Kar Var

Our second day of snow is almost over and it seems our third is on the way. I can hear the crackling of the snow on my window, intermittent, like the squalls that have broken over the city throughout the day. After work, I wandered around the city, bracing against winds that nearly blew me over and pellets of snow that stung my eyes, and had a wonderful time. Walking in the general direction of home I turned into Gulhane Park, green and cool in summer under the towering cottonwoods and now buried in snow and slush. Halfway through the park I stopped and turned back in the direction I'd come to find the blowing snow had left shapes that looked like bold white spines down the windward sides of the trees. Balancing carefully all day atop the snow covering the streets and sidewalks, providing little traction in the morning and simply facilitating falling later in the day, I am exhausted. I wonder what tomorrow will bring...

PS: New photos up at Flick (see button on the R. of your screen and click).

What I Have Been Saying for Years

Anyone want to send me this book? I have been saying for a long time to anyone who will listen that my home country has some sort of anti-intellectual element ingrained in its makeup. Sadly, many people simply deny it outright or become belligerently patriotic and narrow minded about the mere idea instead of taking time to discuss it. I believe it exists, is getting worse, and has serious consequences.

Salaam.

The Man in the Yellow Jacket

So, this is a preliminary post. I am writing out something by hand, trying to process this morning. Somehow, typing on a computer is too removed and I need the weight of a pen in my hand and the feel of the paper under my fist. You need some kind of contact when you watch a person throw themselves off a building to their death.

I didn't know the man in the yellow jacket who killed himself in Osmanbey this morning. He jumped from the fifth floor of the building next to the slim, pink house with intricate white trim where Ataturk once lived, not far from where Dink was gunned down last year, carrying his signs against the reversal of the headscarf ban, handwritten horizontally, seemingly quickly, in black marker on a flipchart like an office presentation. He had sat on the ledge for awhile, just sitting calmly and occasionally arguing with those who came to an adjacent window to try to talk him back inside. We had gathered at the window to watch, wondering why anyone would stage a protest where no one could see you. Some of us took pictures. I took a few, not denying the severity of a man on the roof, but perhaps simply fascinated by the oddity of it, never assuming it would end the way it did.

Even when he shouted at the man in uniform at the window and leapt to his feet, we assumed he would eventually sit back down. The, as quickly as he'd risen to his feet, he threw his signs and jumped away from the ledge, his arms and legs spread wide like a skydiver, in a direction that would avoid the orange inflatable pad firemen were assembling on the pavement. He landed behind the firetruck and for that I am honestly thankful. I had seen enough, still saw enough, without having to see his impact, the dull sound was sickening.

So, I am left to rewrite the piece I had been working on regarding the headscarf ban, left with a lingering anger towards a man I did not know, left wondering what the point was. My students drifted off to the cafe and I stood at the window and watched the firemen, now irrelevant, gather at the back of their truck for a smoke as the ambulance crew went about covering the body and pieces spread across the sidewalk, a person in the crowd capturing the scene on a camera phone, and pedestrians streaming by, stopping only to step into the street to avoid the police tape.

19 Ocak

Ataturk Never Sleeps

Here's a good, if short, piece from Tuesday's New York Times about the power Mustfa Kemal Ataturk, even just as an image or idea, continues to hold in Turkey 70 years after his death.

I'd like to comment now, but I'm off to work. Bir az sonra...

Mutlu Yillar, Y'all

There are about 45 minutes left in 2007.Interestingly, in Turkey they equate Christmas with New Year's Eve. This means the city has been full of Santas, evergreens, and all sorts of Christmas decorative detritus since before Bayram.
However, all the trimmings are identified by most Turks as being New Year's decorations. In addition to believing Santa to somehow directly associated with the coming year, many Turks believe today is Christmas and it's near impossible to convince some of them otherwise. One English friend was met with such resistance by one student that accquiessed, muttering "I'll call England and let them know we've been doing it wrong all these years."

New Year's has never been of much importance to me, an arbitrary designation that has taken on arbitrary significance. I also agree with the whoever termed the 31st "amateur night". Whenever I happen to pass the end of a year at my mother's home I take some pleasure in annoying my mother by going to bed at about 11pm. She usually stammers about how I'd only have to wait another hour. My idea is that we'll either roll into a new year or not, and on the chance we don't I'd rather be fast asleep. Also, I tend to find more of interest in the early hours of January 1st along the empty streets and alleys of wherever I happen to be living.

Tonight, I spent some time with friends, opened a bottle of Greek wine, and made a fabulous meal. Tomorrow, I'll get up early and wander around the neighborhood and city with my cameras and see what I find. I suspect not much, at least in the early hours, but I know this city is never still for long.

Mutlar yillar. Happy New Year.
Salaam fi 2008, insha'allah.

Turkish, the language of Jedi Masters

My friend and colleague Nick, who is also learning Turkish, pointed out something interesting to me the other day.

"Think about how the sentence is formed in Turkish," he said before modeling a few simple sentences in Turkish.

"It's backwards! It's like Yoda-speak," he exclaimed. "I've decided I need to keep that in mind when I'm learning it."

He's got a point with the verb coming at the end of the sentence.

"Learn Turkish I will," he said in his best attempt at the wobbly, little voice of the little, green Jedi master. "One bottle Efes I want," he said with a laugh.

To a girl raised on the original films, who wanted to grow up to be Princess Leia and lead a rebellion to save the universe (and snag Han Solo), it makes learning Turkish even cooler.

May The Force be with y'all.

Best laid plans....

I know I wrote that I'd post an update regarding Greece, but I've been waylaid by several Christmas parties and now a nasty cold which kept me out of class for three days, which, in all honesty, isn't that bad. However, I'd rather be well and working than sick and housebound. I have begun laying plans for 2008 through my feverish and oxygen deprived haze.

In the weeks before I moved to Istanbul, I began compiling a list of things I wanted to accomplish, but without parameters, such as time or reality or feasibility. The list runs the gamut from the predictable - learn Turkish - to the idealistic, professional, personal, and with regular forays into the odd and unique. I'm revisiting the notes I made and adding things that have come up in the months I've been here.

For instance, I had no idea I'd be living in a neighborhood with so many transvestite prostitutes and, the Diane Arbus in me wants to get to know them. I've taken to telling the two or three who frequent my corner "goodnight" when I return from teaching my night classes. At first they seemed surprised and a bit confused as to how or if they should respond. But I did manage to finally get a "goodnight" in response recently, which I take as a good sign. An older Turkish friend told me "it's best you don't speak to them," but I disagree.

I need to arrange a schedule that includes incorruptible times for writing and photography. There the various places and unused planters I've been keeping my eye on in hopes of staging a guerrilla gardening project. And then there's that intense desire to confound the harbor pilots by taking a kayak through the Bosphorus, finding where and how to keep a kayak in this city, and swimming to the Asian side (no, not kidding). I'll also begin looking for diving partners, because I refuse to stay out of the water for as long as I have in the past. Then there's my stubborn refusal to bow to the male-female divide, whereby I will create a circle of male friends, come hell or high water, for match-watching, billiards-playing, etc.

Some things on the list are coming together: I'm starting a book club with a Turkish friend and that may help lay the groundwork for the writing workshop I'd like to organize. I'm also having a go at a long-standing goal of mine - 50 books in 52 weeks. I've decided to let some of it be a bit organic, while making a list of certain titles I'd like to be sure to read.

I'm feeling good, current illness aside, heading into the coming year. Of course, I suppose most people feel pretty good about the future this time of year, otherwise New Year's Eve likely wouldn't be much of a celebration. I feel a lot of responsibility for myself and no one else, which doesn't make it any easier.
Looking forward to seeing what's next.

Salaam, y'all.

Hope

Congratulations to everybody, students and staff, at The International Community School in Decatur, GA for the great article in the New York Times! I helped out with their Saturday School program while I was back in the states, teaching English and life skills to adult refugees. This school is a truly amazing place that more people should know about. It is powerful to watch children from such diverse, and often tragic, backgrounds come together and succeed. It gives hope and a world that sometimes offers very little.

Salaam.

Yunanistan

Just back from Greece, aka Yunanistan. I've posted a few photos at flickr, but didn't take much as I didn't see much as I arrived late and left early. Alexandroupolis is rather sleepy this time of year, but seems a pleasant place. I'll write a little more tomorrow...too sleepy now...6 hours on an overloaded bus coming home, wedged amongst baggage will do that to you. Iyi geceler, ya'll.

Small explosion in front of Ziraat Bank in Harbiye

About an hour ago, someone or something caused a small explosion in front of the state-run Ziraat Bank around the corner from my house. Ziraat, headquartered in Ankara, is the largest bank in Turkey.

Roommate #2 and I were watching t.v. when we heard a very loud sound, much like a very loud clap of thunder before a storm. We looked at each other in surprise, knowing exactly what the sound was. Leaning out our window we saw people on the corner of Cumhurriyet looking and gesturing towards Taksim. My roommate went down to see what happened. As I was heading downstairs he met me on the stairs to tell me it had been what he called "a bomb", albeit a small one.

We walked back to the bank, where about 30 police officers from various divisions were gathered around the perimeter of the crime scene. They had taped off part of one lane of Cumhurriyet in front of the bank and a large portion of the sidewalk in front of the ATMs. Dirt and leaves were scattered about the pavement, as if the explosion had gone off in a little patch of landscaping in front of the bank.A small group of men who looked to be press trickled in and began shooting the exact same photos from the exact same angles, which was amusing to watch. My roommate and I milled around the crime scene tape while I took a few shots and watched two investigators scan the outside of the building for evidence and/or any other devices. One officer finally asked me for my credentials, but I just dodged and said "freelance", which for some reason made everything alright.Pedestrians milled about, walked out into the street to get by, and seemed rather bored by the whole thing. One man who asked us what had happened said he had been in the nearby theater and hadn't heard a thing. Mostly the various groups of cops talked amongst themselves. There were some very businesslike plain clothed officers who seemed a bit more focused. At one point, a crowd of police hustled a long-faced man holding a shopping bag from a popular store into the lobby of the bank next door.Bottom line at the moment - small explosive device, little damage, no injuries, just some curiosity from people like us. Nothing has come up on the news yet.

Salaam.

Top Ten Signs Your Country Has Ben Infiltrated Via Facebook

The Syrian government is blocking access to Facebook due to fears of Israeli infiltration.

10) The opening salvo will come in the form of a cyber-pillow fight.


9) Classified documents leaked via your Fun Wall.

8) Invitations to take the "Are you an Israeli Infiltrator?" quiz.

7) Second wave assault in the form of cyber-Panty Raid.

6) Infiltration exposed by too many members joining the "Infiltrate Syria 2007" group.

5) Axis powers consist of ninjas, zombies, hobos, fluff friends, garden gnomes, pirates, and legions of smileys.

4) Shock and awe when the hatching eggs application unleashed on the populace.

3) The whole affair settled with a round of "Israel vs. Syria". Have your friends vote!

2) Infiltrators slip up and reveal state secrets after too many virtual beers and cocktails sent by new friends.

1) The whole thing spirals into one giant virtual-poke war.

Who is Aicha Qandisha?

Because some people think it's my real name, I offer this:

"Aisha Qandisha or Aisha Qadisha or Ghediseh is one of the most popular and fearsome Jinniya (female one) in Moroccan folklore; beliefs and rituals for Aisha have been continued to the 21st century. She is both a hunter and a healer, sometimes appearing as a beautiful (irresistibly seductive) woman and sometimes as a Hag. When she possesses a man, she does not take over the new host but she opens the man to the storm of incoming Jnun and Jinns, demons, and sorcerous particles of all kind; making the man a traffic zone of cosmodromic data. This is why she is feared. And she never leaves, she always resides in the man to guarantee his total openness which is not always pleasant. According to Moroccans, the only way to feel comfortable with Aisha (the new partner / lover) is participating with her especially through passionate and wild music rites. Those who remember the end credits of Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch, may remember the acknowledgment to the master musicians of Jajouka who perform music rites for men possessed (opened) by Aisha (also see Aisha and the role of music in the Hamadsha)."

-From Vincent Crapanzano's research on possession in Moroccan culture. This is far more interesting than what I was told....

-Adapted from my first post on the blog, the way she was explained to me:

"Aicha Qandisha, a spirit (djinn) in the form of a woman, marries men in Morocco and causes them to go quite mad. Mad in the crazy-making way, not in the sexy female way. Her "husbands" number in the many thousands at this point. I've only married one Moroccan. In comparison, I am either slacking off or simply unable to multi-task as well as she. The men wander about endlessly, especially in dry riverbeds she supposedly prefers, searching for her and hoping she'll return in the flesh. When they catch site of her they, well, engage in conjugal relations on the spot regardless of where they are or who is there. My ex-husband called me Aicha Qandisha as a sort of "pet name". If you ask him, he will be quick to tell you that he certainly was never the same once he married me."

Also, Taromeet is the Amazigh/Ashelhei word for foreigner in the feminine form. The root supposedly comes from the word for Roman, the original tourists to N. Africa, if you will. I love that the concept of "out-of-towner" in the language goes back that far. Yes, I'm a huge word geek.

Salaam, y'all.

Art comes from your mother?

This article in the NY Times is interesting, but far too short. Now I'm really hungry to read Dissanayake's books....

Salaam.

Thank you for sharing

Drinking: my second mug of ginger lemon tea, to which I am thoroughly addicted.
Procrastinating about: an assignment due tomorrow
Listening to: the wind ripping down the sokak and up the space between our building and the one next door.
Concerned about: The Mysterious Muck on the Marmara

Who needs a stereo when you have upstairs neighbors. The folks above me have rather eclectic tastes and seem to be deaf, or at least they will be soon. The wife, who is often home alone, is quite fond of blaring her musical selections loud enough to rattle the glass in the doors and windows of our apartment. The top songs in the rotation come from...wait for it...Fiddler on the Roof. For some reason this seems to get a lot of play while I am making dinner - Sunrise, Sunset; If I Were a Rich Man...I am curious what the non-English-speaking neighbors think. I've only seen and spoken to the woman once and she didn't seem to speak much English herself.

Then there's Grease and that song from the movie Arthur about getting caught between the moon and New York City. One night was apparently Elton John Night, which wasn't bad. She had on Teardrop by Massive Attack the other day, now known as the theme to the t.v. show House, which I love. I never realized how much the bass line sounds like a human heart if you're listening to it loud enough to shake the walls from one floor down, which makes it a perfect song for a doctor show, really. Tonight was a bit of a chore as she was flipping through some sort of Bee Gees greatest hits album. In fact it's not so much the music as much as her inability to finish listening to one album, much less one song, that grates on my nerves the most. I end up getting snippets of acceptably pedestrian music. And now we're on to "lite jazz", which I believe are technically contradictory terms or at least should be.

Salaam.