I saw a veritable horde of Bulgars (4) in colourful rustic garb – headscarves, hooped earrings, plaits, long skirts – and that was just the men – being fleeced at the checkout of the Kurdish supermarket today, whence I had gone to procure humus and tangerines. They presented a pitiful sight as the few groceries they had purchased – strange smoked sausages, fiery peppers, chicken feet, etc. were rung up by a scowling Diyarbakir sharpie at prices which could have bought them a stolen child back home.
I know they were Bulgarians because they bought several packets of Bulgar wheat. None of them looked like an economic asset but then again, neither am I.