‘Do you like chicken?’ Mo asks. He takes the white plastic bag and his change from the boy, and gestures towards the belly of his shop. ’Yes.’ I reply eagerly, grateful not to be eating hotel food again. We head down a set of steps and sit at the counter.
‘So how many summers are you?’ He continues, separating two white plastic food trays and placing one in front of me. It takes me a second to realise what he means, then the penny drops. ‘How old do I look?’ He stops mid napkin peel to look at me. ‘Fifteen?’
‘That would be nice,’ I smile. ‘But not quite.’ I wonder if my face really could pass for a teenager. He hands me a napkin and looks down at my food. ‘It’s ok?’ He asks, waiting for me to begin. ’It looks delicious!’ I reply.
‘Well… Saha!’
With that, we tuck in.
*****
Syrian Portrait Exhibition:
The Second Wife, East London.
From June 2011
