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near
another open area. Jen hurried ahead and found a good vantage point
like before. She determined to stay put and wait as long as it took
to find her aunt. As before, people walking by gave her strange
looks. Women and men alike frowned at her and seemed to look about
the area as if wondering who she belonged to. “Mind your own
business!” she wanted to shout.
    Three hours later, Jen was sitting on a bench
near a different portion of the bazaar, watching the few people
still walking in and out of the bazaar. She watched with little
interest and even less hope. She was hungry and scared. The bazaar
was closing soon, and Jen was worried that she would be out here on
the street when it got dark.
    A car door closed nearby, making her jump.
She turned and looked up the street toward the sound. A taxi was
parked next to the curb and a slender man was leaning against the
fender lighting a cigarette. He had his other hand cupped around
the cigarette and lighter as if protecting the flame from a
non-existent wind. “It’s him!” Jen thought. “He’s the
creepy taxi driver from the airport. Oh great! Could things get any
worse?" She looked back toward the bazaar hoping more than ever
that someone she knew would walk out and save her.
    “Salaam,” said a man’s voice. Jen turned
slowly, hoping it was not the driver.
    It was.
    She glared at him and looked away. He said
something she couldn’t understand and sounded friendly enough, but
Jen continued looking the other way. “English?” he asked.
    Jen’s eyes opened in surprise and she turned
in her seat to face him. “Yes,” she replied. She didn’t want to
give too much information away, but she realized she desperately
needed help from someone. Maybe this was God sending someone to
help her?
    “Are you lost?” he asked in heavily accented
English. He looked around as if searching for her parent’s or
friends.
    Jen considered how to answer. Finally she
said, “Well, I guess so. I was at the bazaar with my aunt and we
got separated. That was hours ago. I know she is looking for me,
but…”
    He took a long drag from his cigarette and
nodded in understanding. “American?” he asked.
    Again, Jen hesitated, but eventually
answered, “Yes, why?"
    He smiled and took another long drag. He blew
the smoke to the side out of his mouth and held out the cigarette
to her. Jen shook her head and leaned away. He shrugged and took
another drag. After exhaling, he said, “I thought so. I can always
recognize a fellow American.”
    Jen raised an eyebrow and looked at him
sideways in disbelief.
    “Really!” He laughed. “I was born in
Chicago." The smile faded and he added, “My sister too." He paused
to stare ahead as if remembering something. He took another long
drag and let the smoke roll out of his mouth slowly. Jen turned her
head to look away. Something about it made her uncomfortable. “We
moved here to live with our uncle when our father died. Our mother
was too sick to take care of us on her own. That was twenty years
ago." Dropping the cigarette, he stepped on it and scuffed it
against the pavement with his shoe. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take
you home.”
    Jen laughed nervously and said, “That will be
a trick." To her utter embarrassment, she started to cry. She wiped
the tears away furiously and sat up straight. “No! You will not
cry!” she told herself silently. She took a calming breath and
looked at the taxi driver. “I have no idea where that is. I just
got to Tehran early yesterday morning.”
    The man looked confused and wrinkled his
brow. Then he smiled and excitedly said, “You! You were the girl at
the baggage area!”
    Jen looked down and nodded. She thought of
her father chastising her for walking out alone. “I wish you
were here right now dad. I need you!" She looked up and
shrugged. If you had driven us I could just say “take me to the
same place,” but we took a different taxi."
    The driver smiled and winked at her. “Do