As Free As Being Alive - Part 2

January 19th, 2018

Moved all stuff from van to house.

The house is now full of plastic bags full of our stuff. I see no problem with that and plan to deal with one by one.

As we arrived home very late, I prepare a quick dinner for children and then send them to their beds.

But I can’t sleep.

We moved to this house and 40 foxes visit my mind. The population in the house is 44 now.

Curtains, washing machine, beds, lamps, and more…

Kata can’t come next morning as she has a flight, so she sent her friend we prayed in the Church together, Pekka. Pekka will take me to the shopping center and bring me back when I am done. Tuula came with curtains. I saw those two for the second time. I left children to Tuula and went to the shopping center with Pekka.

I buy a few of important things and meet with Pekka at the time we agreed.

We do housework with Tuula until 4pm. I receive a text message says ‘’My name is Suvi, a friend of Kata. I will come with 3 lambs tomorrow at 7pm.’’

Another sms from Titi. ‘’I will bring carpet at 5pm.’’ She writes.

Who are Suvi and Titi? I don’t know…

Tuula leaves and Titi comes. Knoc knock knock. A woman with a very pale skin in her 70s stands with a homemade cake wrapped with a gift paper. I get astonished. She points her car’s trunk. She says I can take what I want to from the trunk. I need only carpet, so I take two of carpets and return home. She didn’t come inside as her husband was waiting in the car. I take her word to visit me later and say them goodbye.

Their punctuality surprises me.

Turks in the neighbourhood call and ask if I need anything. I say I don’t…

Because the friendships built in this small town decreases the needs.

I remember the words of and officer when I first came here: Words are the law in this country. None of the citizens would lie to you.

These people, with Islam’s basic characteristics, deserve all of the blessings.

And the Rahman of Rahim treats them with their trustworthiness…

As Free As Being Alive - Part 1

We stayed in a refugee camp for about a year. Now we moved to our own house and my children think that we moved to our house because they have been behaving well. The children who misbehave and never share their toys and be rude to other will stay in the camp longer.

 The age of suffering is closing. The exam of inability leaves its place to benedictions.

I talk with the camp officials since the day I had the key, Wednesday, I say that I want to leave as soon as possible to every official in every shift change. Some Turkish people I know from here helped about the furniture already. I call them when I have the key and my second hand furniture comes…

Until the electricity comes I finish the cleaning. The only thing left to do is to move our things in camp to house.

Even I told them hundreds of times and two days past, directress says I am being too impatient and hurry for moving. These people, being very patient to every single person who knocks their door, cannot understand impatience.

They say they will discuss this in the meeting at 14.00. The meeting takes half an hour and finishes, yet, there is no any process. The only thing I want is a time that I can move. I will try to be ready on that time. Even if they would say it is not possible today, I would appreciate that. I feel something ‘unplanned’…

I go to door and knock it. I really didn’t want to… They ask if I am ready, I get surprised. I said yes and wanted 10 minutes to take my things from the room.

By the way, I asked Afghan boys in the camp to help me moving the things to downstairs. I visit all the rooms one by one; pray for people and say goodbye. I feel like a little overwhelmed. Negative energy comes from 34 rooms against one positive. It hurts to see Muslims like this, leaving a deep scar on my heart…

I finish my works and go to downstairs and my little son asleep on the stuff. I wanted to write ‘fragile’ on him. He may get broken easily. Noisy children of the camp already dug in the stuff. I take my boy in my arms and wait near my belongings.

Two hours past after the question ‘Are you ready to go?’. One of my neighbours from Afghanistan offers me some tea. I accept and teas come with some deserts. The conversation in the stairs with tea, I have never tried until that day, starts. I thank her and last neighbourhood event. I couldn’t see her later.

Official comes downstairs, though he had no important job, slowly and obsessed to do thing by order.

And the very big moment; stuff are going into the van.

To be continued…

My Dear Friend, Kata

I met with Katarina when I was living in the refugee camp. She worked in the camp temporarily. We met in a Church. I witnessed her sincere praying.

I also witnessed Kata’s excitement of helping others. When I asked her about organising a program with Church for 668 babies in prisons, as my Turkish friends were busy, she came to my rescue and she was with me all the time.

Kata, had an image of young and excited girl. I was pretty shocked when she introduced me her 10-year-old daughter in the Church. And surprise, we are in the same age! Moreover, Kata is a flight attendant and travels to many countries.

Her modesty really surprised me. Well, Kata surprised more than ever then.

Last Saturday the authority on the camp told that I will wait for more as the civil registration office was still on process. Counting days for entering my own house and still encountering these extensions. Although I say ‘no problem’ to all these, I get hard put to deal.

Next Sunday evening I ran into Kata in the Church -during a program. She knew that I was having troubles, she pointed a friend of her, a very moralized one, and asked me to pray together. I sat between Pekka and Kata. I could only say ‘’God, thanks for everything you gave us.’’. Kata prayed for a house, and asked Pekka to pray too. Those two amazing people closed their eyes and prayed for me. I have full faith in that our prays would be accepted by Rahmet-i Rahman as the people of two different religions.

After three days I had the key of my new house. Kata told me to call her as soon as have the key, so I did. Unfortunately, she had a flight and she was coming on Thursday. She said we can meet on Friday in an early time. Just like she promised, Katarina came with a friend of her and we moved to the house. Kata asked her teachers to take care of my children so we could do our work easily.

She made the necessary phone call for the electricity and after less than five minutes, house was in lights. It was the most splendid lightening I have ever seen! With this, we could stay in our house starting that night.

Kata and her friend brought the bookshelf and bed, I asked her to buy for me a week ago. They also brought curtains, they thought I would need. She checked the house once more for needs. Texted her friends. She said a friend of her will bring lamps on Sunday. We organized the house as much as we could. In the afternoon Kata left me to the camp and asked for permission, she had another flight at night.

This week she directly came to my house after her flight and we tried to meet the needs of the house.

My Turkish friends weren’t able to help. Katarina helped me with her own car, yawning all the time as she was tired and sleepless. Made herself convenient.

Came to spread the goodness, this woman, understands what I lived and living, I am grateful that I met Kata in this country I don’t know the language and thousands of miles away from my home.

I have full-faith in that, the God we believe together will also be glad what she is doing…

Tyrannies Can't See

I have chain on me. I want to write articles every two days; I put this rule as a chain, I don’t want to break it. I looks like a demanding promise, yet I look at my back and I want to achieve.

When I turn to my writings at night, my little son comes to me as he couldn’t see me in the bed and says ‘’Mommy I love you so much.’’ He leaves a kiss on my cheek and insists to stay in my arms. I don’t want to leave him too. He rarely is like a little bag of love. Our very rare peaceful time. I pray God for his blessing, kiss him and send him bed.

In that moment, a photograph shows up.

A father, opened his hands to the heavens.

Praying near his son’s tomb.

Handcuffs on his wrists.

Soldiers around him, seems like the superiors want to project an image of a savage terrorist with their batmen.

Near the father, his little daughter Azize; doesn’t move even a millimeter.

While I am praying God ‘’Please don’t separate us!’’ Bekir Görmez prays ‘’Please reunite in Heaven!’’.

Görmez family is a symbol of the tyranny in Turkey.

Tyrannies cannot see. They are blind.

Little Azize sees her mother loses weight down to 35 kg.

Sees her ears are no longer hearing.

Sees her elder brother’s death.

Sees his father’s desperate with the handcuffs on his wrists.

But doesn’t see a shining day…

Little Azize's elder brother, before his death, and his mother.

Original date of article: January 9th, 2018

Organic Toys

A victim I know for years...

Her husband is not arrested, but unemployed for about two years. She makes organic toys by herself. House’s keep is earning by those organic toys. I appreciate that family’s elbow grease without frustration. I think over and over about how to help them and an idea appears in my mind. Supporting someone in their hard time and being happy with their happiness… I order toys to the country I live, and my friend starts to knit. She knits and knits. Toys are ready after two months. It’s time to pack them and send by cargo. When they are on cargo, my friend calls. ‘’Officials may open and check the cargo. And they may even send it back.’’ She warns. I said it was ok and requested her to send it anyway.

I start praying God as soon as I close the phone. I am the only Turk in the camp. Lonely. I try to soothe myself. Routine daily talks get more with the sentences ‘’It would come, relax, why would it be returned? Don’t bother...’’

Every night when I wake up, I pray for the cargo to arrive safely.

I get my package, without seeing what I was afraid of, after about three weeks.

The toys my friend knitted. Normally, toys like these are made by
special machines. But my friend didn't have a machine like that...

And we start selling them. Online and by hand, we give toys and take money. The toys are selling from €10 up to €30 one by one.

Earning again and again and we had €300. Surprised. I know the reason why we had this quick result and I praise my God. We send the money to the needers and continue to spinning the wheel.

As I learn with those sellings, if I pray with pure good will, it will be accepted.

If I purely and simply and only wish to help someone really needs help, all the doors in front of me opens quickly.

Another thing that I learnt with these sellings; even if I pray for hours and days all time, it doesn’t work unless I feel my will inside and becomes a bunch of tears and cries.

Just like the lives became bunches of tears and cries…

Those lives are echoes of my will-less prayings. This truth comes like a very hard slap on my face during the night.

Excruciation of Existence

Last weeks in refugee camp.

Our first year in the refugee camp is about to end. Our prison-like life is over. Outside the camp, a beautiful life is promised.

Our colleagues both expulsed and imprisoned are trying to stand straight and refuse the capitulation.

Last memories to share in this place, with the people who had been oppressed.

Sacit, one of the members of the team we organize to narrate Humanity Stories, called this evening. ‘’Sister of mine, I am asking for permission to leave, give me your blessing.’’ He says. No need to say more. I understand he is in a danger of being arrested under the investigation procedure on him...

I close the phone and turn to my pray I was prepared. That young academician’s  destroyed life leaves deep scars in my soul while bonding my hands for praying.

Sacit was in the maqam of facing of with himself. In last months, he was living with the heaviness of aspiring the hard. He was having the exam of staying as the ‘good’ like everyone.

Being innocent wraps people up into an indefinable psychology. Being victim leaves people desperate, while being oppressed.

Our camp life is ending. Yet, the crisis of the people being imprisoned, in danger of being imprisoned, been years of imprisoned is not ending.

Raising hands at night for Sacit, praying. And again, existing in this world is nothing but excruciation.

On the picture, we see Ricky Jackson(left), whose innocence is proved after

40 years in prison. So meaningful with the topic...

A Rigmarole Life

Havva is also arrested -with her a-year-old son. She has two sons to take care with; four-year-old one is now motherless.

I am angry with myself, with myself…

You’re in a refugee-camp as you see, shut that Twitter up. Spend the money the country you took refuge in gives you every month as you wish. If it’s too much to spend, save it for later.

Why don’t you follow those courteous Turks came to Europe and rent a house? Don’t excuse the toilet, aver the children. What are you persisting for, woman…

668 babies in prisons is none of your business. Aren’t they with their mothers? If they are cold they could be dressed thicker. It’s surmountable. Do not overthink about it.

And look, for all those 17.000 women and 668 babies, people from many countries staged protests. Calm down already!

Why are you insisting for signatures? What will happen when the number of signatures will be 100.000?!

Then you came up with a tag. I don’t understand what you are doing anymore… What will change if #StandUp4HumanRights and #668Babies will be Tweeted together?

It’s not that urgent to enter the UN’s agenda. All in all, there had been broadcasting in ever country for an hour. Photographs, videos, articles etc. These are enough. They will immediately release the babies, I bet. Just chill.

…

The bizarre adventure starts like this every morning; firstly, I talk to myself. Not satisfying. Rigmarole thoughts and words of an insane. Pinches, slaps and echoes of the words ‘come to yourself woman’.

I face off with myself. I choke back and try to regain consciousness.

Then another woman shows up. Chewing gum and kneading dough. We bicker and ignite and the words flit. ‘’What in the world you could understand, shut it up already!'' I snap. Then she leaves me with the dough in her hands like a fairy.

Then guess what happens?

I feel sleepy. Getting tired when caring the children. Shattered psychology may also have affect, I guess. I just wish for an unremitting sleep. Despitefully, trying –pardon, struggling- to stay awake.

Yet, let’s look forward for the final destination.

I am in the final destination, where I mirror myself…

I visit the door of the most merciful. Knock knock… Is the door opening? Am I getting inside? Unknown… As soon as the arrival, the lectures starts ‘Havva is taken today. She couldn’t take her older son. She is in jail with his little son. Are they cold? Is it okay if they won’t? How is that poor little boy? The little one is with his mother but what is the older one going to do without his mother? How will he survive? …’

I relieve after some crying. The sea of the oblivion shows up. I swim, and swim, and swim. I feel the independency as I swim away from the shore. I ran away from that nuisance. From all nuisances. I am so far that can only be seen by a bird’s-eye view.

It’s iftar time now. Meal is ready. My source of inspiration is Nuriye and Semih, whose weight is reduced to 35 and are not able to walk anymore. I pray for them while ending my fasting.

Forgive us.

Forgive so it may end.

Save us, save us so the tyranny may end...