A Remarkable Story of Trust and Integrity

In an era before written contracts and formal guarantees, honesty and trust formed the foundation of business dealings in Saudi Arabia. This true story my father sent me about 1950s Saudi Arabia offers a powerful reminder of how character and integrity shaped relationships across decades.

It was around the year 1370 AH (1950 AD). We were camel herders roaming the desert, and during one journey, our provisions began to run out when we were near the city of Unaizah.

We were a group of herders, but none of us had a single riyal, and unfortunately, we had nothing to barter — no ghee or dried yogurt to exchange for dates. It was agreed that I would go alone to Unaizah and seek out a merchant who might lend us some supplies until we could repay him.

I entered the market of Unaizah, scanning the faces of shop owners, looking for a trader who seemed flexible in this time of scarcity.

One particular man caught my attention; his face radiated kindness and leniency. I greeted him and explained my situation and that of my companions.

The merchant replied: “Had you been alone, I would have given you what you needed. But you are a group, and you require at least 40 riyals. That would harm my business, and besides, I do not know you.”

I was at a loss for words. His reasoning was strong, and as a Bedouin, constantly wandering through the desert, I had no certainty of when — or if — I would ever return to repay him. At that moment, inspiration struck me. I remembered the belt of bullets I was wearing.

I said to him: “Take this belt. It holds ten full magazines, worth 40 riyals. They are yours; sell them if I do not return within a month.”

The merchant’s demeanor relaxed, and he agreed. “Take 40 riyals’ worth of dates, and our agreement is set. If you return, we settle the debt; if not, I will sell the belt to recover my money.”

I took the dates and returned to my companions. The desert then swallowed us once again, pushing us ever further. The deadline passed, and I thought to myself: “The man has taken what was rightfully his; I am at peace with it.”

Life took me through many twists and turns. I left the Bedouin life behind and became a driver for Aramco. Eventually, I started transporting newly imported cars from the port to dealerships.

Nearly 20 Years Later…

One day, I was delivering a batch of cars to the Al-Mushaikh dealership in Qassim. Back then, cars needed “cooling down,” which meant stopping for a while and lifting the hood to let the engine cool. We pulled over near Unaizah, and I wandered into a nearby orchard to stretch my legs.

Unaizah had changed beyond recognition. One could only imagine what the oil boom had done to Saudi cities.

As I strolled, the orchard’s owner approached me and greeted me. I returned the greeting and explained that we were drivers resting while our cars cooled.

He then insisted: “Tell your companions not to cook lunch. You will all have your meal here in my orchard.”

I hesitated, but he was persistent.

As we walked together, a long-buried memory resurfaced — the story of the bullet belt and the merchant. I said, “Uncle, I have not been to Unaizah in 20 years, but I have a story here…” — and I recounted the tale.

The old man asked, “Do you remember what the merchant looked like?”

“No,” I replied.

“Do you recall any distinguishing feature?”

I thought for a moment.
“Yes, there was a palm tree beside his shop.”

The old man suddenly smiled and said, “Then you have arrived. God has brought you back. I have been waiting for you — I even wrote about you in my will. I sold the bullet belt for 50 riyals, its true value. I set aside the extra 10 riyals and invested them in my trade. They have grown into something substantial for you.”

Then, he took me by the hand and led me to a vast open space within the orchard, filled with sheep.

“These sheep are all yours, my son, from those 10 riyals, 20 years ago.”

A tremor of awe ran through me at his honesty.

I protested, “I cannot accept this.”

He insisted.
“By God, I will not let you leave empty-handed.”

After much discussion, I suggested, “Let us divide them between us — that way, you will be satisfied, and I will be as well.”

He agreed, relieved.
“Your return has lifted a long-standing burden from my heart.”

What an astonishing tale — one of the merchant’s integrity and the Bedouin’s generosity.

This is a remarkable testament to honesty, trust, and the deep-seated values that once defined life in the Arabian Peninsula. It takes on the quality of a fairytale, an allegory, a lesson even — but it’s all true. In an era before contracts and guarantees, a simple word and a small gesture of faith were enough to bind an agreement.

The merchant, despite the passing of decades, honored his trust. The Bedouin, despite having let go of the debt in his heart, was rewarded with far more than he had left behind.

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