Every once in a while, I fall victim to the irresistible convergence of mankind and music, and it happened again this week in a most improbably place – riding a transfer bus at Doha airport.

During the long bus ride from the terminal to the plane, I found a corner seat at the front of the bus, separated by a glass partition from the spacious driver’s cabin. Throughout the journey, I listened to Bruce Springsteen’s powerful song “Land of Hope and Dreams.” This mystical ode to humankind’s eternal quest for freedom and redemption used the symbolism of riding a train, whose “big wheels roll through fields where sunshine streams, where dreams will not be thwarted, and faith will be rewarded ... where bells of freedom ring, in a land of hope and dreams.”

As I settled into my seat and enjoyed the song and its uplifting message of making a better life for oneself, I watched the bus driver at work in his cabin, and was dazzled by the spectacle of the man and his mannerisms. He was a tall, well-groomed, slightly bearded South Asian – a Pakistani, I guessed – who exuded grace, serene self-confidence and business-like efficiency. Here he was, a world away from his home and family, working at a rather repetitive job. His manner, however, revealed his special ability to create for himself a new and satisfying world of purpose and conviviality – perhaps the migrant worker’s instinctive response to his condition of self-exile and usually tedious or mundane work.

Not this fellow, though, who mimicked the song I was hearing about human beings whose dreams, faith and determination to live a good life take them to a land of hope and dreams. He was in command of a brand new Cobus 3000 airport bus, the industry trend-setter, the Cadillac, of airport buses that can carry over 100 people and is used in 350 airports around the world. To command such a machine was an honor in itself. To be responsible for the safety, comfort and timely arrival of thousands of people every day added to his sense of purpose. Clearly, he took his job seriously.

In his cabin, he sat up straight, with his sunglasses making him look more like a sports car champion or a battleship commander than the driver of an airport bus. He held a paper and pen in hand throughout the journey to the plane, probably to make sure he took his charge to the right plane among the dozens that were parked in holding lots; perhaps to jot down notes or observations, I am not sure.

He was surrounded by more electronic gadgets than you will find in a Radio Shack shop. He had several little screens, flashing lights, a telephone, a walkie-talkie, and a few other pieces of technology that are only known to the world of Cobus 3000 drivers. His bus driver’s cabin resembled a miniature space mission control center.

He drove with purpose, constantly looking ahead and never being distracted by the activity all around the bus during the journey. His only exception was greetings and nods to others he passed en route, whether drivers of buses or various workers on the ground. His world, I gathered quickly, was a dense web of friends and colleagues. He had different greetings for different people – sometimes a nod of the head, or a smile and raised eyebrows, a simple lifting of the palm of his hand without taking it off the steering wheel, and, in special cases, a raised arm and small wave. And every time, a smile as wide as the Ganges River.

When we reached our destination, he descended from his cabin, opened the doors of the bus, and stood off to the side, the wind suddenly blowing his hair, transforming him into a cricket champion or a movie star, I thought in my imagined world of South Asian stereotypes. He stood as upright on his legs as he had while sitting in his cabin – proud, confident, satisfied that he had efficiently delivered another cohort of passengers – and watched as the passengers descended. As I passed him, I turned off my music, looked him in the eye, and said, “Thank you for the fine ride.” He smiled broadly and replied, “You’re welcome, and thank you, sir.”

I never knew his name, nationality, or conditions of his work and life in Doha. That brief encounter, while listening to the song “Land of Hope and Dreams,” made me think again about migrant workers in the Gulf and around the world, most of whom have very difficult lives, but some of whom succeed in affirming the dignity of decent work alongside their pride in a job well done.

Yes, I thought, their faith will be rewarded, as was my faith in the indomitable power of the human spirit that day.

Rami G. Khouri is published twice weekly by THE DAILY STAR.