The Kebab

Eating lunch at the five table Kebab around the corner, we have an unexpected moment of international camaraderie. The owner, a jolly man from Kurdistan, takes an international roll call. 

“Tunisia? he asks one patron. She affirms. The next woman came from le Sud d'Afrique, and another from Algeria. One young man shouts, “Je suis Morroccon.”

It’s a simple but profound moment. People of different ages, different origins, all peacefully enjoying a kebab on a sunny afternoon in France.

A “little world” peace.

And how I wanted to hear the story of the men from Kurdistan. Men who unlikely have experienced a world without peace.

We'll be back to the Kebab shop many times. For the men from Kurdistan knew more than how to build a better sandwich. Within their small space they created something tangible, something akin to love.