My definition of hospitality has changed dramatically over the past two
years. I grew up in what I considered a very hospitable home, there was a
near constant stream of visitors from all over which I quite enjoyed.
However, none of this compares to the sheer effusiveness that I have
experienced here. Last week, the cleaning lady from work, Nawras,
invited me back to her home for dinner. I knew this was going to be a
fairly stressful event as she doesn't speak any English, my Kurdish is
non-existent, and no one in her family speaks English either. I know
enough Arabic to generally muddle along through everyday life so I had
some vague hope there. In the end, I lucked out. Nawras is a champion
talker. She babbled at me all afternoon as I nodded encouragingly. There
is something to be said for that skill.
We arrived at her home and the first thing that struck me was, there was no tile. Tile is ubiquitous in all the houses I have ever been in here in Kurdistan. It is largely covered in carpet, but all houses have tile. This house had bare, exposed, bumpy, concrete. There was no furniture excepting the TV on it's stand, a few cupboards, the sink and a stove. No couch, no table, no chairs, no beds.
I'm not sure what I was expecting to find. Perhaps I simply expected what I had seen before. Loads of couches and chairs choking the living area with a plethora of tables for the absurd amount of beverages served. Sparkly fabrics, thick rugs, loud printed curtains, frills, lace, glitter all the things I normally associate with Kurdish decor. It was a realization that I have been to rather select part of the Iraqi Kurdish population. Even the village homes I had been in before had beds. Evidently I have been missing something quite large. The poor.
Nawras is my age, yet has two children, one of which is probably 7 or 8. Her husband runs one of the ubiquitous tiny neighborhood shops. This was one of those moments when I realize just how differently my life could have gone, if I had been born in a different context, society or culture.
I learned quite a lot in that afternoon, the majority of which was Kurdish cooking. I have wanted a lesson for ages, but it is just not done for guests to help out. In this case I ignored social convention and Nawras seemed tickled pink that I was interested. So that worked out well.
There are two things about Kurdish food that struck me, lots of meat, and even more salt. I have never seen that much salt used in cooking in my life. She had a bucket of salt that lives next to the stove. Periodically she would scoop out another bit and add it to whatever was bubbling away on the stove. I am astonished that I escaped without hypertension. There were three different kinds of meat, chicken, beef and lamb. As we were cooking, it occurred to me just how much food we were making. Could they afford to do this? According to their very strict rules of hosting, did that matter? I happen to know that kima (ground beef) is nastily expensive at 8 dinar for half a kilo. Yet, there it was on the table. Should I eat away? Eat little so they could have more? This is something new to deal with.
We arrived at her home and the first thing that struck me was, there was no tile. Tile is ubiquitous in all the houses I have ever been in here in Kurdistan. It is largely covered in carpet, but all houses have tile. This house had bare, exposed, bumpy, concrete. There was no furniture excepting the TV on it's stand, a few cupboards, the sink and a stove. No couch, no table, no chairs, no beds.
I'm not sure what I was expecting to find. Perhaps I simply expected what I had seen before. Loads of couches and chairs choking the living area with a plethora of tables for the absurd amount of beverages served. Sparkly fabrics, thick rugs, loud printed curtains, frills, lace, glitter all the things I normally associate with Kurdish decor. It was a realization that I have been to rather select part of the Iraqi Kurdish population. Even the village homes I had been in before had beds. Evidently I have been missing something quite large. The poor.
Nawras is my age, yet has two children, one of which is probably 7 or 8. Her husband runs one of the ubiquitous tiny neighborhood shops. This was one of those moments when I realize just how differently my life could have gone, if I had been born in a different context, society or culture.
I learned quite a lot in that afternoon, the majority of which was Kurdish cooking. I have wanted a lesson for ages, but it is just not done for guests to help out. In this case I ignored social convention and Nawras seemed tickled pink that I was interested. So that worked out well.
There are two things about Kurdish food that struck me, lots of meat, and even more salt. I have never seen that much salt used in cooking in my life. She had a bucket of salt that lives next to the stove. Periodically she would scoop out another bit and add it to whatever was bubbling away on the stove. I am astonished that I escaped without hypertension. There were three different kinds of meat, chicken, beef and lamb. As we were cooking, it occurred to me just how much food we were making. Could they afford to do this? According to their very strict rules of hosting, did that matter? I happen to know that kima (ground beef) is nastily expensive at 8 dinar for half a kilo. Yet, there it was on the table. Should I eat away? Eat little so they could have more? This is something new to deal with.
That looks amazing!
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