For Love or Money?

Yes, yes, this is a tired cliche that couldn't even be resurrected by the likes of Michael J. Fox. For those of you who may have forgotten, For Love or Money was the title of actor Fox's 1993 sappy but oh-so-touching romantic comedy that incisively depicted the inveterate consumerism of New York life. If you haven't watched it, do yourself a favor and look it up. You won't be disappointed. The film, however, may have been better situated in the bustling simit-selling metropolis of Istanbul--a city where the consumerism may be more recent but is well on its way to being just as entrenched as that of New York.

You see, for well over a year now I have been offering courses at the local dersane (a private academy for students to supplement the little learning they do in school with a little but equally as useless after-school learning). In my efforts to foster my students' English I often assign them simple writing topics to elicit their thoughts on a variety of ideas. One topic I always give is our aforementioned cliche. The results are always unanimous: money. It seems that no Turk in his or her right mind would ever be compelled to marry someone for such a silly reason as love.

I know, I know, this seems very odd to us Westerners but if examined with more scrutiny we can see where our two societies depart. First of all, in America we have the luxury of not worrying about money. Many a blue-collar worker can afford a house, a car and even a college education for a child--with the help of government assistance that is. And even if we can't afford the house, we buy it anyway and blame the rich bankers when we can't make the payments. We can even hide behind an all-giving government who promises to subsidize our payments for us when we come up a little short. But in Turkey, there is no benevolent government with deep pockets. A skilled laborer can hope, if he or she's lucky, to make a monthly salary of $500, a sum which doesn't go very far in a city as expensive as New York. Match this subsistence living to a culture with a deep-seated tradition of arranged marriage and its plain to see why money is always the champion in Istanbul. Its very rapacity may extend from the omnipresent paucity which encircles the city. Its now rampant consumerism may very well originate from this fiscal catastrophe. Economic need perpetuates this buying frenzy whose end is to secure a wealthy mate and thus ensure financial sufficiency.

A year and a half ago I stumbled into this pecuniary madness full of ideals. I scoffed at this consumerism but now I feel I may be "going Turk." Over these months of scarcity I have been gradually developing a sense of what money can do for a family. Thus, when I was offered a job last week in Qatar that would pay three times my current salary, I found myself all too ready to pack up our bags. I have grown to love Turkey, its people, and our little branch here. But is love enough for a family of five in Istanbul?

Wait, is Istanbul still Muslim?

Yesterday was the first day of our holiday week in Turkey. The streets were empty with only slight traffic as the Turkish paterfamilias's hurried from their homes to purchase animals for sacrifice. The city had been decorated by the various political parties with signs proclaiming "Kurban Bayramınız Mübarek Olsun" (Let your sacrifice holiday be holy). We can regard this as a singular moment in the yearly lunar calendar of Istanbul when even the Kemalists, supporters of the left wing (if I can call it that???) Republican People's Party, allow oh so Arabic sounding words like mübarek to encroach on their rhetoric.
To experience this sacrificial excitement I had tagged along with my neighbor and friend Zikri, a physics professor trained in the U.S. and a resolute supporter of "laiklik" (one of Atatürk's 6 principles and a word that means secularism. Incidently, laiklik indirectly derives from our word layman). Despite his political proclivities, my secularist friend sacrifices an animal each year like every pious and unpious patriarch of this city. Arriving at the site set aside for the purchase of animals, we ran into considerable traffic as thousands had flocked to procure their sacrifice. Once parked and out of the car, I closely followed my friend as we avoided the throngs and dodged the occasional bull that had slipped loose. The very Muslim "selam aleyküm" was the greeting of the day for the men exchanging fists full of cash for the rams and bulls of the villagers who had made their yearly pilgrimage to the metropolis of Istanbul. Along the way we had to step over the streams of blood flowing from the car washes that had been converted into makeshift slaughterhouses.
After finding the ram he had reserved, Zikri and I loaded the animal into a small pick-up and we were off to a local talebe yurdu. A talebe yurdu is a dormitory for poor university students who wish to supplement their university studies with religious instruction. The word talebe means pupil but is rarely used in Turkish and has similar roots to the word Taliban. The students of the talebe yurdu pay their dues by slaughtering animals once a year during Kurban Bayramı. With remarkable effeciency the students put our animal in a holding pen while they offered me a tour of the facility with typical Turkish hospitality. The students' life was not one of luxury but they did enjoy facilities suitable for any university student. After the tour, I returned to Zikri who was still awaiting the slaughter of his sacrifice.
A few minutes passed and our ram was off to the slaughter. The students led it to a garage where the animal was forced to the ground and blind folded. It was then taken to a short plastic barrier behind which Zikri and I stood and watched as the animal's throat was slit. Zikri, at this point, along with the men slaughtering the animal recited an Arabic prayer which praised Allah and asked him to receive the sacrifice. Seeing my friend Zikri recite the prayer as they slit the animal's throat was surreal to say the least. It seems that once a lunar year even the most secular can throw off the fetters of political dogma and enjoy a good old-fashioned Muslim sacrifice. Our animal was thereafter skinned, gutted and quartered. The meat was then given to us in plastic bags to be distributed to friends and family.
The whole process took only a few minutes and despite the many economic motives that compel many to participate in this ritual, it was a beautiful thing to watch. As a Christian, I have never had the opportunity to witness an animal sacrifice. I have never observed the noble animals that await their death with patience. It may just be that I am attributing human emotions to these creatures but they seem to recognize their impending slaughter and face it with a humility and strength beyond that of any man. Jesus Christ's sobriquet "the lamb of God" has now acquired a more physical connotation for me.

A Little Time with Cinci

Well, today I was lazy. In general I am not a lazy person. I take pride in getting things done. My life seems to be strung together by a series of goals. Each one once accomplished leads to another: finish my bachelor's degree, master's, teaching certificate, learn Turkish, Greek, et cetera ad naseam. Sure running around after goals always makes the future more exciting. Half of life, after all, is anticipation. But what about the other half?
Well, I'd like to say the other half of life is our memories, and unfortunately, running after goals all the time doesn't seem to benefit that other half of my life. Certainly it is a sublime and singular feeling to reach what I have long strived for but it is fleeting. These feelings once attained dissipate rapidly and I am left with another notch on my belt and a few less years on this planet. Memories on the other hand are my constant companions. They make me laugh while I'm sitting in traffic, create topics of discussion with all my long-time friends and family, and serve as a foundation of experience in every decision I make. So even though I did little today to accomplish a goal, I can at least take consolation in the fact that I will always remember how as I struggled to feed my youngest son (my wife usually acts as his feeding slave), he began to fling those sloppy stinky beans accross the room and I, in turn, let the expletives fly. Of course, I can never be truly angry with my little chunk, and after the feeding ordeal, we were back to hugs and giggles.