Istanbul Rantings

My exile brought me to Istanbul- I have been here now for three days. Though I cannot yet return to Cairo permanently I am somewhat comforted by the feeling that I am back in the East- whatever that is or means. It probably means I’m one of those damn orientalists- essentializing everything so that it fits my romantic notions. I am fond of church bells but I am more drawn to the sound of the muezzin- especially at sunset. There is perhaps no better prayer-accompanied-sunset than that seen from a rooftop overlooking the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, and scattered Ottoman domes throughout the old city of Sultanahmet spanning out to the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara. It was seven years ago that I first enjoyed the view.

Turkey, of course, brings back many memories of the past, not the least of which being a whirlwind romance and marriage. I have to say that it still brings a smile to my face to remember. Much of my memories are flashes- being kidnapped by the village Kurdish girls so they could dress me for the local wedding. The heads of families pinning gold coins on us to melt into wedding bands. Wandering though Syria. The Armenian goldsmiths of Aleppo that made my ring. It was a great story- even if life’s mistakes and realities cruelly intervened. But we never question the phrase “and they lived happily ever after” at the end of fairy-tales.

When I arrived in Istanbul it was snowing thick swirling flakes across the city. It thought fit perfectly as I read the first few pages of my accompanying fiction (Snow):

“As evening fell, he lost himself in the light lingering in the sky above; in the snowflakes whirling ever more wildly in the wind he saw nothing of the impending blizzard but rather a promise, a sign pointing the way back to the happiness and purity he had known, once, as a child. Our traveler had spent his years of happiness and childhood in Istanbul; he’d returned a week ago for the first time in twelve years…He was a poet and, as he himself had written-in a poem still largely unknown to Turkish readers-it snows only once in our dreams.” 

The cold cut through my layers of clothes- at least I had checked the weather before packing. Within two hours of arrival I found myself in the corner of a tea-house, laying across various pillows and cushions, covered in blankets, smoking sheesha, and drinking tea from the Turkish glasses that I love. I watched the snow continue to fall outside and tried to stop thinking about Cairo. I was thinking of a recent conversation I had- someone telling me about how, in their second novel, one of the characters included the American ambassador to Egypt- a woman. In the story a vague environmental or some other form of apocalyptic disaster had struck Egypt causing a shortage of water. Throughout the crisis the American ambassador remains in her office, reporting to higher authorities, and never ventures out to understand what is happening outside. The Americans had managed to dig a tunnel between the embassy and Maadi- so that they could come and go without ever really being in contact with Egypt. Astounding. And not far from the everyday truth of official American operations in Egypt- at least as far as I can see. The embassy seems to be plagued by some irrational fear that stems from ignorance. Though I can’t quite draw the connection- it reminds me of the stale and meaningless words Hillary Clinton has spoken recently on Libya. It reminds me of people who suggest that that the modern “globalized” world causes us all, as some sort of “global village,” to experience each other’s sufferings and the consequences of events. No. That is a ridiculous concept that stems from people who have never truly experienced hardship and suffering. It is patronizing- like Thomas Friedman’s portrait in the NY Times. Don’t ask me where that came from.


From my conversations with several people, no one understands the US embassy right now and why they are still behaving as if world war three is occurring outside the embassy walls. Why are the Americans, in an official capacity, afraid to interact with civil society? “Dear Egypt, We support your peaceful revolution but, on the other hand, you are all a bunch of unpredictable barbarians and we expect you to turn your country into something that resembles modern Germany before we have full confidence in you and have all our embassy employees and families return. I mean, you guys are Arabs after all, so we have to be sure. What will make us sure? When the police force, whom terrorized and brutalized you for decades, is able to return in full force to the streets and prevent the minor episodes of theft that have happened at night in Maadi. We can’t have laptops and iPhones being stolen. And when we are confident you won’t head into civil war or a jihad against the West over the price of tomatoes after the economic crisis truly sets in. Not that the majority of people of Egypt haven’t been living in state poverty for quite some time. Why can’t you all just be quiet and obey your military masters for the sake of stability? This peaceful protesting in Tahrir and demand for true civilian-led democracy is just out of hand.”

It’s embarrassing. It is actually comical. I am embarrassed when I try to explain to friends why embassy personnel are still in an “evacuated” status. I still remember the briefs the embassy gave upon arrival to Egypt- don’t ride in microbuses because they are full of (shhhhhh…wait for it…) Egyptians. And don’t buy groceries at the local market because you will surely die. Needless to say, I have always kept my distance from the embassy and their absurd notions about Egypt. But I find it utterly disheartening how disengaged they are with the situation- before and after the revolution.

Before I worked myself into another rage that snowy evening my thoughts were interrupted by the waiter who had been overly attentive to the coal for my sheesha, along with bringing me continual cups of complimentary tea. This time he smiled shyly and handed me a flower and a card. He fled the scene immediately. “My name is Yalçin. I like you.” Was printed above a phone number and e-mail. It was enough to make me laugh and forget Cairo. Seven years ago when I traveled across Turkey alone by bus, I would frequently return to my seat after a stop to find a small flower or, even more creative, napkins made into carnations. One time I swam in local spring and some of the teenage boys swam across from the other side, flowers between their teeth, so that they could then present me with them. I had forgotten those moments until my young waiter decided to present me with his small gift.

I have started working out of the library at Bogazici University, pretending that I am student here so I can read the books I need. My graduate advisor back in Cairo has been gracious enough to let me remain in a class through distance learning. The semester will not be a total loss- and I will have something besides my anger to occupy me throughout my exile. Maybe I will be able to return soon- but I am slowly losing hope in any sort of sensible conclusion to this fiasco.