In Ecuador, the Hunt for ‘Kurdish Shawarma’

By RAED ASAD AHMED

QUITO, Ecuador – As soon as I was given the info I decided to check it out: Was there really a Kurdish restaurant in Quito, the capital of Ecuador? If it existed, I was determined to hunt it down.

After reaching Quito -- at 2,800 meters the world’s highest capital – following an exhausting bus ride, I checked into a hotel, rested and began the search.  To the morning’s four-hour bus ride, I now had to add a two-hour uphill hike, keeping my head on a swivel as I searched for signs on streets I had never seen.  Even without strenuous activity visitors to Quito suffer headaches, shortness of breath and nausea, because of the extreme height.  Thanks to advice from friends, I was prepared for this.

When it got dark and I remembered the six friends who had each been attacked and robbed on just such streets – one robbed, stabbed and thrown out of a moving cab and another threatened with a screwdriver pressed to his skull – I speeded my footsteps and began walking back to the hotel. It was then, in the darkness, that I suddenly made out the dimly-lit inside of a small restaurant and the murals of Egyptian pyramids on its walls. I stopped, not because it looked Kurdish, but because it was so outrageously out of place.  My eyes traced upward to the sign above the eatery: “Kurdish Shawarma” it proudly advertised. Bingo!

I peeked inside, and in Spanish asked a local-looking man who walked up if he spoke Kurdish, while pointing at the awning.  He answered in Spanish, from which I could make out only the words "Arabic" and "Ali." After I asked if he spoke Arabic and he nodded “Eywa,” he introduced himself as Ehab, and we were off on a friendly conversation. 

Before coming to Ecuador, this Egyptian father of two had worked for a tourism company in Egypt. He was one of the many Middle Easterners dislodged by the “Arab Spring” that is still rumbling through the region. After tourism all but shut down in Egypt following the 2011 anti-government uprising.

Ehab’s company went bust.  Through an Ecuadorian friend, he came to this country seeking a job to provide for his family back home. He now ran the restaurant with Ali, its Kurdish owner.

I asked about the murals of pyramids alongside the restaurant’s Kurdish name, and he replied that the aim was to make the place more exotic for Latin Americans.  It was nice to see the friendly coexistence of a fellow Kurd and an Arab away from the politics of the godforsaken Middle East. Ali was not there that evening, but Ehab told me he had an Internet cafe around the corner, and gave me his phone number.

I called Ali and we met that same evening at his Internet cafe. It was crowded when I went inside, and I began checking faces carefully, trying to trace some Kurdish features.   Then I spotted the man behind the counter. He was skinny and had a thin, long face with a small chin. There was no mistake, because he reminded me of my Badini relatives from my mother's side. The Only thing off was the  perfect Spanish he spoke with the customers. "Ali? Salamu Aleikum!" I introduced myself.

He looked up with raised eyebrows, followed by a smile mixed with surprise.  We shook hands, and he let me sit next to him until he finished with all the customers. The majority were Cubans, but that was no surprise because the neighborhood we were in is known as Havana Sur, meaning South Havana.

After the customers were almost all gone, Ali and I were finally able to talk and introduce ourselves properly. Kurdish hospitality prevailed as Ali offered me sweets and drinks in between the conversation.  I could not resist looking at the computer screen on his desk. My eyes were instantly drawn to Ali's yahoo chat-box, where the Kurdistan flag was his avatar.

It turned out that his name was Mahmud, and Ali was his last name.   He said he was originally from the Kurdish region of Kobane in Aleppo, Syria. He went to Cuba in 2002 on a government scholarship to study computer engineering, finished his undergraduate studies and married a Cuban lady whom he later divorced. His attempts to pursue postgraduate education were hampered by financial difficulties and changing laws in Cuba.  Eventually, his stay permit expired and he had to leave, but did not want to return to Syria because he had not done the compulsory military service and knew he would instantly be sent to complete his military term.  He wanted to go to Canada, but in 2011 arrived in Ecuador and eventually decided to settle because he already spoke Spanish well.

He told me that beside the restaurant, he recently had opened a second Internet cafe in Quito. Unfortunately, on the day we met him, his place was completely emptied out by thieves, who broke in and took seven computers and printers.  There is no exaggeration in reports about the scary security situation in Quito.

We closed shop that night and walked together.  Ali was a quiet person but friendly and generous. He repeatedly invited me to his home, but I politely declined, as it was late. We decided to meet again the next day, before I left Quito. I wanted to take some pictures of him and his place during the day, and ask more questions.

We met the next day and I took the photos.  We then went to his home, where he brewed some Ceylon tea he had brought from Kobane. It was something I had truly missed and thoroughly enjoyed.

I asked if his relatives were still in Kobane, and if any were hurt, but he replied they all lived in a very remote village of Aleppo and were far from the ongoing war. He told me he had no intention of returning to the Middle East to live, but promised to visit my own Iraqi Kurdistan Region one day.

• SHARE ON
• Share on Facebook
• Share on Twitter
• Share on Whatsapp
• Share on Telegram
• Share on Viber
• Share on Messenger