Do You Know What's Going On?

Do you know what’s going on?

Your neighbours collect food from dumps.

Pregnant women cannot go to hospital for routine controls. They give birth in their houses eventually.

People live in darkness as they cannot pay their bills.

People are pushed to be confessors by giving drugs. Days after days, they are having hysteria attacks and get insane.

These are only a few examples what happens in Turkey.

Moreover, the most painful of all, lives are stolen in Meric River.

It’s like a stepmother tale. Or we were deceived with poisonous apples by a witch.

Our sisters and brothers are enslaved in our home country. All the doors are closed. We cannot go home; they cannot leave home.

They raise their hands to us, but we cannot reach them. We watch them desperately.

The only thing I believe and hope echoes in my ear; Allah will finish this!

Yet…

We have a percentage to take in this time of hard examination. The freedom, only 10% of us have, is not enough to lead us to free thought. The right of good-will starts with searching the ways to help.

I search for humans… Voices join my voice…

Neighbor Pressure

I wouldn’t meet her if I wasn’t writing My Camp Memories. My pain-mate, Sümeyra...

This name reminds me deep heart scars. Her husband is in prison. Her uncle reported her nephew, holding a grudge to her mother. I wish that uncle’s heart cooled by reporting that innocent, haven’t seen ant gun, boy. He would remember that coolness with a glowing fire.

Sümeyra struggles with her two children. Her family doesn’t allow her to go to see her husband, pleading the ten-hours-way-to-go. She couldn’t even take her 6-year-old son with her for four months, because of financial difficulty. I wrote about her previously, and a beneficent sponsored and sponsoring her for every financial problem.

In Turkey, even if the woman is very owned by her family, she could be oppressed.

My dear friend Sümeyra,

Your life is all yours. We may not fully understand what you are struggling with. Apparently, neither your family members does... You and your husband, are traveling in the hillsides of faith, counting days. I can only pray God for you and your family to go along the pure path.

On the list of things to do for you, there are my jobs, your jobs, and others’ jobs. My job is to help you as much as possible; raising my hands to ask help for you, and pray. Your job is to stand straight, like that mother lost two children says, despite of the pressure in your neighborhood, hold your tears and take care of your children.

That woman, I mentioned, lost two children. Easy to say, her two children died. Why? Judges and prosecutors lose their conscience as imprisoning innocent people like your husband, closing their eyes to the death of two innocent children.

The woman goes to police, judges, and prosecutors receives no respond. Her family do not accept her with her two children. Cannot divorce her violent husband. Oppressing by the neighbourhood. What happens to us, happens to our children, to our future.

Don’t forget dear Sümeyra.

Tomorrow belongs to you and your children.

You will own your family as a MOTHER…

You will hold your tears for your children’s smiles.

Women...

Iraqi woman with close-tongue…

I remember her from the first refugee camp we stayed. I was new in there and she tried to help me with her family. In the dining-hall, where is a common field, my children were so naughty and insisting to not eat. She tried to make me feel relax with some sign –heart- language. One day, the couple came to us with a bag of toys. Naturally, my children were so happy.

Nowadays, that woman is in our last-phase camp, away from her husband, with her four children. When she sees me in the laundry, she talks to me with sign language. Apparently, she is buried under her stories. She talks and cries. Shows the bruises and burnt places her husband uses to stub out his cigarettes. Seeing these tears my heart out…

Another Iraqi woman with three children. She and I are in the same situation. Staying in a refugee camp with our children all alone. The only difference is that, her children are older. We received the resident permit at the same time.

I distribute chocolates to my camp-mates –became a ritual of this camp. I visit all rooms, say ‘inshaAllah ikame’ (meaning God may help so we can have resident permit), I pray with my heart and have blessings. But I am angry with that woman. She hides that she had the resident permit, also she doesn’t give any desert to anyone.

We learnt why she was so quiet with a very painful memory. Police officers came and took her 18-year-old son. They took the deported young boy away, to return to his country. Cries are not helping to stop this. The woman cried all day in her room. While they were having resident permit for girls –younger than 18- the boy was sentenced to leave the country. I felt the sorrow in every part of me, in a time I was going to be happy with my children for moving to a house.

And a Tweet I read, makes me shot from my head. Here is the event:

I just learnt the tragedy of a woman came to the USA passed from Meriç River, escaping from the tyranny in Turkey. She dropped her baby while passing from the river. People with her tied her mouth with her turban scarf, to keep her silence…

And today… A woman was dragged away just because his son staged a hunger strike. Just because she gave a voice to his teacher son, who only wants his job back.

Women…

Had been sold like groceries in the past. Now many are imprisoned in Turkey for no reason… Separated from their children, slandered…

Instead of hugging their children, hugging the pain of separated children.

Young engaged girls imprisoned and separated from their lovers.

Tortured, couldn’t face with husband, just writes ‘divorce me’ on a piece of paper and sends. Because of a group of dishonored, cannot look at anyone anymore…

For hundreds of years, women are long suffered, became as stoic outside as are broken inside.

They carry the hardest examination in their courteous hearts…

Tandoor Bread

January 28th, 2018


After two months in the city center, I found myself facing with reality and fascinated by the interaction.

I didn’t have anything to eat for the first two days. My Afghan neighbour gave a box of eggs and some tandoor breads. These breads are so valuable in the camp…

After learning about the markets and shopping, I met with many kinds of breads and bought small loaves my children love.

When I went to the kitchen, I saw that view surprised me the most. Every family were making breads with their flour in the kitchen. There are 10 ovens in the kitchen, every morning and evening there I saw people making their breads. I believe, wherever you go, with your luggage your whole life in, you take your culture with you.

I have seen people like Arabic men and Afghan women that have already mastered about making bread. Making a tandoor in the camp balcony filled my dreams until leaving the camp.

I also kneaded doughs with the motivation of delicious smell of breads. Baked them bravely while male and female kitchen regulars staring at me.

It took two months to take myself away from the kitchen. I was falling in a black hole, so the kitchen was keeping me sane.

Life in camp was too far away from the life in Europe. This country has many kinds of breads. Sour yeast, sweet yeast, rye, whole- wheat, grain mix, rare, medium rare, overdone, and many other kinds. We tasted them one by one, careful for not wasting.

A proverb says ‘’The community divides their bread won’t be divided.’’ Many messengers of God have worked as bakeries and the bread is considered as a blessed food.

In this camp, the most valuable and close to share thing was the bread, made with the experience of years. And the most painful view was the same bread being wasted in children’s hands.

Pieces of the breads of the people divided into pieces…

Our Teacher Annica

January 29th, 2018

Children were going to sing for a program on Sunday.

Costumes were ready. We just needed white socks and booties.

I saw some booties in front of the kindergarten when I went to take children on Thursday. I ask teacher if I can try them for my children. They don’t fit... Teacher looked into my eyes to understand the situation properly. I told we need booties for half an hour on Sunday and added ‘’We would find a way.’’ I don’t want to be a burden for anyone...

It had been a long time since winter came to this country. I am not strong enough to go somewhere with three children in this weather –except their school.

I think about the children in the camp and which one would have white shoes. I don’t bother at all. Thinking the things been done since now, this is nothing to be done.

Friday. Weather kind of says it’s forbidden to go out. It’s snowing, ground is iced over. Someone knocks the door. Unable to talk and tears filled my eyes; my children’s teacher is standing in front the door, a couple of white shoes in her hands...

She searched and found somehow, somewhere. She gave the shoes to me and left.

After two months, we moved to our own house. The day we were moving, Teacher Annica took my children to her house for us to do things easily. They had fun I guess. Children told about Teacher Annica’s cats a lot.

The bed’s slats were broken when we were mounting them. Teacher Annica saw it and said ‘’I’ll bring a new one.’’ She did as she said in the same week.

The next day, I received a text message from her ‘’I can’t help you as I am ill today...’’

We didn’t discuss for a time to do anything. But she was worried for not helping that day…

One day when I went to kindergarten to take my children Teacher Annica gave me some papers with pictures of household items. She wanted me to mark the ones I didn’t have. My eyes filled with tears again and again, I couldn’t see the pictures… The other week we came home with bags full of household items.

And today…

A text message says ‘’I am free tomorrow evening, I can take the children so you can do your housework easily.’’

Teacher Annica is like a cartoon character with wings in her back and a magic wand in her hand.

In my and my children’s life, she is one of the kindness heroes…