Kurdish

On Wednesday evening, I stayed late at work for a pot luck dinner with the long term staff at All Nations. Though at first I hadn't been invited, the secretary, Pat, took pity on me and asked Sally (Floyd's wife and cofounder of All Nations) to ask me to join, since she was the one who organized it. Because of my still-developing cooking skills, I opted to copy Pat and pay Anneri (a former chef, I come to find) to make our share of the food.

At about 5pm the guests started arriving, and I finally got to have some conversations with Sally. She told me all about her friendship with my grandparents. My grandfather was once on the board of a missionary organization that Floyd was a big part in, and they have been friends ever since. As I listened to her stream of complimentary comments about my two grandparents, I felt like I was among old family friends. It was a nice feeling, and I really appreciated spending time chatting with Sally. Hopefully we'll be able to talk again soon. The dinner itself was quite enjoyable. Besides the two people who brought KFC, the food was excellently home-made and there was plenty for all. It was really interesting to talk with some of the people there who I hadn't met. One guy, Ashley, had been born and raised in Cape Town, went to Germany for seminary, and then worked in Holland before returning to his home country after the fall of Apartheid.

After work on Thursday, Toukam and I decided to eat out, despite our lack of cooking on Wednesday night. We chose Mesopotamia, a Kurdish restaurant that lies on the second story of an old building on Long Street- the main restaurant drag in Cape Town. We arrived to a relatively empty establishment, its floor cushions and dark Middle Eastern tones inviting us for a long dinner. Our waitress, who turned out to be from Equatorial Guinea, took us to our table, which was essentially a large brass disk with intricate carvings, held up by crisscrossed ironwork. Though the 175 rand (21 USD) fixed menu seemed a little pricey, we jumped for it since it seemed to promise the most exciting, eclectic, and delicious meal. It was a promise unbroken.

Our first course was a plate of 12 or so spreads to dip our naan bread into. Ranging from spicy chicken to cucumber yogurt and hummus to feta cheese, the platter reflected the convergence of cultures that the Kurdish people and their way of life represent. Toukam and I tasted it all differently, as I had garlic and cheese naan and he had olive and cheese naan, but we found common ground in its scrumptiousness. We were given a chance to reflect on the colors, flavors, and textures of the first course while we waited for the main one. The pause was filled with discussions of old friends, future hopes, and yes, even taxation.

The next course arrived accompanied with a needed explanation of its contents. It presented a range of tastes from slow-cooked pork to roasted chicken. Toukam and I stuffed ourselves on the pork chops, rice, and stewed chicken, nearly overwhelmed by the many flavors of the meal. We may not have finished the entire course, but it was not for lack of trying or enjoyment. Rather, our stomachs would not allow it for the sake of what was to come- dessert. That last course - baclava with a side of ice cream - was of a perfect substance and proportion. It was not a last attempt to fill a stomach, but a reserved and confident punctuation mark at the end of a well written sentence. It was closure. Sweet, rich closure.

As we were paying for the great meal, our movement was arrested by the sudden blaring of music on the restaurant's speakers. Moments later, a gyrating blur of blue and green sequins and fabric lit up the darkened restaurant. The bellydancer had arrived. Complete with a headdress of mesh-like cloth that barely covered her face from her eyes down and brass finger symbols that audibly clashed but visually matched with the music, she performed her art up and down the restaurant to an audience either amused or indifferent. Rest assured Toukam and I were well in the amused faction.

In the middle of her second song, she seemed to tire of her solo gig and decided to bid none other than yours truly to join her. She extended her symbol clad hand and bade me join her with her olive colored eyes. Bewitched by her movements but hesitating because of the onlookers, I joined her on the restaurant floor and proceeded to exhibit the worst sample of bellydancing that the restaurant has probably ever seen. Having let down all of the formerly cheering patrons, I took my leave from her with a bow that she so gracefully returned. After sitting down, grateful that no camera of ours had captured the moment, she continued her performance, ensnaring others to join her - all of whom displayed more talent than I. Toukam and I took our leave and walked home on the empty streets below. I wondered aloud whether or not my dancing partner gives private lessons...

At work on Friday I continued with working with insurance. I found out that our policy, though comprehensive, becomes invalid in the event of riots, terrorism, war, martial law, or nuclear attack. I was reassured, though, upon finding that we are insured against "aircraft and any objects falling therefrom." After moving a bed from one room to another at the request of Anneri, I returned to the office where I transitioned to working on the website among intermittent losses of internet and phone service. At about 2 pm I was perhaps unwittingly recruited to drive two of the girls from Africa house to the guesthouse (you'll remember it as the first All Nations building I saw) and help them sort various donated clothing. What it ended up being was an exercise of transporting large bags of carelessly-packed clothing into a house, distinguishing between male and female articles, and discarding the many pieces that were marred by nasty stains or irreparable holes. Though not exactly what I had in mind when leaving for work, it was a good practice in patience and I got to talk with one of the women, who comes from Nigeria and is taking a break from studying at a seminary there.

Now that I'm home, all I can say is TGIF, and unfortunately tomorrow will not include any interactions with the beasts of the deep that I mentioned in my last post. Not enough people signed up for the excursion and it may rain, so we're postponing it for later. Perhaps we'll drive to the winelands. Hope all is well with you!