Shopping List

'BabounetH', says Mustafa, my driver for the day. 'Ba-bou-net-H'. He aspirates the h loudly and try though I might, I cannot replicate the sound.

'In souk Haleb, babounetH' he says, explaining, ' Flowers. Make tea. Tea good, very good. When have,' he pauses, rubs his chest, coughs loudly then resumes, 'babounetH make good, very good. From here in Syria. Export Germany, expensive. Souk Haleb not expensive.'

'Ba-bou-net-H', I try again, getting a little closer.

I can't say the word, and have no idea what this flower is, but the magical chest clearing bloom goes on my mental shopping list for the famed Souq in Aleppo. After many long hours of shisha indulgence I'm going to need some 'tea babounetH'.

'Also Haleb,' continues Mustafa, 'Sa-boon. Soap. Good, very good.'

'Olive oil', I say. I know that Aleppo is famous for it's olive oil soap, the region surrounding it being covered in olive trees that also produce very high quality oil that I have sampled drizzled over hummus and fuul.

'Yes, olive oil. And zayt zay-tun', he says.

'Zayt zay-tun', I repeat

'Good for hair. Make strong', he guestures, pulling at his own healthy crop.

Saboon zayt-zaytoun joins babounetH on the shopping list.

Within 24 hours I'm right in the middle of the Souk, and it's raining heavily. Luckily, Aleppo's souk is predominantly undercover. No chance of me heading up the hill to the citadel today, so it's time to address the shopping list.

Almost immediately I'm staring at a wall of soap. How fortuitous! I later realise that there are soap stalls on almost every corner of this part of the Souk.

'Ana oureed saboon zeit zeitun', I say proudly, and the soap vendor and the men in the surrounding stalls congratulate me on my good Arabic. Thanks to Mustafa and our trip out from Hama to Crack de Chevalliers I'm almost sounding like I know what I'm doing.

The man in the stall shows off his stock, boasting of it's quality. He points to the corner of the shop where a large branch with dried leaves on it rests on the wall, saying, 'Zayt zay-tun'.

'Bay leaf!' I exclaim. Olive oil soap with bay leaf. I'm wondering if this wonder product will strengthen my my fine weak hair, and figure there's no harm in trying.

I leave the stall with a bag full of saboon zayt-zaytun, and a bar of rose scented olive oil soap- a gift for me.

I soon find a stall with huge canvas sacks of unidentifiable leaves and blooms, and I'm eager to identify the babounetH.

'Wayn babounetH?', I ask, and the man in behind the bags smiles and picks up a handful of small yellow flowers and sticks and says, 'Chamomile'.

Chamomile! Not the exotic magical flower I was imagining, but it's comforting to know that the lauded babounetH will be readily available back home whenever I get a rumble in my chest.

I laugh at the miscommunication and walk away without any babounetH- I'm not keen to cart it through Lebanon and back to Jordan when I know I can buy it at the corner store in Amman.

Back at the hotel I test out the soap. It leaves my hair squeaky clean and as I blow dry it looks like there is a little body in my usually limp locks.

Maybe Mustafa was right after all. Good, very good!