In the cacophony of vendors shouting at me at the Karachi airport, he stood there smiling. A real, and pretty confident smile, through his thick brown beard. Then he said "well just come in and take a look, why not?".
I spent the next half hour picking up souvenirs and chatting with him.
"M. Abed" said his badge. M for Mohammad - a prefix for a huge number of names in Pakistan. I equally introduced myself using mine and my father's name -- when I say "Mohamed" people look at me as if expecting the logical rest of the name..
"I started at 11. I finish at 11. Then my colleague comes and he stays from 11 AM to the next morning".
"Wait a second. You're telling me you do 24-hour shifts? Are you mad?"
"No no, it's much better this way. Less than a day, no time to spend with my family. I finish at 9, get home around 10, but I can't sleep because zuhr (noon prayer) is at 12. So I wait, do my prayer, then get some sleep. Then I wake up at 4, do the 'Asr prayer, then have some food. Then get some sleep. Then I wake up to pray Maghrib, and spend the evening playing with my son, and if I want to go out with my wife, we can. Wait, I'll show you his picture".
He fiddles with his phone and shows me a couple of photos of a handsome young boy in a white shalwar kamiz, with his school bag on his back.
Abed's smile widens. It's an uncontrollable smile. And he's no longer talking to me.
"His name is Assem. He's 8. He's the best thing in the entire, entire world".
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