This afternoon seemed quieter than usual. I decided to sit next to African Muslim women. The veil with the bright colors seemed to pull my body next to it. Their exotic skin looks more sexy with long dresses that are designed in luxury and grace. I would have recruited them if I were a modeling agency.
One in three of them look slightly fatter with slightly lighter skin. She has a round face and a warm smile. The blue scraft woman can be heard saying a few French greetings to me.
" Hello, comment ca va ?"
( Hello, how are you ? )
" Je vais bien, merci "
( I'm good, thank you ) While I showing her my best smile.
Then two other people who don't speak French also looked at me. Even the red scraft woman approached me and gave me some typical Ethiopian cake called Injera which is shaped like a thin pancake made of grains ( Teff ). They deliberately made some of their own cakes as a provision for their trip as well as an intermediary for longing for their country. She gave me while speaking in African.
" Neem dit, dit is heerlik. Ek gee jou een om huis toe te neem "
" Take it, it's delicious. I'll give it to you to take home "
( The blue scraft woman translated me )
" Merci , merci , " I said .
Then we were busy with our own business. They occasionally ask me to take pictures of all three.
Until the African women planned to leave this magnificent glass-dominated building, they approached me. As if to say goodbye, one by one they hugged me. As promised, the woman in the red veil gave me the cake she had separated. I've never even refused anyone's gift to me. Let's just say I appreciate their kindness. Even though it is necessary. They even promised to bring me some veils next time.
Honestly, the Muslim people around me are very kind and friendly. It occurred to me to study the religion. Unfortunately my resolve isn't that cool. They reminded me of the Muslim man I met in Mayotte, when I was on vacation with my family. They are seen distributing food to fellow Muslims.
The moon didn't want to reveal itself yet, when I started to walk away from the big glass building.
Still not too late to go home I decided to stop at one of my favorite places, the Seine isle ( île Saint Louis ). Several coffee shops and ice cream outlets lined up.
The cheapest container of vanilla bean flavored ice cream I bought to accompany my African cake that I enjoyed on the riverbank. The wind was blowing hard against my hair that was no longer arranged. Cold embraced me who had been busy tearing Injera cake and smearing it with ice cream before finally dipping it into my mouth.