Conflict

I hold the beef stew in my hands like treasured gold—the frigid temperature of the room exaggerating the steam pouring out of the can. In the not so far distance, the steady sounds of combat serenade the scene with a continuous orchestra of booms. A makeshift candle flickers under another can—preparing to bring the same satisfaction to my colleague. Made from cardboard and a tin filled with lantern oil, the flame from the candle laps the sides of the can—filling the room with the scent of seared meat and sweet vegetables. This dilapidated kitchen doesn’t hold a Michelin Star, but the savory stew and the glow of the flame dancing around the dark room brings a welcomed sense of gratification …

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