It's gone

I tested the limits of Syrian hospitality and goodwill, which is usually in abundance, the other night, when I left my digital camera at a restaurant. I departed somewhat hastily, having contracted the Syrian version of Montezuma’s revenge, -- Saladin's revenge?-- was it the Kabab Halabi (but they were so good!) or the hommous Beiruti or the matabbal or the fattoush? It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized my mistake. I rushed to the restaurant, a 20 minute walk from my house, and no trace of my camera. Come back at five, they told me, when the night shift opens the office. I returned at five. Still no camera. Please leave your number, sir, and we will call you if you we find your camera.

At one o’clock this morning, my telephone ring jolted me awake.

Hello, Mr. Bob. This is Ahmed from Restaurant Leila’s. We have found a camera.

Is it in a black case?

Yes.

I’ll be right there.

It wasn’t my camera. Abu Mousa says, “brooh.” It’s gone.

Fortunately, a colleage is arriving from the States on Friday. He'll bring me a new camera.