fadal

there's this shop right around the corner from where i live. i stop by most every day. i stop by for little mini cakes wrapped in plastic, strawberry yogurt and diet coke. i stop by for chocolate bars, ketchup-flavored chips and sometimes tea. i stop by often enough that the man behind the counter knows me pretty well.

tonight, on my way home from omdurman, i passed by the shop. six men were sitting in a tight circle under the store's fluorescent glow. i've been in sudan long enough to know what that sort of circle means. it means food. meals here are almost always eaten in a group. always shared.

anyhow, as i passed by, six heads shot up and looked my way. the shopkeeper smiled. "fadal," he said. welcome. sit down. eat with us. and he really meant it.

"shukrun," i said as i shook my head and rubbed my stomach. i'm hoping that translated, somehow, to "thanks. really. but i just ate."

this happens all the time here. fadal. welcome. sit down. eat with us. it happens so often that i'm starting to treat it as a matter of course. but i shouldn't. so, i'm writing about it here.

fadal. welcome. sit down. eat with us.