This is a story about why i will never know a certain taxi driver's name

I'd like to think his name was Mohammed (and it's a pretty good guess), but i'll never know for sure. I never got the appropriate chance to ask his name, and if i had i do not think he would have heard me. He was slowly gnawing on a roasted sweet potato, i was in the back seat with two friends, and steve was in the front.

"low samaHt? momkin wara il marriote fi zamalek?"
(excuse me? we need to go behind the marriot on zamalek)

nothing, no response

"low samaHt?"

still nothing, but steve was laughing his head off. Our taxi driver was oblivious to the fact that we were speaking. it may have been that his sweet potato was so incredibly scrumptious that he didn't care where he was taking us. looking back, however, i think he simply could not hear.

"wara il marriote fil zamalek," we repeated

"ahh," he said gruffly, "wara il marriote"

assuming all was well, we continued to giggle about this man's lack of hearing...or maybe just social skills. Muhammed continued to drive us in the right direction, so we calmly discussed (in english) what we thought about this driver. Now, by this point in our ride we began to think that he had a few issues. He drove with a slight slouch over the steering wheel - the way you drive when your window is still icey and there's one small clear spot near the defrost outlet.
When we reached our first curve, similar to a clover-type on/off ramp on the interstate (except tighter), we realized something was wrong. He began the curve well but seemed to increase speed as we went around. bracing ourselves for whatever was to come, Mohammed his the brakes when he realized how tight the curve was. I could not help but continue to laugh as i imagined us hurdling off of the road (yeah, i know...not exactly the funniest thing in the world; but i laughed when i fractured my leg too...).
With the curve safely conquered, we discussed how old this man might be and how we thought that he must have poor vision and hearing; we were right. As Mohammed maintained his stoic disposition, we came upon a concrete divide in the road. Imagine a boulevard beginning where the center section has a point - like driving into a giant piece of pizza or pie (or like a fork in the road). you must decide whether to go left or right. This pizza-like median is concrete, however, and the curb is about a foot and some high (and square).
Everyone in the car saw it coming, but no one believed it would actually happen. Our driver seemed to swerve one way and slightly back to the other; he locked up his breaks...
"O shit!" (steve, not me...i just laughed and laughed and laughed)
BOOM!
I guess he was hard of hearing, slightly blind, AND indecisive. We clobbered the pizza shaped median and all the driver, still stoic, did was turn his head, look at steve in the front seat, and calmly say, "malesh" (which means: no problem, don't worry, or nevermind). i could no longer hold in my laughter and lost it (but not in front of the driver; i felt really bad for him, but that's for another post). It was too late before the driver realized where he was going. The front of his car (a peugot 504) was on top of the median and oil was on the ground. Men from the side of the road instantly came over to help; we paid the man, hopped in another taxi and laughed our way to our destination...i didn't dare tell him, but i think he'll need an alignment :)