The taxi driver and I shared one thing in common: indulging in the art of listening and understanding. From Sharjah he cruised at a constant speed towards Dubai. Studying his profile from time to time, I saw he was about 54, a sparse, almost ordinary man, but there was in his voice that indefinable tone, a persuasive softness, a tone calculated at once to awaken and to soothe, and in his eyes a twinkle, reflecting the state of a man who has found a treasure. We talked of spiritual things from various viewpoints. Midway, he asked me what exactly I did for a living and I told him, “I’m in advertising.” In response to my question about how he earned his livelihood, he smiled enigmatically and said, “The taxi is just an excuse to enable me to do something else, something worthwhile.” When I probed deeper, he turned and gave me long, hard look, as if sizing me up. “I think you are a good man; and a good man can always do more good,” he observed laconically and then lapsed into silence. Then suddenly, he asked, “What is your name?” “Idris.” I replied. “AlHamdulillah!” he exclaimed, and then said, “My other business, Idris, is Sadaqa”. “Sadaqa? What’s Sadaqa business?” I ventured, although I wasn’t unaware of what Sadaqa meant. But Sadaqa— an occupation? He smiled again, a serene smile and said softly, “You know my friend, in the world of mathematics, you can add, subtract, divide and multiply in precise quantities. You cannot increase what you have, by dividing it or giving it away. But, in the spiritual world, things work differently. “The more you give of what you value, the richer and more prosperous you become. Whether you give of your wealth, or your time, or your love, your care or wisdom, you can never impoverish yourself by giving generously. The Almighty will recompense our generosity in multiples of a thousand [alfan alfa].” I took a deep breath, trying to digest what he’d said. He looked at me sharply, “Sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. What do we really own? It is how we spend what is entrusted to us. “I gave a man in need a thousand dirhams,” he continued, “The next day, my brother called me from back home to say that our old house has been sold for a good profit of ten thousand dirhams. I helped build an orphanage, and the divisional court quashed a long running dispute against our farm. “Incidents like these keep happening to me, in cash and in kind. And I keep on giving, going out of my way to search for lost souls whom I can help with whatever I can.” He then quoted from the Holy Qur'an, “Who is he that will loan to Allah a beautiful loan, which Allah will double unto his credit and multiply many times?” He then looked at me with a radiant smile, “My brother Idris, ‘Fee Sabeelillaah’ (spend in the way of Alláh) belongs to the world of the heart and the spirit, not to the world of mathematics.” When we reached Dubai, I realized that I had learned a lot about life from this man, and asked him for his mobile number. He said, “We’ll meet again if it’s Allah’s wish. Until then, keep on giving. And, yes, remember, He will open the tap for you, all you have to do is to extend the pipeline.” I have followed his advice and today, I am part of the great invisible pipeline. It was three months later, when I stopped a taxi near the Dubai Museum. The man at the wheel was wearing a peak cap, his back hunched, his collar turned up, and his face hidden, while I had a kafiyyeh (scarf) wrapped around my face, for there was a sandstorm blowing. “How much for Jumeirah Corniche?” This was during the time when no meter taxis were around in Dubai. “Ten dirhams!” answered the driver. “That’s not fair,” I said. “What will you pay, then?” he retorted. “Thirty,” I muttered matter-of-factly. Without a moment’s hesitation he said, “Yalla—faddal!” (come on, get in!) At Jumeirah corniche, I promptly paid him the thirty dirhams I promised and opened the door to step out. “In a great hurry, Idris?” he asked.