Open kitchen

Wesal Alfazza (32) from Jordan and Thuraya Hussein (34) from Syria enter the tasting room with 2 large shopping bags full of groceries, an enormous serving dish and a heavy black pan. They get straight to work on the lunch preparations. 1 by 1, the guests* begin to arrive. In between chopping and stirring, Wesal and Thuraya share their stories.
 

How they met

Laughing, they call themselves cigarette friends. At the asylum seekers’ centre, waiting takes up much of the day. Conversations often begin during cigarette breaks. That’s how the bond between Wesal and Thuraya grew. Two women with very different lives, but the same wish: to feel at home somewhere. To belong.

Gratitude

Wesal speaks fluent English. 2 years ago, she arrived in the Netherlands with her husband – pregnant, exhausted and ill. Their son was born prematurely in Maastricht. You can still hear the stress of that time in her voice. Above all, there is gratitude – particularly for ‘the nurse with the red glasses’ who supported her in those first days. “I don’t remember her name,” Wesal says. “But she was everything at once – a friend, a mother, a coach. I would love to thank her.”

An uncertain future

After fleeing Syria, Thuraya spent over 6 years in Turkey. Eventually, life there became unsafe again. Her husband and 3 children had to stay behind. She crossed by boat, alone. “I never planned to come to the Netherlands,” she says. “The plan was to escape death.” She has now lived at the asylum seekers’ centre for over 2 years. She works in a Syrian restaurant, but her future remains uncertain.
 

A challenge

The starters are served: homemade hummus with flatbread and falafel. Thuraya and Wesal share the same frustration. They want to work, but are not allowed to – or face endless obstacles if they try. They want to contribute, but keep running into rules and paperwork. “Refugees are often portrayed negatively,” Wesal says. “When most of us want to do something for this country. I don’t just want to receive. I want to give something back. I want to be part of the community.” Thuraya nods. She dreams of bringing her children to the Netherlands and building a life here. Together, the women hope to start a catering business.

They don’t complain. Their story is full of hope and humour – and a longing to be seen for who they are. People who want nothing more than to feel safe at home, with the people they love.

Upside down

The starters make way for the main course. Wesal carefully places the large pan on the table. “Maqluba”, she says. “It means upside down.”
She turns the pan onto a dish and counts down: 3, 2, 1… Then lifts it up. A tower of rice, chicken, potatoes and aubergine appears. Everyone applauds. “The Arab kitchen has its own kind of theatre,” she jokes. “In Asia they cook with fire – we turn everything upside down.” That’s exactly what this lunch does: it turns an image on its head. It challenges a stereotype.

A different image

Hennie explains why the Tapijntuin organises these lunches together with the 
Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA). “The aim is to get people talking to each other,” she says. “I hope it changes the image people have of refugees. You often hear the word ‘fortune seekers’. But really, we all are – everyone is looking for happiness. During these lunches, you discover how much you have in common. Everyone bring their own network with them. Your world becomes bigger. And everyone goes home a different person than when they arrived.”

The taste of home

At the table, the conversation turns from recipes and regulations to the future. And then to home. To the taste of home. For Wesal, home tastes like mansaf: lamb cooked in yoghurt, served with rice and almonds. For Thuraya, it tastes like stuffed vine leaves. For one of the guests, Roland de Vries, it tastes like Dutch wortelstamppot: mashed potatoes with carrots. But in the end, everyone agrees: home tastes like sitting around a table with the people you love. Like family. Like genuine attention.

A bigger world

The food is gone, but ideas keep flowing. Phone numbers are exchanged. The group brainstorms about opportunities at the asylum seekers’ centre. And Jan-Joost, one of the guests, decides to go to the hospital to look for the nurse with the red glasses who meant so much to Wesal.
Connection can be simple sometimes: 1 table, 8 different people, 1 shared meal. That’s why these lunches exist. Because your world grows when you get to know someone who, just yesterday, was still a stranger.

P.S. Jan-Joost found the nurse with the red glasses. And he put her in touch with Wesal. A small gesture with great significance.