Once, while on vacation in one of the Middle East countries, I hired a local guide to join the country’s cultural and historical values. Agreed in price. The road is not close, we go on his minibus. Omar turns the lamb andins a secular conversation - we talk a little about everything - about the weather, cooking, family...

Question: Do you have children?

There is. I answer. The daughter. 20 years of her.

and wow! What are you saying, dear! ? to He cried in English with an Arabic accent. How old are you then?

and forty two.

and waii! You don’t get more than 25! How young you look, dear!



I was not even surprised by such a sincere lust - the culture is eastern, a person clearly expects good teas, and unfounded. Polite thank you.

Having recorded a positive reaction, Omar turns to me and with joyful excitement says, "Well, karafuzzi, now you - guess how old I am?

Well, I think you will have to play according to the rules of Eastern diplomacy – you have to respond with kindness to kindness. I appreciate the appearance of my visavi - a swollen face, bags under the eyes, porous skin, baldness, penetrating grey. From the presumed age I mentally take ten years and confidently say, "Forty?

Omar did not answer immediately. For half a minute, without blinking, he stared sadly at the road right in front of him, before pressing out: “Twenty-seven.”



The rest of the road went in silence. The conversation did not go. Everyone thought of something of their own.