The department of disasters!

Saturday evening is my time!. My dear wife is on duty so I have the whole apartment to myself to put on my jogging pants and best warm sweater with my feet up. The remote control is mine. A nice scotch waits patiently in the bottle ready to be poured. A nice chili con carne has been already prepared the night before just waiting to be heated. Then I go into slob mode, eating crisp and dry pastries and the world is a wonderful place again after a long week. Bliss, perfect bliss!

There is sometimes a spanner in the works though. A spanner that goes by the name of TEDAŞ. To give it its full name translated, “The Turkish Electric Distribution Company.” I prefer to use the abbreviation TEDAS as to mean "The Electric Doesn't Always Satisfy!". So inept are they at “distributing” electric that If they ever made a film about the practices of TEDAS, then it would start with the words “ Carry on…… “! I am also sure that if I ever met the top man in charge at TEDAŞ, he would have a big read nose that would go “beep beep” when squeezed.

The Head of TEDAS takes another complaint

Now, please don”t get me wrong here and think I am being anti-Turkish public services. I can happily say that the phone company supply me with a decent and not expensive service. My internet provider serves me with an excellent service at a very reasonable price. My mobile phone company for the most part has never let me down. The water company serve…ok maybe let”s leave the water company for another time! However, TEDAŞ infamously supply the most expensive electric in Europe with arguably the worst service.

Take for example, a few weeks back. There I was on my “slob” night. A night where it was definitely a night to be home as a winter storm slammed against my window. I happily relaxed, feet up, happy as a porker in poo! The patient scotch had been poured and was now shaking hands with the chili that had been happily consumed a short time before. In short I was in a happy place! Evil minds at TEDAS  decided I was far too happy though and it was time to have some fun at my expense.

Manchester United were on the TV and on the attack, battling for another win as I sat on the edge of my seat. Then it happened! The instant sound of all the electrical appliances having their life support machine cut off and myself being confronted by instant blindness!. The first reaction is to wait, my optimist mind communicates “ok don’t panic it will come back after a minute”. I pull back the curtains behind me and check out the window. The whole neighborhood is in total darkness and with the moon obliterated by the storm clouds it was blacker than a miner’s armpit!

A minute passes, in total silence and in total darkness. Candles are needed. I used to have a sense of where the candles were kept in my home. However with every one of my wife”s cleanups they are moved to an even more obscure place. I need to call her and ask her where she has hidden them this time. With the house phone being connected to the now defunct electricity supply, I open my mobile phone and enjoy the light it dispenses but do not enjoy the fact it is now nearly empty of charge!. I locate my normally sane and sensible wife”s number and call:

Me: Askim, where is the candle?

Wife: What kindle?

Me: No, not kindle, candle!

Wife: When did you buy a kindle?

Me: NO!, Listen. not kindle, Candle, I don”t have a kindle! I need a Candle the electric has gone!

Wife: Whose kindle askim ya?

Me: No ones Kindle, candle!

Wife: Kindle , Kindle. what”s a kindle kindle?

Me:No. CANDLE NOT KINDLE!….. Oh Bloody hell..wait!

I quickly open the Turkish dictionary application on my phone and read

candle
(n) Mum

Me: Askim, listen carefully , where is the Mum?

Wife: Whose Mum askim?

Me: Our Mum, our candle.!!

Wife: Your Mum is in Engl……

Me: NOOOO, LISTEN. I beg you askim , The electric has gone and I need a candle, Turkish MUM!

Wife: Oh , sorry askim I understand now!

Me: Thank Christ for that!

Wife: You want to buy my Mum a kindle

Me: Askim, Listen please carefully before suicide becomes a feasible option!. I need a mum..understand.. M.U.M..MUM!

Wife: Askim, have you been drinking raki again?…I told you not to drink it again after you embarrassed us at Ahmet”s sunnet party..

Me: OH for fu……….

My cursed sentence is cut off and I am again thrown into Stevie Wonder land as the charge on my phone empties. I sit and now an even bigger problem is setting in. I have a condition that few actually know about . I suffer from DCS or Directionally Challenged Syndrome and have to guide my way round anywhere by using objects as markers!. When driving, for example, I use markers like “ I have to turn right at the red house with a thatched roof” – even if I have made the same journey every day for  years. If someone knocked down the red house one night I would be driving around for days like a lost pensioner on the M25!. Now, in total darkness, I know I am in the living room but where the door out is I have no idea. I am basically a blind ship without a rudder!  I am for all tense and purposes HMS Stevie Wonder!

“Wait it out Mike, wait it out” I say loudly to myself. I need light though, the darkness is freaking me. My laptop is in the bedroom but I have no sense how to locate the bedroom never mind the laptop and the light it will bestow on me! I give it a try though. I gingerly stand staring into dark and utter oblivion, forgetting the tray that was on my lap with the remnants of the chili. The remnants are now smashing below me on what I suspect is the wife”s new oak coffee table!. My first step forward confirms my suspicion as a sharp injection of broken porcelain spikes into my toe sending painful shockwaves up my foot and is followed by a piercing scream. I fall forward.  The aforementioned coffee table breaking my swift descent, well breaking my stomach’s fall as my head lands on the carpet beyond it! 

Stunned, I lay there in a pool from my now emptied whisky glass that is being soaked up into the white stainless carpet. It’s the wetness around my foot that distresses me though, I place my other foot next to my now throbbing toe, it’s wet, it’s sticky, it’s warmish…it’s blood!

I am now in a total daze, totally lost and bewildered in my own environment, totally in darkness and laying there in a disfigured form. I am now convinced that when TEDAS supplied the wiring in our apartment they have installed hidden cameras with night sight vision. Convinced that somewhere in a TEDAS office in Antalya some guy called Cem or Mustafa is shouting “ Hey, lads, come and look what I have just made this English bloke do”

The worriment I am in though is about to get worse. I need the toilet!. Chili con carne and Bells whiskey, my stomach has decided is not to it’s liking and wants to eject it as soon as possible. The toilet, how do I get to it!. Now, my mind is racing in panic as my stomach screams “ you jerk, you have just done the culinary equivalent of putting diesel into a petroleum engine..get it out now!”

I roll my stomach of the coffee table and it lands with a thud, not appreciated by my stomach which responds by gurgling like a bucket of hot tar. I feel around me, the square hard shape forming in my hands tells me that is the leg from the coffee table. My stomach is now cramping with pain . I need the toilet and quick. A plan is formed!. Remembering a documentary about fireman going into a smoke filled home. They used a rope as a guide and tied it to the back of the fire engine!. The coffee table leg will be my fire engine!. I need rope, cotton, fishing line in fact anything I can tie to the coffee table leg. I remove my sweater and remembering my boy scout days expertly tie one arm of the sweater around the leg. I guide my hands along the now outstretched jumper all the way to the other arm, sliding my now begging posterior along the floor. My stomach lets out a roar as and my bowels have put up a “coming soon” poster on the outside! Things are getting desperate now, my outstretched sweater is not enough! I remove my jogging pants and attach one leg of them to the now outstretched arm of my jumper. It works perfectly as I slide my hands along the jeans to the end, and my bottom even further outwards along the floor. The darkness is so disorientating , however with my hands now at the end of my jeans, that are in turn attached to an arm of my jumper  which in turn is tied to a coffee table leg, I feel further outwards. My bowels yelling “are we there yet idiot?”.. I slide in an arch around the room, my backside now numb, but wait! what is this?..it’s hard, it’s wood, I tap on it..yes, it’s the door. I pull it towards me, stupidly forgetting my head is in its path as it slams into my nose!

No time to worry about my nose and the blood that is now trickling down my face as my bowels are pleading for the eject button!. I slide into what I guess is the hallway but have come to the end of my lifeline of sweater and jogging pants. I have to let go of my lifeline and propel myself and my bottom forward. Sweat is now rolling down my face mixing in with the blood from my nose. I am like a man in a desert crawling along the sand in search of salvation. Something is hard in front of me, I knock on it another door, oh thank God the bathroom door. I push it hard, only to be rained on by ornaments followed by a pot plant given by my mother in law that strikes my face at speed. It all suggests that I come across the hallway side cupboard. Good news though, the cupboard is a marker and I know that the toilet door is to the left of it. I slide my now, numb and pleading posterior leftwards and reach out. The floor is cold and hard. The tiled floor of the bathroom! I have made it. Skimming my vertical body along the floor, my whole body numb now and my bowels screeching in pain. My throbbing blood dripping head touches something hard, I glide my hands upwards. It’s the toilet, I have made it.

Within a split second, I am perched on top of it and my bowels are emptying faster then the speed of light. I relax , my backside numb but in gentle relief. In total and utter blackness I am content, TEDAS tried but they couldn’t defeat me!. It seemed as a mark of respectful defeat TEDAS decided to turn the electrical supply back on. “At last” I whispered to myself as I sat facing the toilet with its seat open. My eyes blinking furiously in the now blinding light!. TEDAS had not finished though, they were toying with me and after three seconds of perfect light they turned off the supply once again. Now, in horror films, they always use lightening as a form of light to show you of the horror that lays before you, and that is what TEDAS had done to me. As the electric went again, my mind raced, why is the toilet in front of me? What is in front of the toilet?. What am I sat on? What has my bowels been emptied into?. The answer came as I felt below me, feeling more cloth and material…I was sat on the washing basket!

In the dark such an easy mistake

I can hear and feel Cem or whoever in an office now looking at their screen with all of TEDAS crowded round, howling at my predicament. I cared no more, my will for survival had finished. The exertion of the last hour had drained me of every ounce of strength that lay inside me. My nose, my toe, my dignity were in pain. Once again TEDAS had lifted me from my calm happy existence and dropped me literally in the poo!. I fell back down to the tiles and crawled aimlessly to anywhere I could find comfort and liberation from this fall from electrical grace!

THE NEXT MORNING

The early morning call from the sparrow like birds outside awaken me from my enforced TEDAS sleep. My eyes open languidly. I am staring at an upside down plant pot that has discarded it’s load within eye distance. With mind slowly focusing on the previous evenings events I raise my now aching strained body vertically. I am in the hallway surrounded by the trinkets that the hallways cupboard had rained on me the night before. Like a man, walking into the aftermath of a storm I stand and see myself in the hallway mirror, a canal of congealed blood engrained in pot plant soil running from my nostril to my chin. The memories of the night before come flooding back as I slumber to the living room. It’s carnage!. Cloths, broken porcelain, broken glass, dry food and a trail of blood litter all around. A murder scene basically with it’s body still alive and now in total panic because my wife will be home at 9.30am. I check my watch 6.50am!!..A wife also with a condition – OCD – Obsessive Cleaning Disorder! 

The next few hours are a blur, as I scrub. sweep. clean,polish, wash, tidy anything that the previous nights TEDAS storm had thrown at me. Like a murderer cleaning all evidence from the scene of his crime. 9.15am, I peruse all around me, it’s looking ok..I think I have done it, ok the blood was a problem but bleach is a wonderful thing. As long as my wife hasn’t obtained infra-red vision in the last 24 hours I think I will be ok. I dive for the shower, skidding on the now polished clean tiles!. Quickly scrubbing the blood and sweat and soil  from my distressed and TEDAS abused body!

9.29am – Drying off in the bedroom that was unlocatable the night before, I hear the sound of the lift outside the front door jerking to a halt. My heart is beating as the sound of locks being released by keys confirms my suspicions. She is home! The door opens as I step out into the now spotless hallway, a towel hiding my modesty as a nonchantly dry my hair with another whilst greeting her. “Askim, I missed you ya” she hugs me . I smile and  reply likewise. She starts to lecture me about drinking raki and calling her when she is busy at work!. I let it pass!. I follow her into the living room, heart racing in the hope she doesn’t spot anything.

Nothing –she lays her keys on the coffee table as I fall onto the sofa in nervous fear!. “MIKE”…she says in a loud voice. I wait for what she has discovered, the games up. I know it as she turns to me looks all around and delivers “You cleaned up also, thank you askim, you are wonderful”. “well, I didn’t want you coming home to a messy home” I reply with a loving smile.  She hugs me again and ask if I can make her coffee whilst she showers . “no problem, go askim”. She exits through the door that had tortured my nose the night before. I sit, smiling hands in my face laughing inside at the craziness of the night before , the manic cleaning operation that had happened in the early morning, it had worked! I was in the clear! My wife was home, the sun was shinning, the home was cleaned and the electricity was working – the world was back to being a happy place!

I stood and went to the kitchen , filled the kettle with water, slipped the on button into position, still smiling . As I turned to go through the door a sound that can only be akin to wailing woman in distress and pain burst from the bathroom!

“ASKIM..YOU HAVE DONE A SHEET IN THE WASHING BASKET!”

Westy

 

All aboard the KL08!

Now let me say this from the start, I am not a brave man. Which is a shame, as in Antalya there are so many exciting things to do, paragliding in Konyaalti, snowboarding in Davras, white water rafting in the mountains all are fine examples. However, there is one extreme sport that I hurl my body into once a day, one that gets the heart racing and the blood pumping. An experience so thwart with danger that even the most hardened of Turks turn their noses up at it. The extreme sport locally known as travelling on the KL08 bus from Konyaalti to Lara!

I am just to cowardly to drive in this place where indicators are only to be used if you have broken down, not always though. Wing mirrors are for tying tea towels on in times of weddings and sunnet parties and traffic lights are for making the streets look pretty at night. Last year when the World Rally Driving Championship came to Antalya, the organisers were astounded when a local guy called Mehmet won it driving a souped up Lada. They were even more surprised when his co-driver was his unbelted seven year old son !. As a bemused Mehmet sprayed the winning champagne all over the gathered world's sporting press he astounded all by declaring " I am not sure what the fuss is about I only popped out to pick up some baklava as we have guest coming!"

Mehmet's winning Lada

The KL08 experience is the gift the keeps on giving. Between the hours of 5.30 and 7.30 every weekday evening, people queue up all along the route to partake in this most memorable of experiences!. Just like the bull run of Palermo, many just stand and stare at certain stages thinking "wow if only I had the balls to attempt that". The journey I take on it starts at a relatively slow pace, usually as I pay my entrance fee for the" ride of your life" there are just some early participants already on board. All sitted, all silent and all staring at the newcomer who has just joined the throng. I can read their minds "uff..he is skinny, lacks the experience for the battle ahead, a foreigner, easy prey". With poker eyes I stare at them all, already taking in their body shapes and hand luggage" all information being stored away in the memory bank for the hour long campaign ahead!. These are no ordinary first time passengers though, they are experienced, wise, calculated. With their wisdom they have all bagged the best seats, some already playing the " I am asleep, do not disturb" card!. 

I sit, near the front, not a good starting position. The window seat has already been taking by a young pro I have spotted many times. We glance at each other respectively nodding, both acknowledging   what lays ahead. Sitting near the front, both male, both with shoulder bags, we both know we are at an immediate disadvantage .He also has youth on his side , I don"t!

Am amateur ready to experience the battle 

The KL08 sets off, everyone on board taking in water, chewing on energy bars trying to conserve their stamina. First stop, the new multi story shopping centre. We know what is coming. Amateurs!. Just how many amateurs though? How many are old? How many have children with them? All questions that dart through the minds of the seasoned campaigners on board!. Women going home after a days shopping, not experienced, lacking in the skills to enrol in this type of engagement. I can"t see outside, my view blocked by the lone tourist in front. I need info quickly " How many are there?" I enquire from the window seat guy. "Ten-fifteen max" he responds without taking his eyes away from the throng. " shopping bags?" I respond. " Yep, lots of". Being practised in this, I have already calculated there are only seven empty seats already. Leaving up to eight to take the early standing positions. The last eight wind on the KL08. They are young though, too young for the rules of etiquette to kick in and for me to offer them my seat. They move to the back!. "Oh God No" my seating partner whispers. I glance out. An old woman, hand in the air, running in small shuffled steps towards the entrance. Old enough for the etiquette rule to kick in . The seated male of the species scrutinise all  around, looking for the youngest, a sacrificial seater. All eyes are on me and my companion!. We glance at each other, he has the window seat and knows it - it will be me who has to offer my seat. I preserve my energy, breathing in slowly, knowing that to stand this early on the KL08 is a bad fate to behold on someone. The old lady reaches the door, "are you going to Kepez?"..The driver is in first gear and with doors closing to a millimetre of her face before shouting "No to Konyaalti", fate is upon me, my seat is safe , but for how long?

Small stops are made on the way, no problems, young men, some college girls, the odd businessman and woman. Nothing to worry about. They all have to stand, all taking the best standing positions around the side of the bus that the earlier shopping women were too inexperienced to take. Now, getting pushed to the back, the shopping women are finding it tough already. They have bags, far too many. One hand above eye level on the yellow plastic hooped hand holder and one hand below on their days gains, it"s too much! We can see the signs, the beads of sweat forming and the denial of stress to their friends " No Fatma, I am fine really". The whole bus knows though, she is falling behind, her calf muscles being tortured, her hand being cut by the immense weight of her shopping. Some sit and admire the woman for her endurance under distress while others sit and think" Give up woman, we have barely started and  to quote Scotty from Star Trek "she canna take it! "

It"s coming, the professionals know it, Dogu Garaj is within sight. Those in the know force themselves into tightened positions. Those not in the know stay where they are, their positions exposed to the rush that is about to hit them. I also know, this is my last few seconds on the seat, no doubt someone elderly and frail will aboard. My time has come, I flex my legs under the seat whilst glancing back for a decent space. There is none. I sit, quickly thinking to myself "play the speaking on the phone and not paying attention" card. I am English though and proud, and  raised on good manners and taught to play by the rules, chivalry and courtesy are still in my blood......I take out my phone!

My seating partner also knows, that his time has come, he glares at me knowing I am talking into thin air " yes, no problem I will come tomorrow"..."yes, yes no problem". He knows! and what is worse I know that he knows. He looks at me, shakes his head and my game is up. I close the phone and look up at a wiry faced old man with a bushy unkempt beard. " Please take my seat" I stand at the same time as my partner as his is seat is sacrificed to the old man"s wife. We are partners no more let the battle of the KL08 commence!

It"s going to be a tough one!. Dogu Garaj is in the centre of the city. This time of day nobody gets off. Whilst the office workers, city centre shoppers, children with school backpacks all get on. Lots of them!. I jostle for  position, just one decent one to be had. A standing spot facing outwards with a single seat between the space and window, now occupied by one of the shopping woman. I see it at the same time as a girl , younger than me. We both move for it at the same time, decorum is out the window now. Girl or no girl, I want that space.  She is quick though and hustling the man between her and the spot. The man is like  a rock though, unmovable. She can only stand and glare enviously, as I take up the one square foot of space. Early days though, as the KL08 manoeuvres out of Dogu Garaj. Humankind all around me, pushing; shoving, elbowing for position. I grab the handrail on the back of the woman"s chair in front of me, along with a tuft of her long  peroxide dyed hair. Whilst my other arm is pressed steadfastly against my side by a slightly rotund man next to me.  

Miraculously , I am OK, locked in, but in comfort apart from my nostrils being tortured by the paco rabanne aftershave that the rotund man next to me seems to have showered in. A devious tactic! I can even glance back and see the the shopping bag lady from before. Her situation is not good, she is wilting badly, her head rolling to one side, the armpit area of her light blue blouse now dark with sweat. Her shopping has now long been abandoned. With both hands grasping the vertical rail near the back with her body coiled around it she has now taking on the appearance of a motionless pole dancer. "No Fatma...I...am...fine really?" The old hands of the KL08 look at each other in respect for her resistance and pain! We would applaud her but putting one hand against the other is a task that was declared impossible since Dogu Garaj.

"People could you please move down the bus there is plenty of room". The request of the driver is met with astonishment by the untrained and with anticipation by the trained. I am not moving though, I am fine, safe, comfortable, playing by the rules and winning. All that changed in a split second, as my lower back felt an intense pressure sending my midriff forward within kissing distance of the shopping lady in front. The force also propelled my head upwards at a 45 degree angle, so now, with body bowed I am staring at the ceiling. I had been " ruled out of action" by one of the small schoolchildren who had boarded earlier. His back to me, however his backpack forcing me into this distorted angle. The pain was intense, I could hear the Chinese whispered voices of those around me "the foreign guy is done for.....the foreign guy is done for". My head whisked from side to side, as the driver found himself on the dual carriageway and now raced the KL06 towards Konyaalti. I glanced from side to side and saw the "press if you want to get off" button above me. I stretched my tongue the tip just barely touching it. My back now twisted and my genitalia thrust embarrassingly to the shoppers cheek which in turn pressed her other cheek tight against the window!. "Ding dong..Ding dong"....the "bus is stopping" sound was music to my ears, someone was getting off....or was it another load were getting on. Not aware of where we were,  I just stared at the ceiling in petrified anticipation. In desperation I draw in breath and ask to nobody in particular " please tell me where are we?". A girls voice , unseen responds back " Government hospital" I cry with happiness, nobody ever gets on here, in fact people get off. Just as I had suspected my body returned to it's natural shape unfortunately the laws of motion kicked in and the "for every action there must be a reaction" came into operation as my head whip lashed forward headbutting the aforementioned shopping woman. More luck, as she emptied her seat and made her way to the hospital conveniently directly outside. 

Room, we have room not a lot, but I can feel blood returning to my feet. However still the untrained are trapped in the back. Pressed in tauntingly by the well seasoned, who toy with them until Migros " Yes.......... Fatma..... I am..... fine really" I turned to face the back. The motionless pole dancer is not fine though, her blouse is torn and her left breast is now exposed, she has long passed caring!. She is also delusional, Fatma was lost in action somewhere between Dogu garaj and the Old Cemetery. She fell with honours!

There is one last obstacle to face 5M Migros. Now this could go both ways. Were those left getting off there to do their evening shopping, maybe taking in a film. The more worrying factor is even if they were, Migros bus stop will be packed with home goers ready to make the short journey home on the now battered KL08 with it's cargo of battle scared occupants. We arrived, the news was fair. some enlightened, limping and crawling out the exits. Unfortunately, they were substituted with new participants. Fresh, fit, unscathed!. Part timers really compared to the few remaining riders including me. By this time I was still on foot, held tight in the middle in a crowd of experienced. Just then, the skies darkened, and a tension filled the air as the campaigners fell silent all staring in one direction towards the front. One lone voice piped up. " Oh My God Ozlem Teyze is coming we have no chance". I had heard her name before in terrified whispers. Apparently her husband was lost in the great speed bump crush aboard the KL07 back in 2009. Her reputation went before her and here she was about to take on all comers.The whole bus turned eyes front as Ozlem Teyze pulled her massive 130 kilo on board followed by the nemeses of all travellers, the shopping trolley. We were no match and those remaining surrendered the front of the bus to this bulk of a woman. Damm, she was so adept to the battle that she never even sat down, just standing, staring, as all those that remained clang to each other in  fear. The battle was over...She was queen of the KL08 and we all knew it!

The KL07 speed bump massacre of 2009

I finished the journey in peace, Ozlem Teyze pulled her frame and trolley of not too far from where she got on. The more experienced declaring that her journey was only made to warn anyone that was tempted to take her crown from her...One by one, my fellow battlers ejected themselves from the area of combat, licking their wounds as they returned home to their families with another days tales of the Seige of the KL08!

My stop was last, I spent the last kilometre laying exhausted on a seat made for two. Slowly standing, as my stop came into sight.I pressed the stop button and the driver slowly came to a halt. The doors triumphantly opened, I had survived again, more experience growing by the day. I shouted "take it easy" at the driver who had seen it all before, he raised his hand in acknowledgement  As my face was cooled  by the evening breeze. I turned to face the KL08 of torture as it slowly pulled away, I caught the glimpse of a dishevelled woman, her hair tangled and sticking to her face. " No Fatma...I am............." I didn't hear the sentence ending!

Westy

The first cut is the deepest!

Here is a good piece of advice for any male teacher that finds himself conducting a conversational class in Turkey. Never, I repeat never ask your students "So class, do you have any questions for me?".  As you stand there, in front of 10-15 pairs of eyes looking up at you, you have no idea what you are about to be asked. "How is life in England?", "What's your favourite football team?", "Do you like Turkish people", all of these are what you are smilingly anticipating. Forget it! without doubt one of the first questions thrown directly at you will be "My teacher have you been circumcised?". 

Actually, that is not the exact query. With the average student lacking the knowledge of the English noun  "circumcision",  the exact interrogatory will be " My teacher have you had sunnet?" . Sunnet being the Turkish translation for circumcision.

Now, another piece of advice if you do not know what sunnet means, ask the students "what does sunnet mean?"...and do not do like me try and be adept to understand what sunnet means and try and deduce it!. Otherwise you will end up with a rather surreal and embarrassing conversation like the one I had a few months after being here with an advanced class, with myself having little knowledge of Turkish terminology!

Student one: My teacher have you had sunnet?

The question surprised me, and the right and left side of my brain had a verbal tug of war "sunnet , food or drink, food or drink, food or drink, food or drink, sounds like sutlac (a dessert)" 

Me: Yes, I have

My response obviously met with much approval from the class as they chorused  "Mashallah hocam, Mashallah" 

Student two: Where did you have it teacher in England or Turkey?

Me: Oh, only In Turkey. I have never seen sunnet anywhere in England which is a shame as I think they would love it there!. In fact, I have been all over the world and only ever seen it in Turkey!

The students quizzically looked at each other while I offered myself a congratulatory thought on my guesstimate!

Student three: Where in Turkey did you have sunnet my teacher?

Now, I know Turks are rightly proud of their culinary offerings but I was taking back how seriously they were taking it.I picked the first restaurant that came to my mind.

Me: Kazan kebab!

It was at this stage I realised something could be afoot here, as much mumbling was taking place amongst the students and one boy at the back, who had been dozing for most of the lesson finally sat bolt upright. 

Student four: Did you have a party?

I wondered why the occasion of me eating sunnet was so important but put it down to they were practicing question formats.

Me: Oh yes, it was my wife's sisters birthday . All the family were there and we had a great time I really enjoyed it. .....I would like to have it again!

Now, the whole class were sat on the edge of their seats, all with knowing smiles . I was a lamb to the slaughter ...and they knew it!

Four students together: How did you have sunnet teacher?

It was too late, I had to uphold the dessert line and go with it!

Me:  a knife ....

The students stopped laughing and maybe I had accidentally grasped the meaning of the word; sunnet

Me:.......and spoon!

I was done for as the before quiet well mannered group became a like a pack of hyenas collapsing into hysterics around me!

The bell saved me! After they had all picked themselves of the floor they slowly crawled out of the room in tears. Speechless I stood there in total confusion. As I watched them go, I noticed the only girl of the class still sat in her place near the back. She had hardly said a word all lesson and by her clothing knew she was from a very conservative family She stood and approached me, head down. In one hand holding an open well thumbed dictionary.She handed it to me with head still down, as to not catch my eye. One word was highlighted in pink florescent pen.   

sünnet ,-ti Islam 1. the Sunna (the sayings and doings of the Prophet Muhammad, which form a basis for much of Islamic law). 2. ritual circumcision. __ derisi foreskin. __ düğünü circumcision feast. __ ehli

Seeing the "C" word, I handed the dictionary back to her and locked my hands around the back of my head in my embarrassment  and stupidity. "it's ok teacher, thanks to you I have learnt a new English word today" she voiced as she opened the classroom door to leave.... "So have I" I thought "so have I"!

Little did I know that the "C" word would come back periodically to haunt and taunt me.

Now, it's not for me within these pages to throw out my judgement on circumcision although I can understand why Turks do undertake in the practice as they usually won't touch anything unless it has 20% off !. It just amazes me how often the usually shy, mild mannered Turks openly ask me about it. It's as if my genitalia have become the one of the great mysteries of the world! Not quite, "is there life on other planets?" but stuck between  Stonehenge and who really shot JFK!

 I was once sat with a Turkish friend who openly asked me "have you had it done?"..after giving him the answer I was then bombarded with the benefits of having a few sq cm of skin removed!. "it will lesson your chance of cancer"  was one benefit. Now, not wanting to lessen the awfulness of cancer, however. I have never heard of cancer of the foreskin! Another benefit offered was "it can stop infection or abscesses". I would imagine showering everyday would do the job just as well ! "it can improve the sexual satisfaction for you and your partner", so can a penis extension but I am not interested in that either! " You can have it done by laser these days", "Oh wonderful" I thought "  "I need some laser eye surgery soon maybe they can do it all as a job lot".

You're going to do what!

A couple of years ago, me and my wife were invited to the sunnet party of the five son of a friend of ours. A lovely little boy called Ahmet. I have to say it was an enlightening experience. His parents are more on the liberal side of society and in all probability had had their son circumcised because it's the "thing to do". The day was a beautiful hot Antalya one, and as we arrived it seemed the whole neighborhood had set up camp in their garden . A small band were playing and my eyes lit up when I saw a bottle of raki on each table. This definitely was not going to be a religious occasions.

As it is with these gatherings in Turkey, the woman have a tendency to group together, to gossip and to get approval of the new outfit they had brought just for the occasion. " Oh Elif, I love that dress", " Your hair looks wonderful Zuhal" seemed to be the standard praises. The men then all gathered together around the table, talking about work and to swap stories of their sunnet parties! I sat in genuine  amusement and interest as they related their sunnet events. However Ahmet was nowhere to be seen!

After about an hour of the raki kicking in, dancing started and it really took on the look of a family wedding. Suddenly it was announced amongst the men "Ahmet is ready" and we could all go and see him. With glasses of raki in hand, we all took an orderly queue that snaked up the stairs. Just like a long line of boys waiting to urinate at a house party!. After a while my little group finally reached the door of Ahmet's bedroom. "is he not well?" I enquired. His Uncle answered " oh he's fine just he only had the sunnet a few hours ago"!. We were  then summoned to enter the room by his Grandfather.

I am not sure what I was expecting, however I was not expecting a five year old boy, legs a kimbo showing of the surgeons handiwork !. "mashallah" seemed the traditional response from all around me. " feck me that looks sore" was mine! Poor Ahmet, still traumatized by the events of the hours before, lay with grimaced smile as all and sundry shuffled past whilst checking the poor boys badly bruised todger. Just like a mass crowd slowly going past a dead head of state laying in wake.

What was a nice sight though was the growing amount of bank notes in Turkish lira and dollars that adorned his sunnet jacket. Luckily my wife had forewarned me about this so I had a nice brand new crisp note to pin to him. The raki has fully taken affect now and as I pinned it I pronounced " I guess this is what is called PAY CUT"....the joke was lost on them but kept me amused for hours!

Anyway, please heed my advice when in a conversational lesson and if someone ever mentions the word sunnet to you then "cut" them off mid sentence!! You will save yourself a whole lot of hassle!

Westy

One love -Two Cultures!

Not so long ago, I had the good fortune to read the biography of Malcolm X. A man some would say was a advocate of human rights and others would say was proven violent supremacist. Not my place in these pages to give my view! Within the pages lay a quote that obviously was so profound to me that I made a  point of highlighting.

 “I believe in recognising every human being as a human being--neither white, black, brown, or red; and when you are dealing with humanity as a family there's no question of integration or intermarriage. It's just one human marrying another human being or one human being living around and with another human being.”

It was roundabout the time I was reading it, that my wife and I were celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. Ten, mostly very happy years. With me being English and her being Turkish,we are of course involved in what is pigeon holed as an "intermarriage". It's a word I generally do not affirm to, as it suggest that we are different, when in fact as Malcolm X, rightly pointed out, we are in fact just two human beings! Intermarriage, also for me seems to have overtones of marrying of someone better or lesser value than you - such as in the caste system in parts of Asia. Also a word that seems out of place in today's global society. My preference is cross-cultural marriage or relationship!.

In terms of the relationships themselves, how does a cross-cultural relationship work?. A question almost impossible to answer as we are all individually unique, with our own ideas, our own personalities and our own expectations. The question suggest that there lays some type of conflict within the relationship. The reality is that is the same as a normal kinship relationship. In both cases, just two opposing sides coming together with one common aim, that aim being to love and accept love. It does however beg the question does love transcend the cultural differences?. In my personal experience yes it  does mostly definitely .There are those those I am sure, that have experienced a more destructive cultural relationship who would answer in the negative. Sometimes the very differences that attract the couple together are then the differences that can cause conflict!

In Turkey, the number of cross-cultural relations grow year on year. According to the Turkish Governmental statistics there were over 200,000 Turkish nationals married to foreign citizens in 2011. Not including those foreign citizens who had taken up Turkish citizenship after marriage. Now, if one is to believe the foreign press, especially the British press, that is 200,000 men and woman having their back accounts emptied, being beaten senseless on a regular bases or a Turkish spouse ready to pounce on the passport opportunity and then later never to be seen again!. It, of course completely dismisses the notion that anyone could be contented and happy in a relationship not within it's borders.

As I said previously, we now dwell in a global society, one where technology, transportation and science has enabled us to expose our souls and our hearts to like minded individuals around the globe. A world, where thoughts are instantly given, our horizons are widened, new ideas are formed within us and new life dreams are played out. Internationalized love has well and truly been opened! Those dynamics have come together to increase the rise in international relationships and none more so then the Turkish/Foreign example.

As much as the relationship is easy to find though, many have found it much more difficult to conserve. As much as we are all varied and each individual relationship is unique there is one near common ground that every relationship negatively starts. That is the imbalance of culture. By definition, a cross-cultural relationship has to start of with one of the participants neglected of his or her cultural surroundings. For some this imbalance can be too much to grasp and the reality that your life will never be the same again ends up with an early visit to the divorce lawyers. 

Speaking from my own personal experience the first year of my marriage was by far the most difficult. Feeling devoid of "my own"; it neutered a strong sense of solitude even though I was exceedingly happy with my new bride. As I look back at that time though, I now realize how incredibly astute my wife played those times. Instead of suffocating immediately into Turkish culture, she drip fed it to me. She encouraged me to have English friends, took me to English book shops, made a point to begin with of only watching English programs. Then over the sands of time very slowly fitted Turkish culture into me like a thousand piece jigsaw.  It made a slow progress but one that I now fully appreciate how and what she achieved in and for me. Her patience and guidance is something that made me love her even more, and made my assimilation  into Turkish life and culture as natural as growing up. 

For those that survive the early "lonely" days, then one positive aspect of a cultural relationship is the self educational one.   Being in a cultural relationship forces you to examine and define your own values towards new ideas and prejudices. Your spouse, may have the same kind heart as you, nonetheless her experience of life has been contrastive. Through these contrasting experiences you see life from their eyes. Maybe sometimes reversing your former ideas that were once before set in stone, and sometimes not. The same happens in reverse of course, my wife's thought process over certain aspects of Turkish culture has changed by my own influential viewpoint. In kind, she has made me revalue and re-evaluate my own culture!

Ten years down the line though, I sit and realise just as much as we had cultural differences we also shared so much common ground. Little did I realise growing up in a small Somerset village in England that in a small village in the North of Turkey was a girl that shared the same dreams and purpose as me. Amazingly, we were once talking about literature and I happened to mention the first book I ever read was Ian Serraillier's "The Silver Sword". Without a word she went into her "momento basket", something it seems all Turkish woman have. One minute later, she showed me a Turkish copy of the same book!. She still is the only other person I have ever met who has read it! 

This week saw the remembrance In Turkey of those that gave their lives in the Battle of Dardenelles in Canakkele. A battle that saw Turkey and Britain in a ruthless and pointless war and a colossal waste of life on both sides.  Maybe those soldiers lives were not so much in vain though. Without their sacrifices, maybe myself and many others would not be happily living in this beautiful country and married to wonderful spouses!. We owe them a lot really!

Westy

Driving on the wrong side of insanity!

A few weeks ago, me and the good lady spent a few wonderful days in the enchanting Anatolian town of Amasya. For those that haven't been, I advise you to pay a visit, such an amazing place.

After breakfast on our first day we decided to take a walk along the banks of the beautiful Yesilirmak River. Having to cross the road, we stood by the kerb and waited for the long train like line of traffic to pass. Then an incident, so shocking happened as to leave me speechless and in need of emergency care!. A car slowed down, stopped and waved us across the road!. Now, for anyone that has experienced Turkish traffic then you will understand my consternation at this act of manners by a driver in Turkey. In short, it is about as regular as constipation!

After my wife had pulled me away from kissing the feet of the driver in question, we continued on our way and put it down to a lapse in driver concentration and perhaps his heal became caught in the break pedal. However, no!, it was a regular thing!. Most times as we crossed the road to go anywhere, the oncoming vehicle would with due consideration slow down and wave us across! After, when I thought about it, I concluded that it was actually quite sad to be shocked at the actions of Amasya's drivers.

Turkey as most know is a dangerous place to partake in road travel. Although having travelled in all corners of the globe and having driven in places like Thailand and the challenging six lane highways of the USA, I still refuse to savor the experience in Turkey. Although I usually travel by public transport, some would argue it is worse. On a recent bus journey from Antalya to Ankara, I witnessed, within the first hour of the seven hour journey the driver: smoke, talk on his telephone, remove his jacket and drink a coffee. All while transporting his full load of human cargo to the capital. So relaxed was he, I left my seat to scrutinize the dashboard for the automatic pilot button!

After personally witnessing a tragic amount of road traffic accidents in the years I have been here, I  suspected that Turkey had to have the worse road traffic rates in the world. The reality though is that it doesn't even come close to winning that most unwanted of accolades. Results released by the World Health Ranking website (see link) records that in the latest figures published for the year 2011, per 100,000 citizens there were nine deaths annually in Turkey.   A number that seems amazingly low. By comparison the UK recorded 4.8 deaths by 100,00.  Turkey it concludes is a safer place to drive then such places as Belgium, Russia, New Zealand and amazingly the USA, which records 13.9 deaths per 100,000! 

Nonetheless though, as Mark Twain so rightly expressed " facts are stubborn but statistics are more pliable". The nine deaths per 100,000 actually equate to the real life figure of  over 2500, men, woman and children who tragically lost their life's in a road traffic accident during 2011. Now to put that in context, the cataclysmic 2011 Van earthquake resulted in the recorded deaths of 604 poor souls. 

After perusing over a publication tiled "traffic accident statistics" ( published by the Turkish directorate for public safety, a publication in English as well as Turkish (see link), I can inform you of this

1). Any Tuesday in March is the safest time to travel in Turkey!. 

2) Any Saturday in July is the most  dangerous time to travel in Turkey!

3). The number of actual road traffic accidents has almost doubled since 2002! (although death and injury show a slight decreases)

Now, I know what you are thinking, " for Christ sake Westy you need to get out more"!

There is of course a very serious side to all this though. I am sure those that have resided in Turkey have on one or more occasion heard the expression " life is cheap here". They actually couldn't be more wrong! The sad loss of life of someone in a road traffic accident is paid for in the grief experienced by husbands, wifes, children, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters all across this beautiful land.

Unfortunately, I speak from experience. My family sadly experienced this indescribable grief when my eldest sister was killed in a road traffic accident. She was sixteen years old. The cloak of sadness and loss never ever leaves you. The act of having to go to a mortuary to identify the body of his first born child has haunted my Father ever since. Believe me never was a saying so untrue as the "life is cheap" one! 

So, what makes the usual polite, caring and respectful Turk slide into a driver seat and display all the hallmarks of a homicidal maniac!. It goes without question traffic education is obviously lacking. It is only in recent years that driving lessons and test where actually taken in real live traffic. Before, they were conducted  on specially made tracks just like the ones that your school would take you to pass your cycling proficiency badge!. However, the education has to come from the Government who seem to be oblivious to the human slaughter that happens on it's roads daily!.In eleven years I have still to witness one public information film to promote public awareness on road safety. 

Returning to my earlier story of the mild mannered drivers of Amasya. Whilst there, we remarked to a taxi driver how calm the traffic driving was in his town compared to other places in Turkey. He informed us that the local Belidiye Baskan, effectively the mayor, had embarked on a long campaign on improving road safety in the area. Organizing strict punishments for any public official not obeying traffic rules and evoking taxi licenses for taxi drivers not using seat belts or caught using mobile phones. He then pointed to the abundance of " seat belts save lifes" posters all over the town. Education works!  

The Mayor of Amasya - leading by example

However, is there something even more worrying that is the root cause?. 

Turkey is mostly a devoted Islamic nation, even though some may show the hallmarks of not practicing their faith, you will have to go a long way to find someone who denounces it. Now, I maybe being slightly controversial here, yet I personally wonder if this has an effect on driving standards within Turkey.

"Allah Korusun" is something you will see often in the front of buses, on the side and front of lorries and sometimes on the back of a car. Roughly translated it translates as " may God protect". Is it beyond the realms of  possibility that some drivers literally drive a vehicle under the conviction that no matter what, God will protect them?. One could also say under a conviction that whatever happens the hand of God will determine what will happen on the journey and the driver has no real control. If this is true then it is a serious and traumatizing thought!. 

One wonders if they were stood on top of a minuet at the local mosque with "Allah Korusun" imprinted on the wings and in the style of Icarus, jump. All the while believing that "God will protect". They wouldn't of course, however they maybe be putting their believe and trust in God, to drive without any due care or attention to themselves or others. As is the way though in a lot of cases, they survive but an innocent bystander loses their life!

I look on in stupefaction at a parent that is so attentive to their child, running to the nearest doctor at the slightest fever. A parent who protects their child and like a good parent ensures they eat well, wear accordingly to the weather as to not get a chill. Then will happily sit the child in the front seat of their car without a seat belt and drive moronically. 

Oh well, one final statistic, whilst I have been typing this, statistically somewhere in Turkey two more people have lost their life's in an RTA! Whoever they were, I hope they rest in peace and I will spare a thought for the pain their loved ones will be going though in the long sorrow filled days and years ahead.

Drive safely!

Westy

Turkish traffic accident statistics publication

World Traffic accident figures for 2011

So you want a Turkish wife!

(From an article that I wrote for the wonderful Antalya Central web pages. Pay a visit http://www.antalyacentral.com/ )

Now, some of you reading this, you have come here to find out a little bit more of this wonderful country, or maybe you have met a beautiful Turkish girl, fallen deeply in love and are tempted to pack up life in the UK or where ever and starting a new live in the sun with your new Ebru or Arzu or whoever! 

 Now, I have been happily married now for eleven years to a wonderful Turkish woman, and happy now as the moment we first met. However, with experience I have realised that there are certain don'ts that you must never do or say to continue with a happy married life with a Turkish wife. Things that I feel as an expat , who has done his time; should share with you to help you with your Turkish spouse.

 1. DON’T WEAR SHOES IN THE HOME! 

 Now, coming from UK, we slip on our most comfortable shoes in the morning, go to work and more likely then not are still wearing them by the time we sleep. In your new home with your new Turkish wife DON’T!. Me and my wife when newly married, one day decided to go to the beach, locking the door, while slipping on my beach shoes, I suddenly remembered I had forgotten my phone, without a second’s thought, I opened the door and walked into the lounge, fully shod!. Big mistake – I was met with a steally stare that could not have been worse if I had actually emptied my bowls all over the carpet!. No problem I thought, “sorry” i expressed. It was too late! Out came the hoover, and the Turkish equivalent of shake-n-vac as she attempted to put the freshness back into her now contaminated carpet. I stood by the door open jawed as the mop and bucket came out to wash the tiles where the carpet did not cover!. Now fully cheesed off, at wasting valuable beach oggling time , I said “ Come on for Christ sake this is absurd”. She replied “ think when you go out, you tread in dog urine and where dirty men spit on the floor”. Which cheesed me of even more because I could not think of a counter reply to that!!. This shoe “faux par” can only be beaten when visiting your wife’s friends and you forget to take of your shoes – if you make that mistake, then be prepared to have your marriage visa revoked forthwith!!

 2. DON’T LAUGH!

 Of course there will be a clash of cultures and a clash of ideas about life. However don’t laugh when your new wife proclaims sentences, that to you seem so so incredible that you actually have to ask her to repeat it, to ensure that you heard straight. “The first time she said to me “ You must eat tomatoes they give you blood”, I let out such a roar of laughter which was only succumbed when I saw that she was deadly serious! According to your Turkish wife “ Tomatoes do give you blood, without cucumber in your diet you can go blind at an early age” and if you go outside with wet hair at any stage of the year “, and I include the height of summer here “ you will go down with flu that will lay you up in bed for so long you will need to be surgically removed from it. Wo betide you if you ever buy and eat food from a street seller or cheap kebab place. According to my wife this will lay you down with such an illness, that is so intense that it is akin to having red hot mercury intravenously inserted into your scrotum!* 

 3. DON’T QUESTION 

 Now, as any foreign guy that is married to a Turkish woman will testify that cleaning is not so much as a chore as an obsession!. Don’t question her when she decides to clean the bottom of the fridge..yes the BOTTOM!. Don’t question her when she lifts up the sofa and vacuums underneath. I am not talking about vacuuming the floor underneath…I mean the actual underneath of the sofa. Such is this OCD (obsesive cleaning disorder), that it must be, without doubt a genetic trait passed to all Turkish females!.

 When she starts to clean you have only one choice here. …Get out of the home straightaway. It is the only way my friend and come back four days later when she is just finishing. Failure to get out of the home while she behaves like a whirling devil on speed will mean you are blamed for every single spec of dust and coffee smear, and the comment “ This home has never been clean since you walked into the lounge with your beach shoes on”!! And for Christ sake never under any circumstance take any item of fruit from your refrigerator and insert it into your mouth without first cleaning it, and washing it, ..in fact to be complete safe ..take it for a shower before eating. !. Again failure to do so will ultimately result in your stomach being subjected to every pesticide known to man. Well, known to a Turkish woman. 

 Stand and be amazed as your Turkish wife takes an apple from the fridge runs it under the tap and scrubs it with such vigour as she would her new born baby after falling down the apartment cess pit…….then peels the bloody thing!....Never question my friend, never question… just shake your head and accept that you have married the human equivalent of dynorod!

 4 DON’T USE PERIPHERAL VISION 

Jealousy, oh that green eyed monster! Accept that when you marry your Turkish wife, when in her company, that peripheral vision is not an option. Any female that still has the ability to walk ten paces without the use of a walking frame is considered a threat to your good Turkish woman. Be careful though, she is a canny operator. Once on meeting a very stunning friend of my wife’s I was asked “ Did you think Zuhal is beautiful” “Yes very” was my simple and honest reply. I was not spoken to for a week!!. Strangely also her friend has never been invited back to our home!. When asked the question “ is so and so beautiful” reply “ Who is so and so..I never noticed her”….lying is your only option my friend!. When at the beach with your wife, the traditional method is a sleeping tablet slyly dropped into her breakfast tea this usually has the desired affect!

Never buy her chocolates, flowers or any romantic gift, to a Turkish woman, unless it is her birthday or Valentines day, this is an admittance to guilt. Your romantic gesture will re-payed with a hundred questions to what you did and who you chatted to today. You will then find your normally meek and mild mannered wife, has all the questioning techniques of Guantanamo Bay’s finest !. In fact, when she is out check for any orange suits she may have hidden away!

 5. DON’T SMIRK 

 There are happy times of course there are!! One day you will come home and your good lady will announce “ askım i am going to go to İstanbul for a week to see my sister”. Play a straight bat here!. Nice and easy my son, nice and cool, take a deep breath and curtail that smirk that is starting to curl from the corners of your mouth. Then proclaim “ Oh No – what the hell am i going to do for a week without you”. Before she replies turn around head for the kitchen and rub an onion in your eye for added saddened shock effect. ( a red peppar works just as well, however it does have a tendency to overdo it). “of course I will miss you”…then comes your trump card “ MAYBE YOU CAN TAKE YOUR MUM WITH YOU…..I WILL PAY FOR HER FLIGHT”. This sentence is accepted with such overwhelming gratitude that for the rest of the evening you are King!. While all the time checking that your ISP connection is fully paid up for the week she is away and stalking the websites of Turkish supermarkets for the best booze prices!

This gets you extra kudos for you from your poor Father-in-law of course as on your wonderful suggestion his wife is whisked away for the week, and he is spared OCD behaviour ! Never though, I repeat NEVER suggest she takes her other sister with her, this will only result for that week your Brother-in-Law comes around your home every five minutes to check up on you and to watch Lig TV and drink your beer.!! However, when she is away be prepared for her to ring you more times then Jessica Alba conducting a free x-rated chat line!  

6. DON’T MENTION 

There are certain topics that are best stayed well clear from. These can range from the innocuous such as”tea with milk” to the problematic subjects such as a certain country that borders beginning with A and sounds like Amonia! Failure to not agree with her on any of these subjects is tantamount to house treason. This non-agreement with her on any of the “touchy” subjects will result in you being marched to the nearest airport and on the next “Tommy Cook” plane out of the promised land! . Before you know it, you are sat in some arrival hall in Cardiff or some other Godforsaken outpost wondering “ what the hell did i say”? To quote a certain Mr Fawlty…”Don’t mention A****a, I mentioned it once , and think I got away with it”

 7. DON’T PUT OF JOBS AROUND THE HOUSE 

Any time your Turkish wife suggest you do something around the home, do it straightaway. Now, admittedly this can be aimed at every woman in the world. However, with your new Turkish wife, there comes a design fault. The ability in her brain to believe she can do any household job. I was once asked to put up a rather large painting in the bedroom. “Yes sure, I will do that tomorrow”. While thinking 16ml drill bit and raw plug.

My refusal to undertake the job in hand immediately was met with banging so loud it seemed the SAS were practising operations on my door. Running to my bedroom to see what the hell was happening, I was met with a vision with a hammer in hand, proudly standing back to look at her handiwork, which in this instance was a 6 inch nail protruding 45 degrees from the wall!. The fact that her handiwork had created a 3 inch crack down the wall obviously bypassed her as she took the painting and gently placed it on the nail!. To give her credit though it lasted, YEP it lasted for 5 minutes until it fell down taking the plaster work with it.

Bless her huh!. The phrase “no job too tough” was a invented by Turkish woman. Don’t allow them to change plugs, in fact changing a plug becomes alien to them as they just stick the bare wires into the socket to dry their hair! Be afraid my friend..be very afraid! However, stay with these DON’TS and you will survive, of course I have only touched the tip of the ice burg some others like don’t attempt to make Turkish tea or coffee, go without question. 

 Good Luck!

 * This can come in very useful when hungover, which seems to be alien to Turkish woman. When waking with a hangover, proclaim to her that you ate kebab from a street seller. OK you will get an ear bashing for a few minutes about your stupidity not to follow her advice. However, you will be sent back to bed and be served hot tea whenever you ask!

Organ for sale, one careful owner - Can be delivered!

Sat with a Turkish friend of mine enjoying a traditional Turkish breakfast, some years ago. I explained that I had to go to an area of the city to do some work. " Uff be very careful "he uttered with wide open dark eyes and then finished the sentence in a near whisper " ...organ mafia". Now, as my mind was more on my stomach then what he had said, his words passed over me.  However, whilst I was on my way home his words came back to me.  Did he say organ mafia? I pondered..what the hell would the underworld of Turkey be getting out of dealing with contraband Bontempi  and Yamaha organs. The type that your younger sister used to get for Christmas. Then for the next month drive the house crazy as she only knew the opening keys to Twinkle Twinkle Little star! Maybe they were using it as a torture instrument just as she had done. Alas, I went to the area and not an organ was to be seen anywhere.

Roll on a couple of years, I was conducting an English conversation lesson with a group of mature students. The subject matter of the lesson was " Crime and it's reasons". I threw out to the students " What type of crimes are committed in your city?". . I scribbled their accented and expected replies onto the board with my red marker as crimes were barked out to me from all corners of the classroom .  Theft, muggings, prostitution, stealing cars, fraud, burglary,....organ mafia!". I swiftly turned to face the woman who had nonchalantly said the last one  "sorry did you say organ mafia"? I questioned. She looked at me as if I was slightly moronic. Then continued and told me a story that set me like stone on the spot. 

Somebody she once knew had one day been shopping at a local shopping centre. As she left and returned to her car, she was approached by an affable young man selling perfumes out of a bag. Raising a napkin to her face he asked her to smell this one particular new perfume that had just been released onto the market, which she happily did. She woke up later, in a strange bed, in indescribable pain. On the wall in front of her was a large printed sign on which was written.

" Do not move! You have undergone a major operation and had a kidney removed. A mobile phone is next to you, call someone to help you and the address is......."

The student continued to explain that it had happened a lot in the city and was a serious problem. Listening to  her story, I first looked on in a state of bewilderment, and then as her story unfolded, in total amusement and I could hardly contain my smile at her obviously crazy anecdote. My smile was wiped away though, as I perused the room and  saw ten heads all nodding in agreement with the woman ! I then enquired as to if these obviously gruesome crimes were so common how I had never seen one report in the media regarding them " Oh Michael teacher, they won't report so as not to scare the tourist away"!.  I let it pass and put it down to some of the abundance of other urban myths that I had encountered since living in Turkey.

A few weeks ago, I was in Trabzon in the North of Turkey. Enjoying a beautiful meal of Akçaabat kofte and rice with some friends from the local area. I politely said what a beautiful area it was and seemed so peaceful ".Agh yes Mike but be careful walking back to the hotel avoid the dock area organ mafia are in operation".Having the memory of the student's story in my head I didn't press the matter any further.  However, later as I lay in bed. I vowed I to discover the unvarnished truth of the matter.

Now we need to make a distinction here! 

Reports of people alleviating poverty by financially donating their "spare" kidney is a growing market and widely reported. Although Turkey has seen economic growth in the last few years, there is still an abundance of unfortunate people living way below the poverty line. In August 2011,  The Turkish Zaman newspaper (see links) reported on the arrest of twenty people, including six doctors. The arrest came about after a Facebook page was set up called " Organ Mafia". Perusing the abundance of viable victims on Facebook, Citizens from the lower social scale and with all probability showing their address to be in the poverty stricken areas of Istanbul were targeted and offered 15,000 Lira (approx 5,500 sterling).to "donate" a kidney . Be that as it may, after a seven month undercover operation into two hundred and three hospitals throughout Turkey, only one was discovered to be involved in accepting the "donated" kidneys.

Again in 2011, Press TV (see links) ,the Iranian "media", some would say propaganda wing, of the Islamic republic of Iran, ran a report on further instances in the illegal trade of kidneys within Turkey. It reported that seventy six illegal operations had been carried out within sixteen months. Although, no report of this can be found in the Turkish media. It also states that according to the Turkish legal code, donations of human organs can only be donated by blood relatives or by a spouse. If true, then it would be shockingly naive of the Turkish medical profession. With one code of law, they are willingly assisting in the death of thousands of dialysis patients. As I said though, the report was conducted by the Iranian press TV, a media outlet not best known for factual information. 

The problem seems to move back even earlier, in 2009 the Haberturk Turkish newspaper, reported that in the Western village of Kilacik, that forty people had been arrested in the scandal of selling their organs for trafficking. With one family happily expressing that that four member of their family had "donated".

Nonetheless, however immoral and illegal these practises are they do not quite equate to having a body part stolen, as in the story of my English student earlier. The kidneys reported on above, were surgically removed in a hospital,well one hopes so, and proper medical treatment seems to have been administered. So, where do these stories of "kidney kidnapping" come from?

One possible starting point could be back in 1999. It was then that the the Western region of Turkey was devastated by a 7.6 magnitude earthquake which resulted in the deaths of an estimated 25,000 people. As shocking as the disaster was what was more disturbing were late reports that came out from the ruins of the town of Golcuk, one of the worst hit areas. 

Bulent Ecevit, the then Turkish Prime Minister, ordered an immediate investigation into wide scale reports of organs being removed from the recently deceased.  The UK newspaper The Guardian, (see link), reported that although details were sketchy, and uses eye witnesses accounts of "unnamed" Doctors, the situation obviously had aroused such an element of suspicion to warrant a governmental enquiry. Unfortunately, although I have not researched intensively, the results of that enquiry are unable to be found. One does hope though, that if there was any truth or evidence to these distressing reports that they would have been acted on and reported on in the press.

Another avenue, where the chronicle of "kidney kidnapping" comes into play is something equally tragic and equally disturbing. In recent years, there has been a marked increase of missing children within Turkey. A report published in 2010 held the number to be an alarming 1700.With every reported story in the media of a missing child, it seems the words " organ mafia" will be wrapped into the article somewhere. Although, no factual evidence exist that the children are abducted for the purpose of removing bodily organs, there is also no evidence that co-exist to say that isn't the case.

In recent times, one of the saddest incidents of child abduction in Turkey happened in the central Anatolian city of kayseri. Three children of one family between the ages of six and eleven went missing while collecting sweets from neighbours to celebrated the end of Ramadam. The search was intensive for weeks, but to no avail. It was as if the children had disappeared into thin air. The usual labelling of " organ mafia" became synonymous with the story. This intensified when a year later a prisoner serving a life sentence, wrote to the Hurriyet newspaper detailing how he was part of a group who had taken the children for their organs and then had thrown their bodies into the Euphrates River. However in 2011 tragically the three bodies of the children were discovered in an area of the city and immediately arrested a man for their abduction and subsequent murder. Their internal organs were intact. 

So, was it true, the story of my student and other reports about people having their organs stolen. The more I look into this gruesome crime, the more I doubt it. However, Turkey is no different than any other country. Even with it's heavy leanings towards Islam, it still has every type of misfit and criminal known to mankind, so definitely it is not something to be dismissed completely. Although, if a man ever approaches me and ask me to try his faked version of Calvin Klein, then I will ensure to inform you. Although I could be a couple of pounds lighter!

Westy

Zamam report in 2011

Press TV report November 2011

Guardian report 1999