Candied tomatoes and bullets on Syria-Turkey border

World
Europe

We were going house to house and knocking on doors. Our aim was to find an elevation point to adequately depict our close proximity to Turkey's border wall, a few hundred meters away.

Walking down the two-lane, trafficky street in Qamishli, we were targeting two-story homes or businesses with accessible rooftops. We knew that a rooftop position would enable decent shots of the concrete wall separating Syria from Turkey and the rocket-shaped grey minarets beyond the wall inside the Turkish territory.

Can we come in?

We were greeted at the first house by a cigarette vendor, which wasn't a surprise considering cigarettes are an illicit border trade staple worldwide.

He invited us in and motioned towards black, faux leather seats in the front room as he disappeared into a back-of-house location. He reappeared a few minutes later apologizing and carrying a tray of demitasse cups filled with potent Turkish coffee.

He said he couldn't find the keys. By way of hospitality – or compensation – he gifted our cameraman Stephane, the lone smoker of our trio, a pack of Gauloise.

After a short conversation, and a coffee and a smoke break, we thanked our host and headed out the door. He recommended trying the house next door.

Zohair's motor scooter in the living room /CGTN Photo

We knocked and a dark haired woman wearing jeans and a sweater answered the door. Her wincing expression was of someone anticipating devastating news. "No no. It's okay," I comforted her in English. Badr smoothed the situation by explaining our mission to her.

"Can we come in?" he asked. Without hesitation, she motioned toward a living room staircase leading to the roof and promptly disappeared into the kitchen to tend to what smelled like slightly rancid, boiling lamb.

We traipsed up the stairs and started to take rooftop shots of Turkey, Kurdish flags and the border wall dividing Syria and Turkey. We came downstairs half an hour later and the woman of the house, a cigarette now dangling from her lips, greeted us with a second round of perfectly brewed Turkish coffee.

Have you ever tried candied tomatoes?

Moments later, the woman's husband Zohair pushed his motor scooter through the front door, parking it in the living room to safeguard it from theft. He then joined us for coffee. A few sips in, Badr explained our story subject matter and Zohair promptly motioned for us to follow him outside.

Stephane with Zohair /CGTN Photo

"Turkish troops shoot at us all the time. Unprovoked," he said, pointing to pock marks on the outside walls. "It's how my cousin was killed."

Stephane shot an impromptu sequence of Zohair outside his home and we returned to the living room table.

"Do you want to try my pickled beets?" he asked before disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with small plates of homemade pickled beets mixed with carrots, boiled beets and homemade candied pumpkin and candied tomatoes.

"Candied tomatoes?" I asked incredulously before taking a bite. With pieces of chewy, dark tomato inside, it tasted like apricot. I envisioned spreading the delicacy on Melba rounds and snacking in front of the television.

The pickled beets and carrots were crunchy and salty and the candied pumpkin was bland and tasted like sugar. I didn't imagine snacking on that again – ever. "We'd better go before I eat everything in your house," I joked with Zohair.

As we packed up our gear and headed toward the front door, Zohair extended an open invitation. "Come back whenever you like," he offered. "Next time I'll teach you how to make the tomatoes."