No Excuses

Pretty soon, I will resume my studies. I’ve already moved into my dorm at Koc University (pictures coming soon). Although I did not visit as many places as I originally had planned, the last month has been no less of an adventure. Problems with one hostel and an extremely stubborn package kept me in Istanbul, but I also found myself savoring the experience of being in the city even more. Living the life of an urban nomad has made me even more attuned to the attitudes of the people ever more than before. It helps to learn a little more of the language every day, but it seems to me that constant interaction with the people and immersing oneself in their climate is the most important in making connections with a people. 

Sharing their spaces has seemed to have made me more open to conversation and approachable. Although my AIFS experience was great, I found relatively few opportunities to directly connect with the locals; even those that spoke english. Half of the students in my politics class were Turks, while the other half were predominately American. Apart from that, I saw few opportunities to really interact with them until later. I think it was a combination of: (1) me being shy, (2) not knowing the language, and (3) being busy trying to learn the language. I suppose they are all connected in one way or another; there were times I felt as though I would be too intrusive if I were to try to start up a conversation in English. Until late into the program, the Turks with whom I had personal conversations with also knew German. 

However, as I found out, there are a plenty of locals that would love to practice their English in friendly conversation. In the final three weeks of my program, I started having more conversations with Turks who spoke very little or fluent English. A friend of mine, M, immersed himself into the culture beyond what I thought was possible in the short time we stayed here. I ran into him talking with locals one evening, and he invited me to join in. From what I gathered in the frequent study sessions we had, M knew less Turkish than I did, but he was engaging them with the few words he knew! They knew hardly anymore English than either of us knew Turkish, yet M hung out with them on a regular basis and even had fun while he and they spoke “Turkenglish”. If it had not yet occurred me that I was not trying enough to connect, there was one point that evening when we were silent, and I indicated a bird nest to M in English. One of the two men sitting by us asked me (through gestures, some third-party translation and a little English), “Why are you speaking in English?” 


Since then, I’ve made it a point not only to learn the language, but to be engaging regardless of how much you know about the language. I’m sure the same applies to experiencing the culture. In that specific situation, I worried too much about being misunderstood, that I actually might have insulted somebody. 
 
I was lucky to have had him call me out and for my month living in hostels. Over the course of the month, I had many interesting conversations, but there were three in particular that were incredible. Each of these guys’ personalities and beliefs were dramatically different from each other. Because single letters are a little impersonal, I will arbitrarily refer them as Tom, Dick and Harry. 

Tom is a student around my age. I met him in Ankara, and actually chatted with him several times because he lived close to the hostel I was staying at there. One night, we discovered our mutual interest in politics... and if you’ve been following this blog, you already know it got real. Although we struggled with words, we were actually able to compare opinions, and have a discussion. He identified himself as nearly communist, and is convinced that the international economic and political order actively works against the interests of the “have-nots”; in particular, those in the Middle East. He was also very wary of religious extremism in the region. Our other conversations were more casual, but just as enjoyable all the same. 

 Dick was also around my age, but already immersed in a promising career. I met him in Istanbul, while picking up a package at shipping. Because the service I used failed to notify the local facility that I was picking up the package, I had to wait for over an hour until the package came. Fortunately, when I introduced myself to Dick and told him I came from America, he grabbed my hand and told me, “I’m from Harlem,” with a winning grin. Dick, who probably was just on his way out, was nice enough to talk sports, women and partying with me until the package arrived over tea and cigarettes. Dick was really into sports. We talked about my recent struggle as a Chicago Bulls fan and his love for Galatasaray, a very successful Turkish football team. I didn’t tell him that I studied politics, but he briefly shared his patriotism and disdain for the PKK, the Kurdish terrorist organization, with me. Nevertheless, the mood lightened quickly after that and, soon enough, the package returned. As I was doing paperwork, he took off, but not before shaking my hand, telling me smiling and laughing that he would not forget our conversation. 

I also met Harry, a young family man, in Ankara. One of the handful of English guides working at the Grand National Assembly of Turkey, he speaks in English very well. Until we neared the Assembly room, we walked in near silence when I was not asking questions. Just after we entered, Harry seemed to be especially impressed that I was able to identify several of the Turkic civilizations symbolized by the sixteen crystal chandeliers hanging over the assembly floor. After that, he was asking me questions as well. We took a liking to each other, and he offered me some tea after the tour. Although I had planned to leave Ankara just after I toured the Assembly complex, I scarcely hesitated to accept the invitation. 

Harry told me about his usual clients, predominately U.S. congressmen, and general goings around the capital. The conversation was actually quite casual until we happened upon international politics. I mentioned the Gaza flotilla incident, which took place on May 31, 2010. As it turned out, he lost a close friend that day. 

 For those of you unfamiliar with the story, although Turkey and Israel were on relatively good terms until the incident, a Turkish aid ship, bound for a Palestinian enclave called Gaza, refused to turn around. Israeli soldiers stopped the ship before it landed, and proceeded to massacre eight Turks and one Turkish-American, all of whom were unarmed. Harry’s friend was shot in the head at point-blank range. 

I think the emotions stirred in our discussion led to a discussion about our religious beliefs. I told him about my Lutheran upbringing, and he shared his convictions as a muslim. As it turned out, Harry is very devout and was very pleased to share his faith with me. I was very glad that he was too; in spite of me being very familiar with Islam, I actually feel as though I still hardly know it. I asked him to recommend a good English translation of the Koran for me to read, and he took it upon himself to search for a quality one online. After giving me a piece of paper with the name of the translator, he offered me dinner. If it were not for the fact that I needed to be at a Hotel in Istanbul by midnight, I would have definitely accepted his invitation. Before we parted ways, we exchanged contact information, and he told me to call him up the next time in Ankara. Most certainly, Harry. 

 So, what was the point of me elaborating on three conversations with three men who, ethnicity notwithstanding, could hardly be any more different from each other? Well reader, these differences are united by a distinct emotion that I only have experienced after each of those encounters. Especially in Dick’s case, I did not know them all that well, and, in perspective, I still don’t. But, in spite of time and language barriers, they all confided in me. They did not share their secrets, but it requires a level of trust to be able to personally discuss religion and politics. I suppose, as foreigner, they felt a level of safety of my distance from their culture. It also might have helped that I am a traveler that they would likely not see again if they had accidentally offended me. In any case, they would not have had the fear of talking to a local “enemy”, be it in matters of religion, sexuality, politics, or sport (football can get REALLY intense over here). This is to say, they did not speak carelessly, rather, they felt free to speak what they think is true. It might seem as though I might be diving into abstractions instead of experience, but reader, their eyes told me what they were saying was truth. 

I would not have had these brief, but intimate, encounters, had I been as reticent to engage with the local population as I was in July. I had thought my lack speaking Turkish precluded me from even simple conversation. 

Persian poet Rumi once wrote, “...one who is parted from one who speaks his mother tongue, even if he has a hundred songs he will always still be dumb.” What he says may be true, but even as one who is almost dumb, I know from experience that I can still enjoy the company of the locals that speak no English. In engaging people of other cultures, what seems to count the most is one’s initiative to interact in their space. All of these conversations took place in places intimately familiar to them: an office, a break room and a living room. 

Four days ago, I visited a small exhibit on the life and adventures of Josephine Powell. Born an American, she spent most of her life in away from her native country among the nomads of the Muslim world (many of them in Turkey). Other than her Volkswagen minibus and her photography equipment, she had no modern possessions. Near the end of her life, she took an apartment in Istanbul, where she lived still scarce of modern possessions, until she died in five years ago. Her is a woman who documented the nomadic life to the smallest of details through photography and writing, while living as a nomad on the Anatolian plateau. She knew them as well as anybody, and they accepted her almost as one of them. Yet, even in her decades of travel in Turkey, she never learned the language. 

We cannot assume that language barriers prevent us from being able to interact with other human beings. What is most important is occupying their space, and looking at them in the eye. Well... excuse me for using a cliché there, but it's true!

"Man Sandwiches"

A picture of my favorite mosque's interior.

Secluded Armenian Church in Istanbul.