We wait for our meal to come, two candles lightly glowing from the middle of our table. The family house and kitchen are perhaps two metres behind us, the open street in front.
We are in fact sitting in what would have been the front garden, now cemented over, with high concrete walls, a tin roof and a retractable gate that has been pushed to each side of the restaurant front.
A breeze sweeps through and blows out one of the candles. “Is ok, is ok. I fix,” says the daughter as she rushes over to re-light the candle. We smile and thank her before she returns to the table next to us where she had been sitting with her father, older sister and two brothers.