut off all the lights. My reward for this feat was sitting “shot gun” in the van – which meant I had to lodge between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat (which was occupied by a 6’4’’ 240 pound man). The van was so overloaded that the muffler scraped the driveway as we backed away from the house.
I looked at the driver. “Is it okay if the muffler is dragging?”
“Its fine. It happens occasionally.”
We drove down Montauk Highway, made a left on Old Riverhead Road and finally onto the Sunrise Parkway headed east. By that time the sound of the muffler grating against the pavement had been erased by the chatter of everyone in the van, the Lady Gaga blasting from the stereo and the ocean breeze blowing through the open windows.
Being as I was basically sitting on the cab drivers lap I decided to make small talk.
“Hows business been?”
“Very slow this summer. Very slow.” He admitted. “Last year at this time every single house was full of people looking to go to the bars. This year every other house is empty.”
I shook my head.
“This is my first trip today!” He exclaimed. “What a long day. I fasted all day and now I’ll work all night.”
I looked at him puzzled.
“Ramadan.” He said. “Do you know what that is?”
“I know it’s the Islamic month of fasting.” I said. “That’s about it.”
“Ahh.” He replied. “At least you know that.”
I nodded.
He continued, “It’s the ninth month of the Islamic calendar – a month of fasting and refraining from eating, drinking, smoking and anything else that’s ill-natured. It’s supposed to teach the Muslim’s patience, modesty and spirituality.”
I nodded again.
“A time to repent of sins.” He said, looking at me (and away from the road) for all too long.
I sat in silence, reflecting on what the man said and listening to the sounds of the people in the back of the cab.
“What do you think of the Muslim Religion?”
I was taken aback. It was an uncomfortably direct query. Most people don’t speak like that. They beat around the bush and ask tangential things. There was no mincing of words here. It was offsetting, yet refreshing.
“I think it’s beautiful.” I said. “I think all religions are beautiful – Judaism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Islam and so on – it turns ugly only when people use religion as a tool to carry out other agendas.” I thought some more. “Religion, in my opinion, is mans interpretation of divine law. There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ religion – they’re just different mediums humans use to achieve the penultimate goal – unity with God.”
Perhaps I wasn’t quite as eloquent in the cab, nonetheless my point got across.
“My name is Dawud.” The cab driver stuck his hand out. “What is your name?”
I shook his hand. “I’m Joe.”
Dawud and I spent the next twenty minutes discussing everything from the differences between Islam, Judaism and Christianity to his time as a Golden Gloves boxer in the seventies to the wisdom that comes with age to him almost dying after being struck by a hit-and-run driver to his newborn child to my trip to Africa in four weeks.
“You know,” Dawud, said, “There are problems between the Muslims and the Christians in Africa.”
“Not in all parts.” I responded. “Uganda has a peaceful interaction amongst Christians, Muslims and other religions.”
While I’m no expert on this topic, I do know that although many parts of Africa have peaceful coexistence between Religions there are also many parts where differing religions have fueled animosity. There are tensions between some of the Northern Islamic countries and the sub-Saharan Christian countries. This disparity between the north and the south is perhaps nowhere more evident than Sudan. Sudan, which borders Uganda to the south, was formerly a British colony. When the British vacated the country they left a power vacuum with two VERY different religions, people, natural resources and ways of life. These differences, among other things, have fueled the crisis in that region for decades and resulted in the loss of countless lives.
Religious confrontation is of course not specific to Africa; indeed there are MANY places in the world where religious confrontations have been more pronounced, prolonged and devastating. I only highlight the conflicts in Africa because that is where I’m travelling. My pleasant conversation with Dawud, and reading about the peaceful coexistence of religions in and around Uganda reminds me of what is possible not only in other parts of Africa, but the world as a whole. I’ve been told that the denizens of Uganda are some of the friendliest, most genuine people on the face of this earth. I hope to learn a lot from their beautiful culture and people.
Dawud dropped us off outside Dune. He walked around the front of his car and we shook hands and hugged – it was an odd occasion for such a deep talk and the development of such an appreciation for each other. He gave me his card and told me to call him whenever we had fewer than ten people and Rafiqe wasn’t available.
After Dawud got into his car he rolled down the window, “Be careful and have fun Joseph!”
I gave him the thumbs up.
Having such an intense conversation on the way to Dune put me into a different mindset – I found myself more detached and reticent than usual. Just speaking with Dawud, who’s background was vastly different than mine, opened my eyes to the fact that I was about to learn so much about a different culture AND so much about myself.
Inside the club – at the table next to ours, one of the girls gave the waitresses an earful because she brought a bottle of Absolut vodka instead of the requested Grey Goose. And it made me think about what was important in life and just how far-removed my life was from real, palpable life and death decisions. I looked around the rest of the club – filled with girls in backless dresses and guys dancing on the couches and bottles with sparklers attached to them so that everyone in the club knew who was dropping the big bucks. I couldn’t help compare this sight to the pictures I’ve seen of Kyangwali refugee camp in Northern Uganda and think of how fortunate I was. I also couldn’t help but wonder what my perspective would be like upon my return. Would I appreciate places like Dune more or would they seem profligate?
But those experiences were still a month away and the night was young. I grabbed a drink, walked out onto the dance floor and soaked everything in.
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