With(out) Identity

January 11th, 2018

We are stepping into a beautiful life with our new id cards today. We are from here, from now on. We have resident permit for 4 years.

I wanted to send a photograph of them to my mother as soon as I held it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t share my happiness with my dearest mother. Because, she doesn’t know anything about all these. I couldn’t tell her that… When I was a child, we used to play Polyanna game. Now we’re playing ‘Life is Beautiful’. I sweat to make an image of ‘everything is fine’ for my mother all the time. As a matter of fact, I can’t share my happiness with my family. I stared at the cards with a half happiness. At the same time, surprisingly, an old friend texted me: ‘How are you? How are your children?’. I turned my eyes to the sky and thanked silently for the friend to share my happiness.

I called my friend I couldn’t answer on the way home. She’s in Pakistan. She told me how her husband left the country in a hurry, her two children’s passports usurped by the ambassadors, their expired visas, her household items on sale, the things she sells/tries to sell… She said she would go to any country to accept them. Yet, she can’t go anywhere.

God gave me and my children id cards. My friend talks about how she lost theirs. I was already too tired of daily routine, I collapsed where I was standing.

The news that we had our resident permit spread in the camp with a great speed. Afghani Hala (big sister) Sheyma, waiting for the deportation, came for a visit and greeted me. I cried sobbingly as in front of her negativity, I had a positivity. I felt the same when I talked to my friend in Pakistan. While we are having new identities, they lost theirs.

I could do nothing.

While I was about to drown in the whirlpool of sob, I walked in the prayer hills.

I cry again and again. How we came to this situation? Shattered, scattered, desperate, helpless, and sometimes even hopeless.

The hope of reuniting someday is still standing upright in a corner of my heart.

But the eyes cry anyways…

And heart follows them and stands half…

French Fries

March 20th, 2018

Our first days in the refugee camp… Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were entertaining times for my children but true nightmares for me...

You only have 90 minutes for eating in the camp. People from around the world are getting in the line for meal. None of them is similar with the other. All of them are full of energy, including my children…

Sometimes cartoons are showed on TV at meal times. Although, children keep running from a side to another. They are having lots of fun but it makes me exhausted as someone may get bothered of my children.

They don’t eat, they just play. Sometimes they want to eat but I don’t want to let as I don’t know if the meal is halal or not. Sometimes the meal is something they love, that time they want it over and over. Sometimes I get tired of my son’s loud voice saying ‘’I want French fries! I want pasta!’’

If someone not from the camp invites us for a dinner and asks what children would like, I directly say ‘French fries’. Nur gave an interview to Yeni Asya online newspaper and told what she saw and lived in the prison in Turkey. Children in prison with their mothers want French fries, mothers could do nothing and just keep being patient. Also children, growing up under the looks of other prisoners saying ‘shut up’.

In cells, 40 people live. Even though they are for 25 people. 38^th, 39^th, and 40^th individuals are children. Crying at night, noisy in day, children try to grow up; mothers try to stand still.

On the other hand, mothers hankering their children. Some could take one of the children and left the other, some couldn’t do neither. Some are about to lose their sanity. There are only two things they can get calm with: tranquilizers and prayers.

Bounds of Ansar&Emigrants

August 28th, 2017

Unknown heroes…

Our first days… Time to meet with new uncles and aunts for children. They memorize the faces of who cares the most. Uncle Metin invites us first, his family opened their house and heart to us for two days. They insisted us to stay more, but we had to return to our camp life. Information from the neighborhood is taken in mind.

I am like a fish out of water! I can’t understand what happened. It had been a week since we came. Children’s coats are not suitable for the weather. Camp official took me to the second-hand store in the basement. You can take whatever you want from here. I left children to Mr. Ahmet for 10 minutes and went to the dusty basement. I took my phone with me. The rooms in the basement are like one within the other. The last room is for kids.

It looks like impossible to organize. Whoever visits, just comes and disorganizes. New second-hand goods are always being added. I put my phone one of the shelves and looked for thick coats. I found one for my older son and one another for my little. A Serbian origin Muslim woman in the room suddenly left in a hurry. I checked my phone with a reflex, but it wasn’t there. We were three people in the room. Now we are two. I asked for my phone to the Syrian woman. The answer is no. I checked the room, hoping it fell somewhere. It was too late when I asked Mr. Ahmet to call my phone. The phone was shut down!

Explaining the situation to the receptionists, I saw the couple took my phone walking outside. We don’t have search warrant so we cannot do anything as the receptionist said. It was weekend, we had to go to a police station on weekdays. As we express our astonishment, the receptionist repeated ‘I am here for three years, I have seen such things. Not surprised at all…’

I cried… The only communication device I could use in this foreigner country was my cell phone. Moreover, the thief was a Muslim… I cried and cried and cried… Uncle Orhan came for visit with his family the next day. They stand ready for every kind of problem. The problem is not the only mine, it’s all of ours problem! They brought me a phone, with a sim card, they don’t use at home. This time, I smile. I smile and smile and smile. Not because of the new phone, because of the bound of brotherhood/sisterhood.

In here, every emigrant after a month becomes an ansar. In the world of problems, they are eager for being the solution. Everyone invites others to their houses. Uncle Mehmet and Aunt Halide are always there for us. Whatever children want, they do with pleasure…

My older son’s birthday… Uncle Kenan organized a small birthday party. Aunt Fadime made a birthday cake and brought to the camp to celebrate. Uncle Ömer gives money to children every time he visits. Uncle Halil says it’ll be our sin if we won’t call them for any kind of issue.

Children are happy. Very happy. Our new relatives are these people. Visits and guests never end…

Naturally, we feel the blessing on ourselves.

However, we all have a giant deep scar in our hearts. Even our breaths are half. Our brothers, sisters, friends, and families we left. We had to be left…

Every meeting ends with praying. Emigrants and ansars never forget the victims, never let to be forgotten.

That’s it…

Bittersweet Story of 3x3=9 Children...

November 23rd, 2017

I lost myself in the Aegean Sea. My body scattered, none of the pieces of mine comes ashore...

In this worldly life, evil is common, stormy bad news are like breezes... Rana hears that her husband will be imprisoned after the court. She cannot stand it and hospitalized. Taken to intensive care, sent home with a hearse. Her three children are orphans...

While three children become orphans, other three walk to eternity in the sea.

Maden family’s right to life is taken away. The police raided their house again and again. So family goes on a hazardous journey. What happens next, you know. Our humanity washes ashore…

At about the same time, camp authorities brings me an envelope. Inside, a paper indicates that we can have resident permit. And three other children gains right to live in Europe.

I am like a bride, getting married after the day her father died.

How to afflict your stomach by eating hot and sour together? This good news flow through my cells like a cancerous stomach’s pain. My thoughts go back. The cost of not to obey to the tyranny means good news to someone while means lives other. Thinking these, I fly far far away…

After that moment, pain never offers me a meal, hope never salutes…

It’s not loneliness, it’s the desolate. Like Rabiyat-ul Adeviyye, may God be pleased, I want my knees to touch my prayers’. I look for brightness from prayer’s knees.

Oh God…

Once, Hussein martyrized in Karbala.

Our Hussein gave his life in cold waters.

Pained weak people of us, praying on our knees,

Waiting for a piece of light from you…

I died!

January 28th, 2018

Our journey into the unknown started when we came to this country.

Three noisy children and four suitcases around me.

Meanwhile in my country, giant waves swallowing people and we were also in the line.

This foreign country is the peaceful seashore we had to take shelter. From the colossal storm of greed, from the giant waves of anger, from the calamity and the slander, we ran away like those who were lucky.

Death…

As Rumi says, ‘salvation from the homesickness’…

People died in this way…

Bunch of secrets; some are awarded by salvation from the homesickness while some are awarding by a new homesickness.

First week of a new life…

We waited in the cold weather of Europe while moving to our house from the refugee camp. My children got sick first. Fever, caught, runny nose, vomiting, and headache. All guests of our new house. My rush to dispose the house ends when I catch a terrible cold.

Tiredness may also have affect, I couldn’t get up. Even putting patato slices on my forehead and temporal sides, the old-fashioned way, didn’t work. Antibiotics are not common here, doctors here don’t suggest it as doctor’s in Turkey do. However, we all started to take antibiotics.

My caughts didn’t let me sleep, my headache didn’t let me get up. It’s hard to drink water as my throat was irritated. I was like ripped to shreds.

Children were having nightmares and I was the only one to calm them down.

Then, it was my turn to have nightmare.

I died in a nightmare, and I died with it!..

While I was thinking that I was safe with my children, I shared the same destiny with those who may be safer than ever with death. I was thinking about my lovely three little children... I was gone... Who is going to take care of them?

My hands weren’t able to catch, standing still.

My mind wasn’t able to stop, questioning everything.

Loneliness invites to death, death invites to nothingness...

Lavatories&WC

August 21th, 2017

Whenever I go to the toilet, I want to scream for help. Not the culture of common cleaning, but the culture of common dirting...

The soap dispenser is broken. Everyone carries their own soap. I always forget and return in the half-way to bring it. It’s my turn for cleaning there today. The hardest part for me is cleaning the WC for men. I got used to it later. Don’t get used to if you can... But whenever I enter, I move a step forward and three steps backward. After 10 minutes I was with the cleaning, there were glasses of green tea in the sink. I have got problem with those green teas. I have a problem with the children having bath and the dishes cleaning in those sinks. There are bathrooms near the kitchen! Are they too lazy to go there? However, most probably the drain pipes of bathrooms are clogged... We need three more dots here!

I am a cleaning addict. I go to the toilets before I take children, make a quick clean, and then I take the children one by one. Then we straightly go back to our room.

In Ramadan, every sehri (meal before fasting early in the morning) people get into a long line to rinse their mouth. While they were waiting, they were chit-chatting and making the line unbearable! Once an Afghan came and said ‘assembly, assembly’ cheerfully, looking at the line. However, I was on the verge of vomiting every night…

Assembly for someone, unpleasant memories for others…

I'm Orphan...

September 18th, 2017

Russia, Albania, Afghanistan, Iraq, Macedonia, Serbia… In this temporary refugee camp, people from different countries came together. Except those came from Russia, all of them came through Turkey. I wonder what happened to our law of visa and immigration… Turned into a law of stopping by?

Everyone knows a couple of Turkish words.

Syrians really love our president. Some talk about a bag of coal, some talk about a box of food. They also talk about how they left Turkey with a boat, hungry for 5 days. I don’t know why but they pray God for mercy for him.

They always ask and talk about a special topic: Turkish TV dramas, actors, actresses, and singers. I barely and recently understand how Polat Alemdaroğlu and İbrahim Tatlıses helped our country’s introduction.

An Iraqi young sings the same song whenever he sees me as a salute. The Emperor İbrahim Tatlıses’s touching song…

I’m fatherless, I’m fatherless, I’m fatherless vaay.

I’m motherless, I’m motherless, I’m fatherless vaay.

If you are riding the horse of sorrow,

Go slowly go slowly I’m fatherless vaay.

Don’t cry don’t cry, come don’t cry.

Days will pass days will pass and this will end,

Open your eyes open your eyes vaay…

Here is the original song.

…and I talk about Tuğba in my first refugee office interview. Tuğba, we forgot as our pain gets layered day by day… My dear friend lost her mind because of the torture she had faced in prison and the apprehension of her children. If they have taken me, my situation would be the same with her. I imagine with fear and say ‘my children would be orphans’ and my friend’s situation gives me the real image…

I walk through the night with orphan children’s cries…

Oh Tea...

September 6th, 2017

The only thing strengthened the bounds in the camp we latterly moved was tea. How amazing! I visit a door to ask for a thermos bottle and visit another door for a kettle. I don’t have neither of them. But I have tea! Every time I knock a door for making some tea, I say to myself ‘the only thing won’t keep me away from being a mendicant is tea’.

Some Turk people living in the area call and ask if I need anything. I only need a tea maker and six slim waisted glasses. After two days, the tea maker is in my hands and the crisis is over. My tea maker, is my only luxury. I give a little break for all neighbor relationships. Tea becomes my long and strong stick in this long-jump-like adaptation period.

And then…

Little Betül Seda (on the left) died when she was running to her father on Ramadan Eid’s first day… 

You can read Stockholm CF's article for more: Betül Seda Özcan Died On Her Way to Her Father

This is the deepest point of the oppression in Turkey. My heart is stable with gratitude and dhikr, but my mind rebelliously stands. My blood in my veins want to flow out and be free. My veins will explode soon. But how?

I catch eyes of my glass of tea, my dearest friend.

My mood is destroyed. I destroy tea’s taste.

I steep tea in the morning. Leave it to be steeped well. I over-steep then. I drink it without thinning it up. I add its steep-bitter to my heart.

My drink in my house,

My consolation in my tears,

My conversation while reading Epistles of Light,

My sorrow-friend in my Turkues.

My nutrition in epistles…

My dear confidant one, finds me a right of a gap od sip, even when no one seeks my rights… 

The list of sufferers is too long oh my sisters and my brothers!

Oh Tea!

I am always ready to be steeped with you in this examination of surrendering God...

I'm leaving this Turku song I love the most for all of you...

It’s me, Deniz. I’m Deniz.

August 15th, 2017

It’s me, Deniz. I’m Deniz.

I am writing this blog for reuniting those who never lose their hopes.

I came to a refugee camp in Europe six months ago. I’m the only Turk for now. I have three little children. They are from the planet Earth.

It wouldn’t be wrong to say that I barely found the motivation to write. Or I barely coming to myself. My brother Faruk’s supplication also helped.

Everyone knows the well-known president of Turkey. Like Europeans say, ‘The Crazy President’.

I had columns in the closed newspaper. I no more have any columns…

Neither a husband. I am divorced…

I took my children, and a backpack, and went to Europe.

None of the stories seem sad to me as what Nuriye and Semih lived. Their and the increasing number of imprisoned babies’ stories are worse than every story I know…

I am at such a point that, I feel like I’m holding the whole world in my hands but I can do nothing but watch. I had to do more. So I started to write…

I will continue writing…

Dinner

August 20th, 2017

I am in my room with my children. If you are a family in here, you can have your own room.

The camp is a two-tier building. My room is in the upstairs, on the left side. Kitchen is in downstairs, on the right side. The distance between us is about 150-200 meters. There is a fire-escape stairway starting from our room. In any case of emergency, my children will be safe first. Thanks God…

My little son fall asleep early. So we heated our meals and sat on the fire-escape stairs. We had our dinner in there this evening. It was so blissful… My daughter said it was so beautiful. Even a very glorious restaurant wouldn’t have the joy…

As you may guess, Deniz is in the Wonderland.

I am re-shooting re-shooting the movie, Life is Beautiful, with my children.

Every night is coal-black, but we wake up with a different kind of hope everyday…

Orphan Emrah

December 20th, 2017

This is my third writing about Emrah…

You didn’t forget her right? Her story is another oppressed one’s, another victim’s, another downcast’s…

Let me write here.

Emrah and her big sister grew up as orphans. They lost their mother at Emrah’s age of 11. Their sergeant father, one of the students of Bediüzzaman Said Nursi, has crowned his daughters with a Qur’an based education targets ethical values.

Mrs. Emrah’s big sister is in Pakistan. Once, she and her husband were Turkish school employees. Nowadays, she makes cakes, cookies, muffins, and biscuits to sell in bazaars to earn some money for her house. Their passports are already expired, the UN doesn’t respond to any letter although they are still in the country they have no life assurance.

And Mrs. Emrah…

One of the mothers burns with child hankering… She has three sons. In prison for a year and a half, she is in detention over terror organization links. Her youngest son was 2 years old when they were both imprisoned. Now, her little boy is about 3.5. Do you remember the little boy cried to sit between her mother’s arms and kiss her cheek? Emrah was fallen faint when she couldn’t see her son in a non-contact visit. ‘’What happened to my child?’’ she asked when she came to herself…

Your son is fine, dear Emrah. He is so fine except being far from his parents. We are also fine my dear sister! But you are not…

Emrah is terribly sick and her situation gets worse day by day. Her treatment for the postnatal inflammation is left half done. She is in period of menopause. She is not having a gynecological treatment. Her illness in her eyes got worse… Lately, the doctor said she is going to be be blind as the retinal detachment in her eyes. She sometimes has vision loss due to the stress.

I raise my hands for Emrah. We pray for her every night with my children.

Someone may hear this voice and join us.

Emrah is an orphan, I write so you may know. I write…

Live Like a Human, Let Live Like a Human

Teacher Annica texted me last Saturday.

''We can go to the shopping center you wanted to go at 1.00 pm.''

A week ago, I told her that I want to go to the mall I have seen before to buy some needs for my house I moved to a week ago. But I couldn’t go as it was too far. When I asked her to take me there, she answered with a question: When?

I didn’t give an exact date and postponed it for later.

But Europeans don’t postpone…

Then, I wrote that I have a very rare time to concentrate on my studies, so I couldn’t go. I also had to review my language course notes.

I was shocked with the answer. Her name is Annica; we couldn’t escape her.

''So I’ll take the children at the same time so you can study.''

What? I don’t understand! You will take three children for a couple of hours to a ski track, they really love, and deal with them?

My answer was already sent while I was thinking about all these.

Ok.

While we are feeling the absence of our Turkish people, presence of people like Teacher Annica, who behaves like an aunt, is a great comfort! In Turkish culture, aunt are half-mothers.

Also we have Kata. These people are really crazy…

It became impossible to take children to the kindergarten, so I decided to buy a car. With Mr. Kerim’s help, I bought a car. But there were a hundred procedures waiting for me! Assign, vehicle inspection, detecting cash-pay gas stations, and a big bunch of other things.

Thinking about the old saying, have some goods with some trouble, I received a text message from Kata: I have another flight again. If you need anything please let me know. I can handle it as soon as I arrive. If it is urgent I can find someone to handle it.

In Turkey, I always said ‘not of my business’ after the coup. I was questioned by my family, relatives, and neighbours. Their questions were so interesting… The one who was having an abdication of reason was me or the opponent siders? I watched the so-called coup in my home town with my three children. I witnessed people screaming in the streets and crying loudly for blood and pay. My relatives, neighbours and friends were bothering me with their exaggerated questions.

I recall those days and Kata appears in my mind.

We went to a gas station when she arrived. I looked for a gas attendant. But there was no one to pump the gas. As well as a tea vendor, and a security guard. We filled the gas tank and paid the cash from the market near there and left for other to-dos.

Kata made all the researches for vehicle inspection and handing-over procedures. This job was also finished.

On my way back home, Kata and Annica’s value for me just because I am a human took a place in the center of my soul as a blossom of humanitarian values.

I discovered the name of the heir I’ll leave for my children.

The secret of facing-off with yourself, while staying away from egoes:

Live like a human.

Let live like a human.

Horray Diaspora!

Diaspora is the easiest...

I feel like people in the year 1928 in the Republic of Turkey. Their whole life changed in one night with the Alphabet Reform; all Turkish citizens became illiterate and had to keep pace with the new reform.

So I made a decision for myself.

Yes! I made up my mind! No need to get in trouble with language. At the age of 40, with three children, my brain won’t have them all together. My excuse is ready!

It’s the best option to live where Turkish families live.

I can visit someone whenever I am bored. Also, children won’t hanker after Turkey at all, they may get along with other Turkish children, feeling no loneliness.

I should immediately buy a TV and reach the Turkish channels. When I’ll be busy with the housework, cartoon channels may help. And I can step into a stressless life with one TV drama series per week.

After all, Mrs. Fatma’s meals are delicious! Thanks a lot, she invites whenever we have a phone call.

We have resident permit, government cares us. It’s hard to find a job… Even citizens are unemployed. Do I even have a chance to be a teacher? What will happen if I learn their language? I have survived with some Tanzanish for a year. It’s enough till I reach my 60s.

Moreover, we have prayers in our meetings. Talking about the victims, making brain storms for the things what could be done.

What will happen if I think bigger? I can’t think bigger I have already thought what I could… It’s time to pray God for the best.

Although, psychology must be considered while worrying about the warriors. If I get too much worried and cannot stand it, then I should stay quite away from the bad news. We are in a term of getting accustomed to a new country, a new culture.

No words to say…

We are all in the term of being accustomed to a new country.

Trying to stand on out feet. The continuum in our home country would finish somehow, and we would go home. Our home…

Turkish businessmen came to Germany were right: Big ideals are for big people.

Horray diaspora…

My Lion-Like Daddy!

Fabruary 15th, 2018

Abdulkadr…

Like every child going on this journey, he was thinking that this was a game with his parents. They would win if they never give up, even if they get too much tired…

They had their big strong father; no one never can do anything to them. Father means trust, father means confidence.

This is a game of bad cops and uncharging robbers.

Although how hard the journey is, mother and father tries to calm their child by giving a shape of a game to the journey.

And what happened in the end?

Some walked to the eternity through the rivers…

Their sons looked at their mothers and asked ‘’Daddy will win right mommy?’’ innocently. Children awaited for their fathers for 70 days. Mothers soothed themselves by believing they are still alive. They don’t want to be rescued from the bottomless pit they have fallen with the father’s news; he was dead.

Some of them lost in the cold water of the river. The game, is over. And we got quite happy for them being dead. Mother and two children are dead, how could the father would live with this truth? We got quite happy with the truth of father’s death.

We witnessed to the witnessing of the whole family.

Some of them, separated from their children, threatened by their beloved ones. Children sent photographs to their fathers with messages ‘to my dearest daddy’. Hankerings messed up with hatreds. Minds stuck in the past.

Some fathers, died in their children’s arms because of the very hard torture.

Some fathers, trembled like a leaf everyday with the fear of hearing bad news from their children with cancer.

Some fathers, had disabled children. Couldn’t see them more than a year.

Fathers, pressed their hearts with rocks. Stones would be too light.

Fathers, mothers, and their children.

They have lived everything, including the things they should never had lived!

Oh night! I wish I could walk with the wind behind me as you get darken as you could…

I live with the hope of one last drop, and the end.

My eyes burn. My heart is about to breakdown…

I look forward for the fortune to come up.