The Henna Night, part 1

Last month one of my friends from work invited me to travel with her one weekend overnight to another town to go to her friend's henna night. A henna night is the party the night before a wedding when they put a spot of henna on the bride's (and sometimes the groom's) hands. Why do they do this you ask? Because it's tradition. And no one I ask knows why the tradition started. But in this country tradition is reason enough to do something, even if you don't want to.

While the town was only 3-4 hours away by bus, it was enough to be considered in a different region complete with its own culture. On top of that, my work friend mentioned that the family was from a different sub-ethnicity that used to live in the mountains as nomadic goat-herders. This ethnic group was forced to settle down over a century ago, and they now don't look much different from my other friends, but they still keep this ethnic identity.

When we arrived, the 2-story house was buzzing with family and close friends. We sat and chatted with some of the family for a while. One very old woman said she used to live in Germany, and then said something to me in German I didn't understand, but she obviously thought I would. After we met several people coming in and out of the sitting room, we headed back outside where the parking area had been converted into a feast. Long tables were filled with guests, women in one group, men in the other. In front of the little house several old women sat in a row with huge pots full of food that they were doling out to men carrying trays. Opposite them sat several women on continual dish washing duty. The old woman who had lived in Germany pointed to her pot and say "zuppa," which I could only assume was the German word for soup since it wasn't Turkish. Another woman took charge, inviting me to look at all the goods, directing someone to give me a chair at the end of the food line, and offering me samples of what they had made. The woman next to me taught me how to properly fold their paper-thin homemade tortilla-like bread into an all-purpose spoon used to eat everything in the meal.

After I had eaten my fill and then some of soup, rice, beans, okra, stuffed grape leaves, and the cold grapes-in-grape-sugar-water soup (I like anything sweet), they cleared out the tables and the party started. Dancing is necessary to any real celebration here. A one-man band with keyboard, lute, and mic provided the music. There was lots of typical Turkish dancing, as well as a local dance with small wooden spoons used like castanets. They even let me try at the spoons (they were a lot of fun, but I wasn't very good). Men and women of all ages danced. One young man and one middle-aged woman were particularly good at the spoons, and they danced together in the center for a while in an almost playful competition facing each other. A time was also set aside for all the young men about to go into military service to have the dance floor. We danced for probably 2 hours before they brought the henna out!

When I get the rest of the pictures from my friend, I'll continue the story :)

I saw a superstar!

A few weeks back my roommate informed me that she had learned of the opportunity of a lifetime. If we bought only 4 large bags of doritoes, we could turn in our coupons for tickets to see Turkey's "Prince of Pop," Tarkan. Now, I knew he was one of the best-known musical artists in Turkey (he's been making music for 15 years), but I had never been too impressed with his cheesy music videos. But I'd always wanted to go to a concert in Turkey, so I agreed. When she asked our old Turkish teacher if she wanted to go with us, she was ecstatic. So by the time we got to the day, I had been infected with their contagious excitement. Unfortunately, my roommate had been infected with something else. The one who talked me into it was forced to stay home due to illness while I, with my Turkish teacher and other American friends, made our way to one of the front rows that was reserved for girls while the guards held back the guys. It was amazing. Not only can I say I was that close to a huge Turkish celebrity, but I actually really like his music after seeing him in person. To top it all off, he's a really good dancer, too. Just call him the Turkish Justin Timberlake. We had a blast!

Friends in the Cradle of Civilization

Last summer, a Turkish lady stayed in our home for a few weeks while she was in our city for cancer treatment. Now, you always bond with anyone who you live with for at least a few days. So after spending a few weeks with her, we very much wanted to visit her in her hometown so we could see her again. As a perk, we got to visit some historic places as well.

When we came to her simple home, she put out the spread. For lunch, we had stuffed peppers and eggplant, 2 types of salad, bread, and homemade pastry. After lunch we had tea and (homemade) cake. She and her daughter gave me a birthday present and gave my roommate and I additional presents that she knitted herself. It had been a year, but it was a special time together.

As bonus, on our trip we got to see the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. We also walked on a city wall that was originally built 3000 years ago and "updated" by Constantinople in 300. From the wall to the Tigris was a section of beautiful lush farmland that fit my previous image of the Mesopotamia Valley as rich and fertile. We visited 2 historic churches, one of which was Chaldean, and still in use. The other had been mostly destroyed a century ago. The landscape on our bus trip was equally interesting, rocky in most places (surprising for Mesopotamia) with occasional flushes of green where people had obviously worked very hard to carve out a piece of farmland. It reminded me of how my dad told me that his dad (my grandfather) worked in a factory because as a child he had to help pull out rocks on the family farm and hated the back-breaking labor. I can't imagine what would drive people to attempt farming in the "fertile" Mesopotamia Valley, but I guess people have been making a living that way for millennia because they have no other choice.

Is that so hard to order?

There is a rap song by KJ-52 called "A Coke, A Fry and a Cheeseburger." Now, musically, it doesn't top the charts. But I like to listen to it occasionally because the tune is catchy, and it's funny. The entire song is telling a story of trying to order a coke, a fry, and a cheeseburger at the drive-thru of his favorite fast food chain. When he tries to order, the man over the intercom continually cannot understand him and guesses all sorts of foods in the known American spectrum of fast food cuisine except for what he's ordering. We can all relate to frustrations over being misunderstood, especially when the limiting factor is technology (such as phones or intercoms). The part of the song that captures this frustration for me is when he says to the guy on the intercom, "All I want is a coke, a fry, and a cheeseburger. Is that so hard to order?"

I'm used to the limiting factor of technology in listening comprehension, but I still haven't adjusted to the language barrier. Yesterday in my Turkish class, I talked with my teacher about fortunetelling, demons, prejudice, and civil strife. When I leave class, I feel pretty good about my Turkish skills. Then I went to Burger King. I saw an ad for ice cream, and I was hungry. Now, at this particular Burger King, it's usually pretty noisy, and they have a hard time understanding me. I know my accent isn't perfect, either. So I've worked hard to perfect my ability to ask for cheese on my burger, and the last two times, with some repetition, I've managed to successfully get cheese on my burger. Yesterday, all I wanted was a blackberry sundae, and fries. It was pretty empty at Burger King, so I was confident that they would understand me this time. I walk up to the register and ask for "böğürtlenli sundae ve cips." That's what it's called at Burger King, a sundae is a sundae. His reply? "Whopper Junior meal." Does Whopper Jr sound like a sundae to you? I repeat my order, and then he calls over the English-speaking manager (who I see about every other time I go there). I repeat my order, in Turkish, and the manager replies, "böğürtlenli sundae and fries. which fries-medium? large?" See, was that so hard to order?