The Freezing Kurds

The airplane is about to take off. Most of the people in it belong to my excursion, though the crying mother and child in front of me do not. Another woman, also not part of my group, stands up. A friend tells her to "sit the fuck down". An argument breaks out, then quickly dies when the air stewardess asks everyone to close the blue curtains. Up and down the airplane we pull our curtains closed as we move down the runway.

Everyone forgets to close the curtains beside one of the unoccupied seats. I wonder if the plane needs to be completely dark, for our own protection, as it flies away. I go towards the window and look outside. I see many Kurds covering the sides of a mountain that reaches into the sky. They are covered with snow and ice, their bodies huddled underneath thick blankets. The mountain is dark and steep, the sky a marine blue.

When I return to my seat, my friend hands we a small bowl with chicken stew and some bread. He warns me that the food is very spicy. I spill some of it on my pyjamas. We eat with our hands and balance the food without the use of the trays in front of us. The plane continues to move down the runway and I wonder if it will ever take off.