Brave New World

June 2007. I am in a taxi hurtling through the streets of Toronto en route to Pearson International Airport to catch a flight to London. My driver, an Iranian immigrant who has lived in Toronto since 1988 appears delighted to discover that I am genuinely interested in his country when I mention having recently read two books about Iran. We stop at a red light and from under the journey log sheet on his clipboard he pulls out a folded Iranian newspaper, holds it over the steering wheel and begins reading aloud, translating from Farsi, moving his finger under the text from right to left to help keep his place while he resumes driving. The newspaper article speaks about the importance of Persian civilisation to the development of the ancient and modern worlds. I nod repeatedly in agreement to each significant point, making frequent eye contact with my driver through the rear-view mirror. We have several near misses with other vehicles but my driver remains unperturbed, reading, translating. Looking up from his newspaper, he abruptly interrupts his reading to tell me that his brother and his best friend were both killed in the Iran–Iraq War in 1986. That's why he ‘got out’ shortly after and cannot return unless there is a change to a more moderate regime. By the way, he asks, did I know that there is a Bobby Sands Street in Tehran? I nod again at the mirror. He encourages me to visit Iran, says I could pass for an Iranian woman. Wouldn't my freckled face give me away, I ask? No matter, he insists.

July 2008. I am again in a taxi, this time driving sedately through the streets of Toronto en route to the airport to catch a flight to London. My driver, an immigrant from Pakistan, tells me he has a master's degree in mathematics and once held a prominent position in the Pakistan finance ministry. Eight years ago, he brought his family to Toronto where, he says, he can make much more money driving a taxi than he can at home in a good government job.