Noisy Neighborhood

In the English language class
I was teaching in Turkey,
I was querying the students about
Complaints they had
Regarding the neighborhoods
Where they lived.
We are all human beings,
After all,
And when we are cramped in
Close proximity to each other,
Something or someone
Is bound to rub us
The wrong way.
One guy complained
That his neighborhood
Was too noisy,
And he couldn't get any sleep.
He had dark circles
Around his eyes to prove it!
On further questioning
I found out that his wife and him
Just had their first baby
A couple months before,
So I immediately realized
Where the noise was coming from.
It was his house that was noisy,
And I surmised that
He probably wasn't
Wasn't the only one
Complaining about the noise.

Undercover Beggar

Deep in the heart of Istanbul
A police officer
Was assigned to work undercover
Disguised as a beggar
To observe criminal activity
Near a particular corner.
After three months at his
Assigned begging station,
The stakeout was completed
And the criminals
He had been watching
Were apprehended.
The problem was that
That the policeman
Discovered he could make
Much more money as a beggar
Than he did as a policeman.
So he quit the police force
And returned to the corner full time
As a self employed beggar.
A local news service
Got a hold of the story
And had a field day with it.
As you might imagine
With the economy
In dire straights
And unemployment
At an all time high,
This resulting in a plethora
Of new copycat beggars.

Tomorrow's Dreams

Turkish university students
Enrolled in English Class
Hoping that will help
Land them a position
After they graduate,
But they sit in class
Staring through each other,
With heads filled
With multilingual dreams
Of the people
They hope to someday meet
In distant lands.
For the males,
Russian is the language
Of interest,
And for the women,
It is Italian, French
Or possibly Spanish.
They gaze absent mindedly
About the classroom
Oblivious of each other,
And I laugh at the comedy.

King Size Family

As an English teacher at the
Turkish American Association
Here in Adana, Turkey,
I was asking the students
How many brothers
And sisters they each had.
Most students had two or three
Siblings to contend with,
But one student announced
That he had 27 brothers,
Five sisters and three mothers!
In the Eastern part of Turkey,
Men can have up to four wives,
And families frequently are very large.
I asked him if he knew
All of their names,
And the way he hesitated to answer,
It was obvious that
He wasn’t sure that he did!
With thirty-three children
They probably celebrated
A birthday almost every other week
If they could remember them all.
I wonder how many bathrooms
They had in their house!
For that matter,
I wonder how many bedrooms they had.
I have no idea how his father
Could support them all.
Having sired that many children,
He probably didn’t have
Much time left for working.
I am just trying to imagine
37 distinctly different personalities
Trying to live together
Under a single roof.
His father would have to be
An expert at mob psychology
To get that horde
To work together.
I think he must have had to
Referee an intra-sibling battle
A dozen times a day,
And I am sure
His wives got into a hassle
With each other
Frequently enough
To turn all of his hair grey.
When I asked the student
How many children
He would like to have.
He told me he would like to
Do what his father had done.
Now imagine if each
Of his brothers did the same,
What an extended family
They would have,
And who could possibly
Keep track of the multitude
Of nephews and nieces,
Much less remember their names
Or who they belonged to.

The Visa Stamp Circus

On return from
A visa outing
To neighboring Cyprus,
A ritual escape
I am forced to do
Every ninety days
If I want to stay
Here in Turkey,
I was confronted with
A ridiculous
Battle of wits
With a mindless
Immigration official.
She had been told
That visa stamps
Must be sold
In the currency
Of the country
From which the traveler
Is a native of,
And in my case,
That meant
The United States.
The only problem was
I did not have any
US Currency
On me at the time.
All I had was local
Turkish Lira which
She wouldn’t accept.
Now I know in Istanbul
The stamp must be
Paid for in Turkish Lira,
And there is a handy
Currency exchanger
Available should I not
Have the local currency,
But this was Adana!
I was told that I would have to
Get my Turkish money
Exchanged into US Dollars
For her to sell me
The Visa stamp I needed.
This created a challenge
Because there wasn’t any
Currency exchange
In the airport,
And besides,
I couldn’t get through
Immigration Control
Without the stamp
To find one.
What would have happened
Had I been a citizen
Of Canada or Mexico,
And the same issue
Came up?
It became a circus
As the customs people,
And the immigration police
Tried to reason with
The obstinate official
On my behalf,
And it took
And hour and a half
Of our combined efforts
To get her to budge.
There I was,
Extremely tired
From having been up
And traveling
For the last 36 hours,
Trying to reason with
An intransigent bureaucrat.
This ended out being
A classic example
Of why it is so difficult
To do business
Here in Turkey.
Even the simplest
Of matters can become
A roadblock
In the absence of
Common sense,
A commodity which is
Apparently in short supply
In certain areas
Of government.

The Kurdish Freedom Fighter

She was young,
Barely twenty years old,
And quite attractive
With her long silky, black hair
That hung down to her waist,
But what set her apart
Was her feisty spirit
And the flash of her eyes,
As she talked about
The Kurdish people.
She took great pride
In her people’s nobility,
But bristled with anger
At the Turkish government,
And the capriciousness
Of its policies.
The Kurdish people need
Their own country,
Free from the Turks,
Where they can speak
Their own language,
She declared.
She had numerous relatives
Who had been killed
By the PKK insurgents,
Yet she was still proud
Of the others who had joined
Their resistance.
She was newly married
To a man from
Northern Europe,
And the paperwork
Was being processed
For her visa,
And she was excited
To be leaving Turkey.
She was full of fight and fury,
And single minded
Contempt for this country,
Thinking that
It would somehow
Be better where
She was going,
But I cautioned her
That I too was a rebel
At her age,
And everywhere I went,
The battle followed me.
It was only later
That I was able
To make peace with the world
Exactly as it is,
And exactly as it isn’t.
She is at war
With the world,
Not just Turkey,
And she will always
Be running from
One skirmish or another
Until the day
She finally makes peace
With the world.
Yes, it is as if
I was watching myself
Years before,
Pugnaciously confronting
The obvious injustices
And the inequities of life.

Foreign Advantage

Not being native
To the country
Or experienced
With how things
Have always been,
I tend to see
Possibilities that locals
Just can’t see.
Perhaps the residents
Have let themselves
Become jaded
After having seen
So many good ideas
Shot down by reality,
That they no longer believe
Anything can be done.
I, on the other hand, am not
So easily convinced
That change is impossible,
That the limitations
Others around me
Take for granted
Are, in fact, real.
I find a distinct advantage
To not being indoctrinated
With the intransigence
Of local bureaucracy,
Weighed down
With pessimism regarding
The apathy of the people,
Or the burdened with concerns
About the economy.
I perceive a wealth
Of amazingly lucrative
Business opportunities
And need to act
Before I too become
Disillusioned by local reality.

Merkez Park

On the banks
Of the Seyhan River
In South Central Turkey,
The City of Adana
Shakes off its humid lethargy
And comes to life.
It’s a hot, sunny, summer
Saturday morning,
And those families
Who couldn’t escape
To the seaside
Emerge from the shadows
Of the concrete towers
In which they live
And flock to Merkez Park.
There they claim
A spot in the grass,
Spread their blankets
And prepare their tea.
Each family cluster
Includes 10 to 20 people,
Maybe more.
There are aunts and uncles,
Nieces and nephews,
Sons and daughter,
As well as parents,
Grand parents
And great grand parents too.
The adults lazily
Pass the time
Gossiping about life
While the youngsters
Engage in games of football
Or dodge ball.
The park is a respite
From the hustle-bustle
Of normal city life,
And a time for
For the customary
Family get together.
During the week,
The park is a magnet
For young couples
Courting each other
And wanting to get away
From parental oversight.
For someone like me,
Coming from
The barren deserts of Iraq,
The park is a pageant
Of color, sights and sounds
Welcoming me to Turkey.