I live with my family on Drum Street, in the historic centre of Beijing. A tiny street heaving with people. It’s the perfect place to open a halal restaurant. Restaurant is kind of a big word. A hole in the wall rather, with a few tables, room for no more than ten people, with peeling walls and a photo of Mecca to remind of where I’m from, Xinjiang. To see the satisfied expressions of my clientele, I’d say I’m doing a good job. They call me ‘Boss Han’ and I must say that that makes me quite proud. I’ve come a long way from my little village in the mountains. My parents were zhongdi, subsistence farmers, who grew tomatoes, corn and cucumbers. We had some sheep, but we were very poor. I haven’t lost the sense that I had throughout my childhood of permanent embarassment. How to explain it…Once my school organised an outing for which we were asked to pay fifty mao (0.5 centimes) per family. For us it was just too much: we searched in the bottom of drawers, but my parents could only scrape together twenty mao. So I had to watch my school friends going off without me, with a knot in my stomach. And so was born this desire to earn a decent living, and quickly.

My father was away several months a year. As soon as the money ran out he was off, far away, to work on construction sites. At home it was my mother who ran the household. My older sister, my younger brother and I were forbidden to get bad marks at school, with the promise of a beating if we did. She gave us everything, but she demanded everything too.

I always thought she was an great person, my mother. She didn’t know how to read and write, but she taught me everything I know: the work ethic, responsibility, the urge to push  open the doors of the world. The only thing I would reproach her for: she turned out the light too early in the evening, when we wanted to study. ‘Too expensive,’ she would say. We didn’t dare to contradict her.
At school the teachers often talked about what the future held for us. To live in Beijing was a dream in itself. That was why, at the age of fourteen, I packed my bags. I was the first person from my village to give it a go ‘over there’. I didn’t have a penny. I found work right away, washing up in a restaurant. What did I earn? 300 yuan a month, a fortune!

I didn’t like the city. The mentality was so different, the people so distant. For four years I worked hard for other people, moving from one restaurant to another, seven days a week. All the time I was dreaming of setting up my own business. The opportunity came about through my great uncle. He lent me 10,000 yuan and I set up a restaurant. But it didn’t last. Six months later the government appropriated the place; they told me they were going to build a road. The restaurant was torn down and we didn’t get a penny in damages. That’s China for you…

So we had to start again from nothing. In my head I replayed my mother’s advice: ‘You have to work hard, listen well, it’s never going to be easy, you’ll be exhausted, but I’m begging you, keep going, don’t ever give up …‘

I found the Drum Street site in 2003. Full of enthusiasm, I asked my mother to come and help out; this time I was sure that I was going to succeed… In a quite unexpected way my luck was in: bird flu was going to save us! At first we didn’t understand what was going on, until one day our little street emptied out, everyone was wearing masks, restaurants were closed and I was the only person left open, selling my lamb kebabs and my Xinjiang noodles. It was a blessed time for us, the restaurant was never empty.

Today I earn about 10,000 yuan a month. I work from eight in the morning till midnight every day. I know, I look exhausted. But I’ve got used to it. At the age of twenty-five I feel ten years older. And yet I’m a good Muslim, I don’t smoke or drink and I only eat halal food. I have a lot of respect for Islam. Of course I sell beer as well, noone would eat here if I didn’t… but my conscience is clear.
My aim in life ? To earn enough money to take my parents to Mecca and to send my son to university to study. That would simply be a miracle for me…