Trafika Europe 6 - Arabesque

tales of orontes river

the birthmark

Y ou ’re even more heads t rong than Salamu the hammam- worker, you are! Your dad’s told you a thousand times not to touch your face when you’re helping him gr i l l meat. Look at you – even af ter washing your face, it ’s still all sooty! –But Mum, who is this Sa l amu the hammam- worker, anyway? –Who’s this and who’s that – can’t you think of anything to amuse yoursel f wi th apart from hassling me with your constant questions? –But for God’s sake, you’re cons tant l y shaming me about being l ike him, so who is he?

–Oh alright, alright – so we had a neighbour called Om Salah, in your grandad’s old neighbourhood: her husband Salamu worked at the hammam in the main market . Ever y morning he’d go of f to work in the hammam, and he wouldn’t get home t i l late at night. As far back as I can remember, right in my earl iest memories, absolutely everyone in the neighbourhood used to call him Abu Daughters. Yep, poor old Salamu, living in absolute poverty, and with f ive daughters. But what beautiful girls they were, you should’ve seen them – every one of them was a proper ‘piece of the moon,’

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