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Batata — بطاطا
Pipo Becomes a Star
Ever since I was a child, I had dreamed of the stories from The Thousand and One Nights. I tried to imagine the atmosphere, the sounds, and the smells of the Orient.
And then, one day, I found myself living on Zamalek, an island in the Nile, in the middle of one of the world’s largest cities. The sounds and smells I had longed to experience became part of my everyday life.
Early in the morning, I woke to the call to prayer from the nearest mosque. In the afternoon, I heard the scrap-metal collector calling out for old pots and pans, which always reminded me of the story of Aladdin. And at the end of the day, returning from a walk with my dog, I often met the sweet potato seller.
He was a man dressed in a galabeya, with a white scarf around his neck, pushing a wooden cart. On it stood a metal drum that had been turned into a charcoal oven. The warm, sweet smell of roasting sweet potatoes followed him through the street, and Pipo found it absolutely irresistible.
Of course, I had to buy a portion.
The sweet potato seller took out his knife, cut off both ends of the batata, split it open to reveal the steaming yellow flesh, and sprinkled some spices on top.
I pointed to the two ends.
