Kurdish Hospitality.

18.

I had been in Sanandaj but 20 minutes before I was invited to someone’s house for dinner.

I’d only left the hotel to top up my phone, when a guy with scarf wrapped high around his face (it’s very cold here) asked if I’d come to his house. I didn’t see why not. I asked if he lived far away, but my question got caught in the language barrier. I caught that his name was Sirvan.

He did, it turns out, live far away. The taxi just kept on going, out of Sanandaj, into the outskirts and deep into a complex of low-rise apartments. A place of no return, I thought. Not because it was dangerous, or scary, but logistically I couldn’t imagine many taxi drivers would be hanging around a residential area to take me back to Sanandaj.

I was warmly welcomed by his family. The apartment was large. Its floor was adorned with Persian carpets and the kitchen comprised bold tiles of red and black. We had dinner together- lightly spiced chicken stew with bread, gherkins, pickled cauliflower, yoghurt drink, rice, and salad. Followed by tea, oranges, almonds and sunflower seeds.

Over the next day or two I spent quite a lot of time with Sirvan. I watched him play football and he took me to visit his grandparents in a small village out of town.

He and his family were hospitable to an extent I’ve never experienced. I could not, for the life of me, pay for anything. It was embarrassing for me, to not have anything to give in return. But I have his address now…

The hospitality of Iranians and the Kurdish people make me wonder two things; will it survive the inevitable onslaught of tourism, which will no doubt see lots of people take advantage of the free homestays, free meals, and free transport?
What would Britain be like if this ethos was ingrained in our culture, too?

Well I wonder.