In Which I Get Bitchslapped by Turkish Culture, Thrice.

The last two and a half weeks have been a car wreck. I’m pretty sure the only other time in my life I’ve felt so consistently down was this time last year, when Voddie died. I would like to say something about the life lessons I’ve been learning, but so far they’ve been limited to:

-I shouldn’t bother putting on mascara if I know I’ll cry it off, and
-coffee is my ultimate comfort food.

I don’t like to get too personal on this blog, or in general, because intimacy freaks me out like whoa. But I think this time around, it can’t really be helped. I started this blog in 2008 because I wanted to document the good, the bad, and the ugly in France, and I promised myself the same honesty when I brought “Fruit Mongers” to Turkey. Maybe writing about these three incidents as manifestations of Turkish culture, rather than “my life,” will help me distance them and the emotions they’ve inspired. Regardless, I can’t really keep them to myself, and I don’t think I can forget about them.

Incident 1: Yobancılar. (Foreigners.)
So it turns out that Turkish people do love foreigners. Until they start dating their son.
Three weeks ago today, I met up with Aydın after his class ended and on the bus ride to his apartment, he informed me that his mom had paid him a surprise visit the night before. She claimed she wanted to say hello (at 10.30 at night...) and clean his house. In other words, she wanted to snoop through his shit. That was clear as day. I asked him if she found my toiletries in his bathroom, and he said no - he’d had the sense to hide them in his underwear drawer when he realized what she was up to. He said he was worried about it though, and would have to have a chat with his parents. Then the subject changed, and we resumed a very normal evening. The next morning I watched him get ready for work. He kissed me goodbye. I made his bed, and then not wanting to have a run-in with a snooping parent, I got the fuck out of there. Two days later, feeling like Aydın was being a little weird/quiet, I texted him during a break in one of my lessons, asking him if everything were okay. No, was his response. There was a problem between him and his parents, and the problem was “us.” Maybe three hours later, he drove over to my neighborhood and, sitting in his car, he broke up with me.

Why? Because his parents told him he had to for the sake of the family. I’m not Turkish and I’m not Muslim, and therefore I am not right for their son. (They don't even know about the tattoo, nose piercing, or that pesky Jewish factor.) I could see in his eyes and the tightness of his jaw that Aydın sooo didn’t want to be having this conversation. He’d been crying a lot and could barely look at me. He told me how sad and sorry he was, but his parents had “won” (his word), and there was nothing for it. This would be the last time we would see or speak to each other.

Umm... can you fucking believe that shit? I’m pretty sure that’s been a scene in at least five films before it was edited out for being “implausibly melodramatic.” Between my sobbing and yelling, and general losing of shit, I tried to point out how ridiculous this all was. I told him I would meet his parents and talk to them about their issues with me. (Yes. They’ve never even met me.) I told him that there was nothing wrong with our relationship, and this was the stupidest reason to break up over. I also told him for the first time something I’ve been keeping to myself for at least a month now - that I love him. Awesome timing, Anya. Truly spectacular.

It’s funny (by which I mean entirely unfunny). Of all of the shitty feelings I’ve had in the last weeks regarding Aydın, regret for saying that isn’t one of them. So maybe that’s a life lesson: tell people you love them as soon as you know you do. It’s one of the few free, completely good gifts we can give to other people. Don’t wait for the most inopportune moment that presents itself.

Anyway. So, uh, thanks ignorant, hateful Turkish parents for asking your son to give up a relationship that was both healthy and serious because you’re scared of foreigners. And/or what the neighbors might be saying. It’s really great that you make your kid choose between family and happiness when there are most certainly compromises that could be made instead. And, lest you think I’m overlooking the obvious: thanks obedient, slightly brainwashed, soon-to-be-32 year old momma’s boy for letting your parents dictate your life and mine. I understand your family is more important to you than I am, but I care about you enough to not make you choose to begin with. Think about that.

Incident 2: Israel.

I teach an evening class Monday through Wednesday which is largely composed of men under the age of 35. Of the eight people who regularly show, one of them is a girl, and she happens to be the smartest in the class. The rest are straight up dudes. Leather jackets and hair gel, and eyes that sometimes pry a little too intently when I walk by their desks. A week and a half ago, we were reading about Alexander the Great and his policy of encouraging his army to marry women from the lands they had conquered. Not a unique rule, by the way. Romans did this all the time, and it was a reason for their great success (and failure.) I thought this would be a good time to ask them what they thought of foreigners, knowing (see above) that they would probably all say “we love foreigners!” Well, I was right. Except for one dude, who said “I like most foreigners.” I asked him which foreigners he didn’t like, and got a confusing response which took a few seconds to translate. “Israelis.” The first word he used (The Turkish one) was “Jews,” but for simplicity’s sake, he changed it to Israelis. I asked him why, and he told me that Israelis are interested in only two things: money, and blood. Every war in the world is their doing. Every Arab dead is their doing. They’re evil people, he said, and he hates them. He wants them all gone. His spiel lasted for about three minutes, and I had to actively stop myself from shaking.

I know this guy isn’t the only Turk with these thoughts. The Turkish and Israeli governments are notoriously unfriendly towards one another, especially after Israel attacked that ship carrying food and supplies to the West Bank a few years ago (?). (It was a Turkish ship...) But to hear him make those generalizations about Jews was shocking. And it was scary. I’m no fan of Israel myself, but holy shit. To be confronted with raw anti-semitism in my own classroom... I walked home a few minutes later feeling sick and sad.

Incident 3: Fatih the Conqueror

In this aforementioned dude-heavy class, I’ve had a “visiting student” sit in for the last two weeks or so. My co-teacher Ian and I have been trying to figure out what his deal is, since “visiting” is definitely not allowed. He claims he’s been given permission by the branch manager, but that has yet to be verified. Anyway, up until a few days ago, I didn’t give him much attention. I did catch him copying down the answers to the grammar exam I’d just graded and handed back, but I confiscated that shit right quick. And then on Tuesday night he started interrupting my lesson, and refused to shut the fuck up when I asked him politely to do so. After teaching French kids and going through those many hard-earned lessons, I’m pretty okay with asking people to get out of my class if they’re just there to fuck around. So I did. And I guess that pushed his buttons. He got really angry and told me I was being super rude. I told him that all of my students were required to be quiet while I was talking, and that he isn’t even a student to begin with, so he needs to be extra quiet. Our spat continued for about three minutes, and then he backed off. I went downstairs during the next break to talk to the head-teacher about it, and as usual, my head-teacher did nothing but tell me to talk to a higher-up. The visitor, Fatih, didn’t return to class after the break.

But he did return the next day, and while I was preparing for class and waiting for most of my students to turn up, he decided he had to put me in my place. This included but was not limited to a diatribe against me (with actual pointed finger) that went on for at least five minutes. Apparently, not only am I incredibly rude, but I have no right to speak to him that way because I’m “a girl” and he is “28 years old.” He pays money and I can never talk to him like that again. I’m also a liar, and a really rude one, at that. When I pointed out that he was being incredibly rude that very moment, he cut me off and said “listen - you’re a girl.”

This argument only ended when I told him we were going to have to talk to management downstairs because there was clearly a serious problem. He said “no problem, no problem ok?” a few times. Of course when break started and I went down to the office to get someone to talk to him, he had disappeared.

Let’s review. This douchebag thinks he can berate me IN FRONT OF MY CLASS because I’m a girl, and because he (incorrectly) thinks I am much younger than he is.

Turkey, you’re awesome. Thanks for a truly wonderful three weeks.