Tag Archives: love

Meet the In-Laws

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I am sitting on my balcony listening to the sounds of The Village.  Below me the most prominent sound is that of my in law’s shouting at the top of their lungs.  I wander downstairs to see what today’s issue could be only to find them sitting happily in the sunshine warming their old bones.

My mother in law, Refika calls me over, “Gel. Otur”.  Come and sit.  I sit by them and pour a glass of cay (which, to their constant horror, I put milk in).  It is quite nice in the sun but you can feel that winter is not far away and it was bloody cold this morning when I took Hurley for a walk.  I wonder if Refika invited me over to put an end to their squabble.  No, it was definitely continuing with me right beside them.  I watched them argue back and forth and although I am no expert in the Turkish language I quickly realise that the argument was about who ate the last yumurta (egg).

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The Turk’s parents have been married for over 50 years.  Happily?  I just couldn’t say, they appear resigned to the fact that they are married to each other (I feel that way about The Turk most days as well).  I look at my mother in law’s face.  Deep wrinkles may line her face and cloudy eyes are tired but she still smiles despite her illnesses.  Her scarred and callused hands tell me that she has worked very hard over her years and for probably little reward.  Hursit on the other hand is looking jolly and starts talking animatedly (and loudly due to his deafness) to me despite the fact that I can understand little of what he is saying.  Now retired his day is a repeat of the day before – a trip to the Jokey Club to place a bet on a horse, followed by long (an no doubt philosophical) debates with his friends and neighbours at the local tea house before returning home to his dinner which has been prepared by Refika before removing himself to watch either a horse race or the news on television.  If his horse has won he will sing the night away İyi akşamlar which is no doubt his favourite song.  Give him a few wine or rakı and you will hear that freaking song until dawn!

Watching Refika and Hurşit happily argue has made me realise that The Turk and I are exactly the same!  Every conversation that we have is basically an argument (which is what happens when you mix a Turkish man with an Australian/Italian woman) and I am the first to say that I would divorce him in a heartbeat to anyone who will listen!  Does this mean that The Turk married his mother?

Oh dear!!

Everybody needs good neighbours

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I am going to have a little rant, just a little one.

I have never been a part of a very large family.  I am adopted and no I am not crippled with issues about being adopted.  I had a happy childhood with my adopted parents and brother.  They are my family.  In case you are wondering, yes I have met my natural mother (who is lovely) and my three natural brothers and sister.  I have been very lucky with my upbringing however it was and is a very small family.  I did not have cousins to run around with and family gatherings were always a very small affair.

Now I am part of a very large family with sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, distant cousins – I could go on.  Not only are they my family they are also my neighbours.  Next door is a three storey house with The Turk’s parents (at the rear), his older brother and family on level 3, his youngest brother and family on level 2 and another (estranged) brother on level 1.  It is the estranged brother on level 1 that I will have my little rant about now (thankful that he cannot read English I might add).

In Turkey military service is compulsory for all men aged between 20 and 40 years.  For those men without a university degree the service is 15 months and for those with a degree it is a six month service.  On Sunday night The Turk’s nephew was leaving home to spend the next six months to complete his conscription.  Like most Turkish families they threw a party and invited their nearest and dearest.  There was a lot of music, drums and dancing.  It was most likely a wonderful evening and I say most likely because we were not invited to this shindig and nor was anyone else in the family!  Frankly I was shocked at this blatant rebuff.  Daughter could not understand why she was not invited so she dragged me downstairs to watch the frivolities.  I stood with Hurley (should anyone ask I was waiting for my dog to pee) before moving to the shadows only to find my mother in law behind her gate standing alone watching her grandson dancing.  It nearly broke my heart (and it made me pretty darn angry).

The next morning I rang The Turk and yelled down the telephone at him.  Why would his mother not be invited to the farewell?  Actually why was no one invited to the farewell and while I am at it why have they not spoken to me since I arrived 8 weeks ago!  The Turk’s reply was simple but was definitely not an explanation, “Fuck them!”

I am sitting here thinking of my mum and dad, wishing I could just give them one more hug or talk to them just one more time and here is a family who have no idea just how lucky they are.

“Fuck them!”

Well no thank you.