A Flat Tire, a Full Heart: Lessons from a Trip to Saudi Arabia

Today, my family and I went on a trip to Saudi Arabia, a neighboring country connected to ours by a 30-kilometer causeway across the sea.

Just five minutes into the drive, shortly after escaping the congestion of the border control points, a warning light flashed on the dashboard: one of the tires was losing air. I decided to keep driving, hoping to reach the next service station to address it. After all, I had checked the tires half an hour earlier at a service center in Bahrain—they were all fine.

As I processed the sudden alert and replayed the earlier tire check in my head, a car sped up behind me, aggressively honking and flashing its lights. My wife grew anxious. He pulled up beside us, waving his arms—gestures I didn’t initially understand. My wife became even more scared, fearing the worst. The kids got nervous. I had to do something.

Before I could pull over, I lowered the window and asked what he wanted. With urgency in his voice, he shouted, “Pull over now! It’s dangerous—your tire is about to blow!”

I stopped the car, and he stepped out. Together, we looked at the tire—it was completely flat. I was stunned. How could it have gone flat so quickly?

The man scolded me—not out of anger, but genuine concern. “I’ve been flashing you from a distance,” he said. “You didn’t notice! Two more minutes and the car might have flipped. You and your family could’ve died.”

I profusely apologized and thanked him. He nodded, saying, “I have a work shift I can’t miss; otherwise, I would have stayed and changed the tire for you.”

We shook hands, and he drove off.

I called road assistance through our insurance company. As I waited, another car pulled over. A tall, well-dressed man stepped out and walked toward me with a calm, gracious smile.

“Brother, how can I serve you? Just tell me what you need.”

I told him help was on the way. He replied, “Waiting for the insurance is your time. Let me help, so you can spend that time with your family.” I tried to decline, but he insisted.

He rolled up his sleeves and began loosening the nuts. As he worked, he gently said, “Go comfort your daughter.”

Surprised, I asked, “Did you notice she’s autistic because you have a child with autism?”

“No,” he said. “I work in media and have volunteered with associations that support children with special needs.”

Then he offered to take the flat tire to a service station and return with a repaired one, asking me to stay with my family.

Ten minutes later, he came back—not only with the fixed tire but also with a toy and cookies for my autistic daughter. Just as we were about to fit the tire, the road assistance team arrived. Yet he continued helping until everything was done.

I shook his hand and said, “Words are not enough. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He smiled and said, “No, brother. I should thank you—for giving me the opportunity to help. Saudis and Bahrainis are one people, one nation.”

We exchanged numbers. Ten minutes after we resumed our trip, he called:“Is everything okay? Save my number—if you ever need anything in Saudi, I’m your brother. Call me anytime.”

I was floored. I was overwhelmed. Humbled. In awe of this man’s kindness and humanity.

I spent the rest of the trip in silence, reflecting and thanking God for His mercy. That first man have saved our lives. Had he not forced me to stop, things could’ve turned tragic.

I’m sharing this experience in detail because it left me with a few powerful reflections:

1.     God’s Blessings Come in Disguised Forms: Blessings aren’t always promotions, pay raises, or tangible successes. Sometimes they’re the accidents you avoided. The harm that never happened. The kind strangers God sends your way. There are countless unseen forms of blessings we take for granted.

2.     Kindness is Rare—but Transformative: Dozens of Saudi cars passed me on the road. Surely, many saw the flat tire. But only one man stopped. Later, dozens more saw our car pulled over on the shoulder—tilted visibly toward the flat side. But only one man stepped out, graciously offering help, unasked. Similarly, many Bahraini cars passed. Only one Mercedes stopped. Five young men stepped out, insisting on helping in any way they could.

Some of those who passed probably didn’t notice. Some were in a hurry. Some simply chose not to stop—and that’s okay. We’re all free to choose.

But the lesson is this: It only takes one. One person to care. One person to act. One person to make a difference.

I’ve seen others pulled over on roads before. I’ve rarely stopped. Sometimes I had somewhere to be. Other times—I didn’t. Guilty as charged.

But this incident reminded me: I can’t fix a car of someone pulled over on the shoulder, but I can offer a phone. A kind word. A bottle of water.

I don’t suggest we stop for every car. But I now believe this: If we nurture the intention to help, the discernment to assess, and the willingness to act, the world becomes gentler—one small moment at a time.

In an increasingly rushed and self-centered world, this experience reminded me that genuine kindness—pure, unsolicited, selfless—is not extinct. It just lives in fewer hearts.

I owe my safety and the calmness of my family today to those two men and to God's silent grace. Thank you, Naif Aldossary, for your gentleness and kindness.

May I, and may we all, strive to be like them—agents of mercy, carriers of kindness, strangers who become brothers.