A Costly Fare
The cabdriver was living the American dream. He had fled the violence in his native Sudan in 1999 and had come to the United States, settling in North Carolina because he'd heard it was warm, like Africa. He sent money home to his parents every month, first from his job delivering pizza and then from wages at an IBM factory. But Moezeldin Elmostafa had bigger dreams -- of opening his own business and bringing his wife and three children to live with him. In 2004 he started a taxi service with a friend. He could not have imagined that, two years later, a late-night fare would put him at the center of one of the country's most notorious legal cases.Durham, North Carolina, is a college town, and Elmostafa, 38, was a familiar sight as he shuttled students between Duke University and other campuses in his bright red On Time Taxi van. Passengers liked the friendly, soft-spoken driver, and his Sudanese buddies admired his honesty and work ethic. It wasn't unusual, shortly after midnight on March 14, 2006, when a call came in from a student requesting Elmostafa's cab.
When Elmostafa arrived at the corner of Watts and Urban Avenues, two young men, dressed in T-shirts and shorts and clearly in a post-party mood, piled in. Joking and laughing, they directed Elmostafa to an ATM, then to a drive-through restaurant. Finally, Elmostafa delivered them to Duke's West Campus. The fare was $17, but they gave him $25. Nice tip, he thought. He picked up one more passenger that night, then went home to bed.
A month later, the phone rang at On Time Taxi. It was an attorney representing Reade Seligmann, one of three Duke University lacrosse players charged with sexually assaulting an exotic dancer during an off-campus party. At the time of the alleged crime, Seligmann said, he was riding in Elmostafa's cab.
Although the Duke rape case had captured the nation's attention, Elmostafa didn't follow the news, preferring to spend his free time barbecuing on his deck. But he knew one thing: He didn't want to get involved in a criminal trial. He loved his new country, from McDonald's hamburgers to Court TV. Most of all, he loved the opportunity here.
"You can start from nothing in America," he had told friends, "and you can be something." He had applied for citizenship and worried that being a witness in court might jeopardize his chances.
When the lacrosse player showed up with his father a few days later, Elmostafa immediately recognized the burly, six-foot-one student. "My son didn't do anything," Philip Seligmann said. "His whole life is in front of him." Could Elmostafa vouch for the ride?


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