Queue and me against the world

Al Ghuwaifat Khalid Rashid's home is his cab — a Volvo tractor unit with more than a half a million kilometres on the clock.

The truck began its life rolling over the roads of Portugal 15 years ago, just about the time Khalid was getting behind the wheel of a car for the first time. He too was 15, almost 16.

Back on the farm near Damascus, few were concerned with the legalities of driving age — it was a rite of passage not a legal right.

For the next few years, Khalid kicked around Syria and Lebanon, driving small trucks for a living.

"It was fun and it taught me a lot about being on the road," he recalls. Practical stuff like how to maintain an engine, bleed brakes, do regular maintenance to keep the vehicle moving and making money.

Right now, sitting on a dusty side road in a seven-kilometre stretch of trucks waiting for days on end to cross into Saudi Arabia, Khailid's rig isn't moving and he's not making money. There's nothing to do but sit, wait, talk, wait, drink coffee, wait — then wait some more.

Lonely life

"It is a lonely life driving," says the 30-year-old father of two. He reaches for his mobile phone, proudly showing off his son, Abdul Rahman, who just turned one, a happy round-faced boy who's caught wide-eyed by the camera's flash. Then he brings up an image of his daughter, Batul, smiling for the camera as little three-year-olds unselfconsciously do.

His wife Eman looks after the family home in Damascus when he's away most weeks of every month.

"They are my life," he says, spending the long hours driving the GCC roads thinking of them and the better life he building for them one kilometre at a time.

Most truckers earn Dh200 for a three-day round trip between Dubai or Sharjah to Doha or Saudi destinations like Jeddah, Damman or Riyadh. If the trip is delayed — sometimes by days at an end as happened in June or over the past ten days — they still earn Dh200.

Khalid, however, is different. He came to Dubai ten years ago, and learnt to drive the big 50-foot articulated units at Emirates Driving School, mastering their six-forward semi-automatic transmission with ease. For the next four years he drove for Brothers Transport based out of Jebel Ali, doing regular runs to Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Bahrain.

By working hard, saving money and making the most of every opportunity, Khalid was able to break out on his own, purchasing the used Volvo FH12 tractor in Dubai for Dh90,000.

That was two years ago, and now he reckons it's worth Dh50,000 but good for up to a million kilometres.

On this run from Dubai to Jordan, Khalid is carrying pulses in his trailer. He's lucky. The trailer has a refrigeration unit with a separate engine and diesel supply. With the non-perishable pulses on board, he doesn't have to run to the fridge. If the fridge was running, the long wait at Al Ghuwaifat would be adding to his woes: How could he leave this long, snaking convoy to refuel, losing his place in the queue?

As owner-operator, Khalid will get Dh8,000 for the trip. He left Dubai with full tanks of diesel, costing Dh1,200, and he'll have to refuel again when he gets into Saudi Arabia — whenever that might be.

"In Saudi, diesel is cheaper," he says. "In Dubai, too expensive."

It'll take a couple of other fills for him to complete the 3,000 kilometre trip. And then he has maintenance costs, customs fees, insurance and tyres to pay for.

The refrigeration unit is making its first trip with him, Khalid having bought it recently in Damascus for the equivalent of Dh70,000 second hand.

"It is a hard life," he says.. "It''s also a lonely life."

But he's also lucky. He manages to get home to his family for about a week every month. Other than that, the tight confines of his cab is his domain.

If Khalid wasn't driving for a living, he'd long to be back on a farm near Damascus growing potatoes, onions and tomatoes."