The Stove Went to The Deaf Guy

One of my acts of compassion for the Ramadan challenge was to give our old, but working, stove to the guy who drives up and down the streets to pick up old furniture and stuff.

But he must have taken Ramadan off, as I never heard him in the last two weeks. So there the stove sat.

I offered it to one taxi driver who was begging me for ten jd to buy meds for his daughter (I told him where to go for free meds, and he wasn’t interested in finding out, first clue to truthfulness). He refused, muttering away “Shu behimni ma3 ishi musta3mel? A3teeni ishi jdeed” (Why should I bother with someone used? Give me something new!).

There it continued to sit. I would have offered it to the drummer boy, (who deserved a reward for never banging that thing loud enough for me to hear at 3am) but he came by our house when we were out. My landlord, Um Hawk Eye, told me. She tells me everything I miss when I am out, in chronological order, and I am grateful for her.

Today, the representative from the deaf/mute community came by for their Ramadan gift. This is one group we always give some cash to: not only for the cause, but because they are the kindest, most polite, and most grateful folks that come to our door. They used to scare the kids, as they confidently come right in the gate and knock on the window to get our attention (as if the crazy-barking dog, on high-alert, didn’t let us know of their arrival).

So the kids all call out in unison “Dad, it’s the deaf guy!”. The Hub said “Maybe they could use the stove”, and proceeded to shake hands and offered the stove in his own form of sign language. The young man, very animated anyway, threw his hands in the air, delight lit up his face, and ‘told’ my husband he would have someone there soon to pick it up. Sure enough, within an hour, he came back with a truck and another equally animated, delightful young man to load it.

There ends the story of my old stove.

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