In 1986, a 50-strong Chinese delegation from various provinces was in Kuwait to meet, face-to-face, 50 Arabs from the different Gulf states to talk about a US$3.6bn package of joint venture deals. A lot of money for 1986.
The Chinese side were originally supplying their own Arabic-Chinese interpreters, but last minute said their interpreters weren’t coming after all. Not sure if it was cold feet on the interpreters’ part, or they didn’t have enough Arabic-Chinese interpreters to cover such a big event. The Kuwaitis, who were hosting this event, generously said they would provide a team of six English/Chinese interpreters. I was the second to be invited to form the team.
We were put up at the Hilton Hotel. A Mr. Ali from the Kuwaiti Ministry of Finance told us to go to him if we had any special requirements (e.g., photocopying, typing of documents). He set up a table in a corner of the foyer, with a telephone line and a typewriter, and was on duty most of the time throughout our three-day sojourn there. If he wasn’t at the desk, we would call him on the telephone.
When we were not actually in the conference hall interpreting, we would be in the foyer using the sofas and armchairs there to work on documents the Chinese would give to us last minute to translate. For one particular document that was quite long and a bit trickier, Mr. Ali offered us his suite upstairs as it was quieter.
We were on expenses, dining at the six restaurants on offer in the Hilton, eating oysters, king prawns, lobsters, and steaks, and drinking milk-shake-glass helpings of fresh kiwi fruit juice or strawberry juice. Mouth-watering juices, eye-watering prices. (This would be the fuel for flying them in that the consumer was paying for.)
When we checked out on the fourth day, the man behind the reception desk emerged from the print room behind the reception area with a very long print-out which itemised every single meal and drink we had consumed over our time there. Room and board per person for three days came to a lot more money than what I was earning in a month at my Chinese computer research job.
I couldn’t understand why the man should be presenting us with this marathon three-foot-long print-out, unless it was for us to keep as a record.
It then transpired that he was expecting us to pay these sums! The conversation went something like this:
Me: But, we were on full expenses.
Man: (Grave expression on his face; graver, no nonsense tone of voice) That is not my understanding.
Me: The Ministry of Finance are supposed to be footing the bill.
Man: (Tilting his head, raising his chin and looking down his nose at me) I have received no such instructions. (Sub-text: “Yah, sure. Good try. Ministry of Finance indeed.”)
GULP.
Me: (Suddenly remembering Mr. Ali) You can verify with Mr. Ali. He’s from the Ministry of Finance and he was looking after us over the last three days.
Man: I have never heard of a Mr. Ali from the Ministry of Finance.
GULP GULP.
Me: He had a temporary office desk in the corner of the foyer.
Man: There is no such temporary office desk in the foyer now.
Oh help.
Me: (Suddenly remembering the suite) He has a suite upstairs, on the seventh floor. Please ring him. His suite number is xxxx, and his extension number is xxxx.
Man: That suite has been vacated. We have no record of the details of the occupier.
WHAT!?! This was getting truly surreal! I had visions of my washing up dishes at the Kuwait City Hilton for the next six years.
Then I remembered that Ken and I had gone the day before to see the Kuwaiti Minister of Finance with a business consultation idea of ours, and the Minister had given me his business card. I duly produced it now.
The man looked at the card for a while, then at me for another while, then at the card again, studying every letter of the alphabet printed on it, wondering if he should believe me. Eventually, he reluctantly picked up the telephone and dialled the number on that business card.
After a minute or so, he hung up, and said, “The Minister has confirmed that all your bills are indeed to be footed by them.”
I didn’t stop shaking for another few minutes after we stepped out of the Hilton. Talk about hairy moments.
(Kuwait 1986)
No comments:
Post a Comment