Vahit TURSUN
April 7, 2014, Athens / Greece
The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the surroundings were still dark. It was already clear that the day would be a hot one. Fadime, as she did every morning, woke up early to feed and water the cattle. While she waited for her friends to go collect grass, she lay on the peyke (a long wooden bench) and rested her head on a cushion. For days, she hadn't been able to find the time to rest and catch her breath, and because of this, a constant fatigue had built up in her body. Even if she were to sleep for days, she would still want to sleep more. Not two minutes had passed before her eyelids closed.
Just as she was about to fall into a deep sleep, there was a knock on the door. With the dizziness of sleep, she woke up as if an earthquake had hit. She got up, walked to the door, and opened it. It was Emine. Along with a few friends, they were going to collect grass in the rugged forest, miles away.
The weather had been good that year. After the villagers had cut their hay, they had also cut and gathered the grass in the pasture. Yet, they didn't have enough grass, and the merek (hayloft) wasn't even full. Now they would have to go looking for grass in distant and difficult-to-reach places. Fadime immediately grabbed her rope for carrying loads, her panoforu (a thick jacket for carrying loads on the back), her sickle, and her dapana (daily provisions), put on her black rubber boots, and followed her friend. Their other friends were waiting for them a little further down the road. They all set off together.
Chatting along the way, sometimes laughing and playing, sometimes joking, they arrived opposite the slope they were aiming for. They went down the road, and holding on to each other, they crossed a knee-deep stream with a furious current. After that, it was time for a kind of acrobatics, as they had to cut and collect grass in difficult places. They started by climbing through pine trees and bushes on a very steep and rugged terrain. Sometimes the rocks beneath their feet would slip, rolling and bouncing all the way down to the stream. They climbed uphill for about half an hour. Then they spread out to find and gather grass.
It was noon. Because of the density of the forest, no one could see each other. Emine shouted that it was time to eat. They gathered on a small flat spot they had chosen beforehand, where they had left their dapanas. Again, accompanied by pleasant conversation, they ate their food and scattered to get back to work.
It was mid-afternoon, and everyone had cut and bundled their grass and prepared their loads. They called out to each other from a distance to let them know they were ready to leave. They all gathered and set off with heavy steps. Climbing up was easy, but going down with a load on your back was not so simple. For this reason, they had to control every step they took to avoid tumbling down the steep slopes.
At one point, they were passing through a dangerous spot, a pass at the top of a cliff hundreds of meters high, made of a sheer rock mass. This was a very narrow and steep path, without any bushes to hold onto on either side. It was a semi-path with oval hollows created by the footprints of those who had passed before. Anyone crossing had to step into these existing hollow footprints. Otherwise, they could slip and fall down the cliff. As all her friends passed one by one, Fadime let out a bitter sigh and began to complain to herself, "What kind of people were our ancestors, to have found and settled in these damned places? We're being ruined here." The air was hot and humid. She had a heavy load of grass on her back and was out of breath. Sweat was pouring from her pores, not just from her forehead but from her entire body. Just as she was about to continue complaining, her foot slipped slightly. She almost fell. In that instant, she felt as if she had died and been resurrected from fear. Her heart felt like it would leap out of her chest. Emine, her friend following behind, noticed what had happened, grabbed her load, and helped her regain her balance. They both felt a momentary tremor, but then they continued as if nothing had happened. Yet, both of them could have fallen off the cliff in that instant. Just the year before, on this same pass, her Aunt Ayşe had tripped, fallen down the cliff, and tragically died in agony by the stream below. Who knows how many other lives this pass had claimed? Fortunately, they had survived this difficult passage safely this time as well.
When Fadime returned home, she ran into her mother at the front door. Her mother said to her: "Go on, take your load down to the hayloft and come back. Then heat some water and wash up nicely. They're coming to ask for your hand tonight!" Fadime was in shock for a moment. She paused slightly. To herself, she wondered, "Who are these people coming to ask for me so suddenly?" Then she walked off to drop her load.
She prepared the bathroom in the adjacent room, which was covered with a wooden board under the bench. She washed with water she had heated in a cauldron. Then, filled with excitement and anxiety, she waited. She was so shy that she couldn't even go and ask her mother who was coming to propose.
When her Aunt Hatice knocked on the door of the room, Fadime's heart was in her throat. The door opened, and when she saw her aunt, she felt a little more at ease. They sat side by side. Her aunt gave her the details; the young man who was coming to ask for her hand was working in a factory in Istanbul. He was the son of a former villager who had moved there. She said the family was made up of good people, that his father had died, and that she would only live with his mother. She also advised Fadime that she must accept this offer so that she could leave the village and have an easier life.
And finally, with a sudden, rushed wedding, Fadime was married to Mustafa. The next day after the wedding, they all gathered in the village square to set off for Istanbul. All of Fadime's friends, close neighbors, and some relatives came to see her off. Before the car started, they hugged one another to their heart's content, smelled each other, and kissed. Some even cried, but the single girls there couldn't help but say, "May the same happen to us."
The time came, and the car started. As the car drove along the dirt road, Fadime sat by the window next to her mother-in-law, whom she had yet to get to know. While swinging back and forth, she began to imagine Istanbul, a city she would see for the first time, and the comfortable life she would have there.
She was picturing a life like the one she had seen on TV. Living in a comfortable, clean apartment, meeting different people, making new friends, visiting beautiful places with her husband, shopping, walking hand-in-hand on the beach, and perhaps even swimming in the sea.
They finally reached the Trabzon intercity bus terminal. They bought their bus tickets and took their seats when the time came. It was the first time in her life she had been on such a big vehicle, and the first time she would be traveling to such a distant land.
After a journey of almost twenty hours, they arrived in Istanbul. This place was nothing like Trabzon. The tall buildings gave the city a different feel. It was the first time she had seen so many cars together. Some were going one way, others the other way. Because of this, she didn't get bored; she watched the immense crowd with curious eyes. The Bosphorus Bridge, which she had seen a few times on TV, had an incredible presence. She was quite excited as the car drove over the bridge. The sea was below, and her heart was in her mouth. She had crossed cliffs many times in her village, but this was something else. Fortunately, she managed to take her eyes off the sea and look at the opposite sides of the strait. Although the scenery wasn't as dense as her village’s forests, it was beautiful. She now began to feel lucky and thought that maybe one day she would tell her friends in the village about what she had seen.
The journey ended, and they finally arrived at the door of the apartment building where she would live. With curious eyes, Fadime began to survey her new neighborhood. She thought that this place wasn't very different from some neighborhoods in Trabzon. Her husband, Mustafa, carried the suitcases inside one by one. While he was bringing in the luggage, the bride and her mother-in-law just waited.
She was now in her new home, where she would live with her husband and his mother. In the first few days, time passed quickly. Exploring every corner of her new home, getting to know the neighborhood and its streets while occasionally going to the market with her mother-in-law, and meeting the guests who came to the house gave her a sense of excitement. As days and months passed, Fadime began to realize her true situation. She had no duties other than housework. It wasn't long before she started to feel like a maid. Was the village like this? She worked with her friends, accompanied by pleasant and fun conversations, got tired, and enjoyed life. Here, she began to get tired of this monotonous life that had become a constant. The days seemed endless, and she felt trapped. In fact, she missed her freedom, the crazy and difficult life she had in the village. However, there was no turning back from this path, and the thought crushed her. The guests who came to her house were mostly her mother-in-law's friends. Because of this, she hadn't yet met and befriended anyone her own age or on her same wavelength.
About a year after she got married, her mother-in-law passed away. This time, her life was turned upside down again. Even though her mother-in-law was old and her mother-in-law, she was her best and closest friend in this big city. For this reason, Fadime was very saddened by her mother-in-law's death. But on the other hand, she was happy to think that from now on, she would be able to move more freely and that she could go back to her village and meet her friends because of this funeral. Her mother-in-law’s body was taken to the village to be buried. So Fadime was reunited with her village, which she had missed so much for a long time, and met her friends. Of course, this didn't last long. A few days later, she and her husband Mustafa returned to Istanbul. Mustafa immediately began looking for a new place. Their apartment was large, and the rent was expensive. His mother's pension, which came from his father, was no longer a part of the household income. He couldn't handle so much rent on his own.
Finally, they rented a one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood and moved in. They didn't know anyone in this neighborhood. In fact, none of the neighbors in the apartment building even came to say "welcome." As days passed, Fadime began to feel lonely. Sometimes she would feel an incredible longing and a sense of emptiness, walking back and forth in the house. Life shouldn't be spent confined to a house. Living shouldn't just be about eating, drinking, and breathing. She began to regret leaving the village. She realized how enjoyable and beautiful her memories were of walking on those dirt paths, cutting grass, carrying loads, and even crossing those cliffs. What wouldn't she give to go back to the village and live that same life again now?
One day, a strange longing started to gnaw at her brain cells again. She didn't know what to do. At one point, she went out onto the balcony and looked at the people passing by in the street, watching in vain, thinking, "by chance, maybe I'll see someone I know." It was the first time she had ever felt so alone in the middle of such a crowd. She went inside and threw herself onto her bed. She started to imagine her friends. Slowly, carried away by a flood of emotions, her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to cry. Overwhelmed by her longing, she started sobbing. In this place where she had come to find comfort, an unhappiness she had never experienced before began to knock on her door. In the village, they spoke Romeika. She thought about the joy of being with her neighbors, her childhood friends, her loved ones, young and old. She remembered her village, its highlands, and its forests; there was a vast forest to wander and explore, trees to find shade and eat under, colorful flowers to admire, and birdsong to listen to. But here, there was none of that.
She lived through the passing days and months with the same feelings. After a long time, she made some acquaintances. But none of them had the warmth of her friends from the village. In the simplest things, she couldn't properly share and comment on the patterns of a piece of cross-stitch she was working on with her new friends, and she couldn't experience the joy of sharing. No work or success, as it was in the village, would warm her heart. On top of everything else, even if she had everything, she always felt a sense of inferiority because of the difference in her mother tongue and her weak Turkish. Because of this, she felt the need to hide that her mother tongue was Romeika, always worried about "what others would say."
Days followed months, and months followed years. One day, Fadime had a baby boy. They named him Ali. Fadime had now found a good occupation for herself. With this baby, her loneliness had lessened. From now on, she would take care of her child, spend time with him, and raise him.
Time passed very quickly with Ali; the child grew up, started kindergarten, and became a schoolboy. His mother always looked after him, prepared him for school, took him, picked him up, and helped him with his homework. With her child, her longing for the village also lessened. Over time, she no longer remembered her friends in the village as often as before. Meanwhile, even though Ali grew up with the other children in the neighborhood, he was caught between two worlds, with his parents speaking Romeika at home and the street dominated by Turkish. Ali became more familiar with Turkish and started to speak it more. He would speak Romeika with his parents from time to time. His father warned him about something: when a guest from the village came, he should speak Romeika, but if someone outside noticed and asked, he should say he was speaking Laz.
One day, Fadime met her son's friend Hasan's mother, Zeynep Hanım, and invited her to her home. Zeynep Hanım accepted the kind invitation but wanted to bring a couple of friends with her. She even added that one of the people coming was from the Black Sea region. Fadime welcomed the offer with joy. She thought that maybe the woman from the Black Sea could be from one of the Greek-speaking villages.
Before the day of the visit, she started a feverish preparation. She cooked her best dishes and prepared desserts. She wanted everything to be perfect.
One Friday morning, the guests arrived. Fadime's neighbor, Elif Hanım, who lived on the ground floor and whom she had known for years, also stopped by for a short while. But when she saw the crowd, she joined the conversation. The hostess, seeing such a crowd in her house for the first time, was in a light but sweet state of excitement.
One of Zeynep Hanım's friends, Yeliz, was from Malatya. Her other friend, Hayriye Hanım, was from Rize/Ardeşen. After a short introduction, the conversation continued. Fadime remembered her weak Turkish and told herself, "Speak as little as possible." Still, when it was her turn to speak, she couldn't escape her anxiety. But if her speech difficulty was noticed, she would, as always, blame it on her mother tongue being Laz. At one point, when she went to the kitchen, her neighbor Elif Hanım felt the need to offer an explanation to the others. She told the guests: "Fadime is a very good neighbor, but since she is Laz, she can't speak Turkish as comfortably as she should." Hayriye Hanım, who was actually Laz, was quite pleased with this. When Fadime returned to the group: "Girl, you know Laz, you say? Oh, how wonderful, I do too!" she said, and was about to start saying something in Laz when, at that moment, Ali, who was playing outside with his friends, knocked on the door. His mother went and opened the door. As soon as Ali burst in, out of breath, he started shouting something to his mother in Romeika. Fadime looked as if she had been struck. In a panic, she quickly turned to her son, shouted at him to silence him, and then grabbed his arm and tried to push him outside. The child, not understanding his mother's reaction, opened the door while crying and muttering in Romeika, and left. Fadime felt terrible, her face lost its color, and her entire body was drenched in a cold sweat.
Hayriye Hanım was curious about this foreign language she had heard. It had no similarity to Laz. She asked Fadime: "What was that language you were speaking?" Fadime started to fiddle with the plates on the table to avoid eye contact. "I don't know, our elders used to tell us it was Laz, so that's what we thought," she replied. Hayriye Hanım said, "Girl, what you're speaking isn't Laz." Then she asked, "I heard that Greek was spoken in your region. Is what you're speaking Greek?" Hayriye Hanım insisted for a while to get the correct answer she had guessed. Fadime's resistance weakened. She thought that whatever happened, she had to confess. "Yes, it's possible. I guess you might be right," she said.
At that point, the topic of conversation changed, and they started talking about Greek. Yeliz Hanım joined in and said to Fadime: "Girl, why are you hiding your language? I don't know it, but my elders also spoke Armenian. I wish I knew it, too," she said, but she was really just trying to comfort Fadime. At that moment, Elif Hanım said with a mocking attitude: "Oh my, what is this? All of your origins are messed up," and she giggled like a prostitute, bursting into laughter.
Even though Fadime hadn't met the reaction she had hoped for, she felt a crushing sense of inferiority, both because her origin was likely Greek and because she had been caught in a lie. The conversation lost its charm, and she just wanted to be alone as soon as possible.
A long time had passed since she came among these city people. She could never get used to them. She never truly warmed up to anyone. She couldn't find a sincere friend. She was forced to keep a distance from those she did meet. As if it were a shameful situation, she always felt the need to hide or lie because of her mother tongue. She hadn't even reached forty, but she had forgotten most of her childhood friends. When she went to the village for some holidays, she could barely meet with three or four of her friends. Many had either migrated from the village or had been married off here and there. They had probably forgotten her as well. In this big city, Fadime never truly got to wander, have fun to her heart's content, or even joke around with people. Her whole life passed by, moving from one hole to another. Her entire path was between home, the market, and, for a while, kindergarten and primary school. All her production and occupation consisted of cooking, doing chores, and raising her child. The rest of her free time was spent sitting and flipping through TV channels and watching series.
Of course, this is not what life is. Fadime now knows this. However, economic shortcomings and living in a conservative environment do not allow for a lifestyle beyond this monotonous one. Like the millions of others whom life has passed by, Fadime will also pass away without having truly lived her life in this world. The next generation she raises in this crowded city will probably forget her. Two or three generations from now, let alone being forgotten, it will be as if Fadime never went through these hardships, never even came into this world, and never lived at all.
This article was published in the book "Yeşilden Maviye" (From Green to Blue) by Leyla Çelik and Elif Yıldırım, Nika Yayınları, Ankara, in 2015.
[1] Merek: A structure where hay is stored.
[2] Panofor: A thick jacket used between the load and the back for carrying.
[3] Dapana: Provisions, including all daily food and drink.