Come! -- Istanbul, Turkey

Monday was another day spent exploring Istanbul with eager highschool students. We met at eleven o'clock in front of the iron gates of Umit's school and introductions were made.

Turkish names are not getting any easier for me.

I can remember American names -- Jessica, Jennifer, Jennica.

I can remember Irish names -- Cathal, Roisin, Sinead.

I can remember English names -- Giles, Louise, Anne.

I can remember French names -- Jean-Cyril, Phillipe, Aurelie.

I can remember German names -- Martin, Julia, Klaus.

I can remember Italian names -- Antonio, Leonardo, Paulo. 

But I cannot, for the life of me, remember Turkish names. They don't connect to the parts of my brain that say, "this jumble of letters is a name and you should probably have a face to go with it."

Oguz? What? the g is silent, you say?

Hilal?

Ömer? with the impossible Turkish "Ö"?

I feel terrible because the kids are so personable and lovely and even after kindly writing down all of their unpronounceable names for me, I still have to resort to a brusque "you" most of the time.

"And you? What does your father do for work? And you? Where were you born? And you?"

You'd think that after a month and a half in Turkey, my brain would accomplish some minor re-circuiting and realize that Furkan is a collection of letters that ought to correspond with a face and not an accidental jumble that could just as easily be rearranged into kanurf or frunak or rafkun.

This was the first group wherein one of the kids kept putting me on the spot.

"Aimee!" the boy would slide beside me.

"Yes?"

"What is my name?" his greenish yellow eyes laughed at my discomfiture.

"umm... err...agh..."my face contorted into a series of intensely confused expressions as I tried to engage my distinctly non-photographic memory to visualize the paper on which he'd written his name. "O... Ö... Ömer?" I finally managed to stutter.

"Yes."

"YES! WIN!" We high-fived, low-fived, fist-bumped and exploded. Classic, cheesy American style.

I am corrupting the Turkish youth, one high-five at a time.

Before I get sidetracked, I'm going to sidetrack and talk about the Turkish use of "yes" and "come". When I first arrived in Istanbul, there were two verbal habits that left me feeling disoriented and slightly offended. 

The use of "yes" was disorienting.

People here seem to use "yes" the way Americans use "so" and "well...". So (yes) it gives them the impression of being overly agreeable, understanding and decisive. However, as an English teacher/companion, I am more often than not terribly confused by the incessant use of "yes".

"Where are you from?"

"Yes."

"No, where are you from?"

"Yes," the student continues, unfazed. "I am coming from Izmir."

Because English is a language they still struggle with, they need extra time to find the right words. This makes complete sense and I am perfectly happy to patiently wait for them to collect their thoughts (and then translate them to English), but I also want to be sure that they understand my questions. I need to know whether the lag time between "yes" and the actual answer is caused because they are thinking about what to say or because they misunderstood my question as something that could be satisfied with a simple "yes" or "no".

"What is your favorite food?"

"Yes."

"No, what -- ?"

"Yes. I like very much monti."

"You like monti very much."

"Evet. Yes."

Oy. 

To partially eliminate confusion, when a pause becomes unusually long, I throw in a quick, "do you understand?" to clarify the meaning of "yes". 

The use of "come" was offensive. But I assumed it was a simple cultural difference and that I shouldn't be offended.

"Aimee, come," when crossing the street.

"Aimee, come," when turning down an aisle in the market.

"Aimee, come," when summoned to the dining room table.

"Aimee, come," when getting in line for coffee.

It took me a while to realize exactly why this use of "come" put me off.

That's what we use for dogs. I would never tell my friends to "come". But what would I say? ummm... I would probably say "this way" in the supermarket, "I'm over here," at a café, "dinner's ready!" to call people to the table or "careful!/hurry!" if they were about to get hit while crossing the street. I would say, "come here!" to a child -- but only if I was angry.

I talked to Seher about this difference and asked why it was not offensive to simply ask someone to "come".

"In America, I think people want more information before they are just summoned. So we tell them what's happening as a means of invitation. Like "dinner is ready," or "I'm going shopping. Do you want to come?" If we make it a command, it's generally something mutual. "I'm finished, let's go." Simply calling out, "come!" assumes that what you're doing is more important than what the other person is doing -- in an American mind, maybe. If I need something, I go to the person's room, knock on their door and ask "could you help me with my computer?"

"I think your culture requires an explanation," Seher replied after a slight pause. "We do not need an explanation. In Islam, we are not encouraged to ask "why?""

"You're right! Americans are always asking why. Questions are very important to us because we're generally an independent group of people and want to know why we do things," even if we are super religious... weird. 

"And we do not say "would you" or "could you" or "please" in the family. We say "bring me tea" and "set the table" and "pass the bread". Not to be rude -- to show sincerity and because we like short sentences."

"That's good," I interrupted. "Because your individual words are as long as our short sentences."

Seher laughed, then continued with, "Yes, a generalization is to say that we use imperatives in the family and "please" everywhere else."

I cannot even begin to emphasize how tight-knit Turkish families are. It's a beautiful and terrifying phenomenon from the viewpoint of this independent wanderer; beautiful because of the support and love and terrifying because of how limiting it can be and the stark absence of privacy. If your father says, "don't study theatre," you don't study theatre. If your mother says, "don't travel the world," you don't travel the world. From what I can see, this heightened sense of obedience has some roots in obligation, some in love and some in the "we don't ask questions" framework of the culture.

When I ask students where they would go if they had the chance to visit anywhere in the world, the answers often go something like this --

"I would to go. Germany."

"Why?"

"Yes."

"What makes you want to go to Germany?"

"My aunt is in Germany."

"And you? Where would you want to go?"

"To go?"

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

"Oh! I would go to Spain."

"Why would you go to Spain?"

"My grandfather. He is...Spain."

"Only family? Is there nothing that makes you curious? Have you watched a film that makes you want to visit a certain place?"

"...yes."

Also, to sidetrack even further, owls are bad luck in Turkey. If you see one on your window, it means you will receive bad news. Seher does not approve of my new owl socks. And breaking mirrors is good luck. It means something bad has left your life.

My Monday group started off by leading me back to Çapa where we chatted over Turkish breakfast. Then we boarded the tram for Gulhane and walked through the park.

We practiced yoga, took pictures and I terrorized a lion statue. 

This is my, "Perhaps I can do a yoga pose on you," look.

This is my, "Bakasana? Side Bakasana? Flying splits? Are you too narrow for yoga?" look. 

*sigh*

 These kids were some of the best thus far about keeping conversation in English -- which made my job significantly easier. They self-policed and we spent seven easy hours together.

Turkish fishermen

My first time eating mussels in Istanbul. Cathy. We will eat so many of these. They are truly sublime.

These shells are stuffed with rice, onions, pine nuts and currants and flavored with cinnamon and allspice. The street vendor pops them open, douses them with lemon, and hands you mussel after mussel until you raise your hands in surrender, spurting through a mouthful of rice, "Bitti!" Then the vendor counts the shells (damning evidence) and charges you accordingly.

 After our quick jaunt to Üsküdar via the underground Marmaray train, we headed to Taksim for a stroll and "lunch" (the meal that takes place at about 4:00 pm).

My lunch? Bailey's Irish cream and Nutella chocolate chip ice cream.

Their lunch? Waffles with nutella and fruit and ice cream.

Have I mentioned just how popular waffles are in Turkey?

We walked to Taksim Square, stopped by Starbucks (I ordered a chai and thought of my chai drinking friends in Grand Junction)

I have experienced various spellings of my name through the years. Amy. Aime. Ayme. Amie. Amiee. In general, every letter has been moved around/omitted except the "A". This is the first time I have ever lost my "A".

and then boarded a bus back to Çapa. 

What an unforgettable day. Don't you dare start taking experiences like these for granted, Bourget. You just spent an entire afternoon wandering about an exotic city with six local kids. You ate stuffed mussels, roasted chestnuts, Turkish breakfast, ice cream and drank chai at Starbucks. You taught yoga in the park and had the opportunity to learn something about the lives and dreams of some happy and hard-working highschoolers. 

Before we parted, one of the four girls clasped a delicate gold chain around my neck and said with her sweet Turkish accent, "It is my lucky necklace. You should have it." 

These are the moments that leave me speechless. 

Cesim's mother had a grand feast cooked up when I returned. Alas, my poor belly was already bloated from the ice cream and Starbucks, so I did my best to apologetically decline. I think my belly might have drowned out my weak apology with its angry rumbles, though.