It helps to know the language when you’re travelling in a foreign country. Upon arrival to Syria in 1990, I enrolled in an Arabic class. After a while I was OK with a few basic pleasantries and could manage to communicate at the market. And I could ask for directions … but understanding the response was a different matter.

One day I was out on my own exploring back roads southwest of Aleppo and I got totally disoriented. I saw a man alongside the road and asked him where the road to Aleppo was. That started him off on a long-winded reply marked by hand gestures going this way and that way. After he finished I could just say ‘Huh? Shu? Wayn?’ He explained again and I responded again with ‘Huh? Shu? Wayn?’

He threw up his arms and came around the front of the car and got in and gestured to move on. He then proceeded with another long-winded response but I caught the word ‘bayt’, which I knew meant home. So then I figured out he was trying to say ‘Please come to my lovely villa in the hills where my stunningly beautiful daughter will serve us a sumptuous feast of fresh, local produce.’ So naturally I replied, ‘Aeywae. Yallah,’ which he correctly knew as ‘Yes, let’s go’. Suffice it to say that a few things were lost in translation but I got the gist of it.

He guided me to his little village and on arrival a crowd gathered to see who was arriving in an automobile. My guide, Hassan, cleared a path through the crowd for me and led me to his humble abode and sat me down and barked out some orders. Before long a huge tray of food was placed on the floor and he sign languaged to me to dig in. Children came in and sat in the corner and watched us eat and whispered amongst themselves. After the feed, Hassan relaxed and loaded up his cigarette, and I found the image I came looking for.