Likened to a Taliban on the cross-town bus: A sparkly response

Posted on February 2, 2012 by lizcameron

The inspiration for today’s pit-stop on the cross-cultural road trip of this Turkish-American marriage sprung up while we were watching a re-run of the television sitcom “Seinfeld.” Let me explain that almost 20 years after moving to the United States, M. experienced cable TV for the first time in our home – when I plugged the cable sticking out of the wall into my TV (he didn’t have one before) to see if it still worked. We only had access to the Food Network, and it was love at first viewing. However, once we purchased cable services, M. fell truly, madly and deeply in love with Seinfeld.

Now, Seinfeld, of course, is an American sitcom that is best known for both “being about nothing” as well as its fabulously over-the-top stereotypes of a raggedy bunch of crass New Yorkers. The puppets are learning a lot about American life through this television show – every night at 7 pm they are lined up behind M. to watch the re-run. I am not sure what I think about this, but try to join in once in a while in order to share in the learning experience. I feel as though M. is catching up on a lot of what has already been “culturally said” and perhaps is culturally obvious to me…just as I might while watching Turkish drama series episodes from over his shoulder on the laptop (if I understood Turkish better).

So perhaps it was the Seinfeld-infused environment that led M. to share what happened to him on the bus today as he knows this kind of thing makes me nervous. The puppets, of course, saw this coming down the pike, and all put their hands to their ears and leaned in towards M. as he plopped down on the couch saying “you’ll never guess what happened to me on the bus today.”

If anything, M. looks like Hamid Karzai, but with hair – and Hamid Karzai is certainly not a Talibani

[Cross-cultural interlude for explanation: Now let me interrupt myself now and say that it took about 5 minutes from this point to the heart of the story. I don’t know if it is M. or all Turks, but the telling of a story starts at the veeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrry beginning (e.g. I took the 8:35 bus instead of the 8:17 bus, so I didn’t know the people) and goes through allllllllllllllllllllll the details on the way to the point. I sat, nodding my head, as if making my way through an asteroid field of detritus in the form of non-relevant information (or so my overly analytical and American to-the-point mind things).]

Finally, just as Karagöz fell over onto my shoulder in an active listening stance, M. got to the point of his story. “So these two ladies,” he said, gesturing wildly like a somewhat subdued Kramer character on Seinfeld, “they were in their forties – and they were looking at me and whispering.”

Nodding my head as Esma the hippie tolerance-minded puppet cued me, I murmured “Mmmmm hmmm,” waiting for the other shoe to drop.

M. pointed his finger up as he said “I heard them say – ‘he looks like a Taliban!”

Now this, this is my personal stereotype of a Talibani (image from The Nation)

If my eyebrows could rise any higher than they did, they would have. All of the puppets cried “shiver my timbers” as they fell backwards in shock. Karagöz did a power whoop. Yehuda Rebbe spluttered in shock, holding his head in his hands. I mean – M. looks nothing like these four dudes on the left, maybe a bit like Hamid Karzai or a younger 🙂 version of the gentleman on the bottom left, but I would never, ever liken him to a Talibani.

[Cross-cultural context-setting moment: Now let me set the stage a bit. We live in a town that is often referred to with “the People’s Republic of…” before it, indicating that it is a very left-leaning, diversity-accepting town. Now, we know that this is often a load of malarkey, given some world-famous racist cop-related events over the past year or so – not to mention our own experience with ethnic stereotyping about M. But, still…I just wonder at people’s observational powers sometimes, really.]

Bringing my mind back to the couch, where I was sitting with M. as he was describing his bus ride. it was then that I noticed the wicked sparkle in M.’s eye. “Oh no,” I said, “what then?” Karagöz was already jumping up and down in anticipation – he and M. are at times like peas in a pod. They love moments like this – moments when the potential for shock factor is almost appropriate. “So I turned to them, and I said – ‘but I’m a good one!” His speech glittery with pride at his mastery of the moment, he continued “They were so embarrassed that they looked away with a studied desperateness” and I imagined the women, like little baby goats clambering up a rocky hillside on a rainy day.

OK, I have to admit this Hazara Talibani does bear some resemblance in the beard department…but still…

Now, on the face of it, this sentence doesn’t make all that much sense, as M. is not a Talibani at all – and I would argue does not look anything like one. However, his point was to let them know that he had heard them – and to shock them a bit (Karagoz inserts this as he reads over my shoulder “damn tootin'”). It’s all about taking it in stride, and taking control of what you can, in these moments, I suppose. Kenne, the Queen of Manners was not even aghast at his bold and brusque behavior – calling attention instead to the not-so-subtle women. “Of course,” she sniffed, “making an observation about a person is not a crime…but to do it so brazenly? That is not polite, given the stereotypes people have about the Taliban – as terrible as they may be.”

Taking it in stride is what I love about M. – even though I fear for the chance that he will run into a less-friendly audience in some wrong place, wrong time kind of way…I guess I would need to make mirth out of it too if I were M., bravo!

Related articles
Posted in America post 9-11, Cross-cultural learning moments, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The puppets finally show up with süt, çam balı ve sarmisak

Posted on February 1, 2012 by lizcameron

English: A basket of garlic (allium sativum) o...

Lots and lots of garlic - that's what Karagoz wants me to eat in order to feel better...do you agree? Image via Wikipedia

This morning, the puppets finally came down from the mango room to visit me.  They have been having a wild time up in our office (a.k.a. the mango room), chasing the sunbeams and dust bunnies up there.  It has been about a week.  They let me know that it was all about writer’s block by gifting me with a quite lovely cardboard typewriter.  You can read about all that here.  In any case, today, just after dawn, I heard the creaking boards of the stairs and attempted to open my somewhat-glued-shut eyes, a molasses process.  I saw the dog on the foot of the bed, turning his head this way and that, trying to make sense of what was happening out there, and then I saw them turn the corner and proceed into the room and up onto the bumpy field that is our cotton matellasse bedspread…carrying trays of food my way….but I couldn’t quite understand why they were bringing me what they were bringing me.

The parade, not surprisingly, started with Karagoz himself, who did cartwheels while inexplicably not spilling his tray of rawgarlic (sarmisak in Turkish). “Here you go, m’lady,” he said between whoops and hollers, his Tourette’s Syndrome going wild, “what you need is garlic – and how!” I recalled how M. used to brag to me about eating multiple heads of garlic while on the island by himself – to become as healthy as all get-out. “What Karagoz should say, m’lady,” Esma (the parade organizer) added in, “is that garlic is great for doing battle with illness, but wait, we have more for you.”

The little chorus of dancing ladies followed Karagoz around the bumps of bedspread, carefully carrying ochre-hued earthenware pots of çam balı (chahm-bah-luh, pine tree honey). “This, m’lady,” they whispered, “will soothe your throat – what’s not to love about the scent of pine trees and the sunshine of the Aegean all in one sweet, sticky spoonful?”

Hacivad Bey and Yehuda Rebbe followed along, sharing the burden of carefully carrying a gleaming glass pitcher of whole, organic milk (süt, pronounced “suht” which M. will likely correct).  “This is the connecting factor, m’lady,” they explained with serious expressions, “you need to mix it all together.”

It was a sort of love fest grocery parade, but it was confusing me. “Are you trying to send me a message, puppets, do the ingredients have some secret meaning -sort of like the language of flowers?” I croaked, realizing my voice was as raspy as a raisin on a grater and immediately wishing I had not tried to use my voice. “How am I supposed to mix these together – honey and milk, I get, but, um, garlic?”

“M’lady,” Esma spoke soothingly, “you need to take off your American glasses, and try this new approach…aTurkish remedy.  We will guide you to the stove – you need to get out of bed at least once today – and we thought that a bit of pomp and circumstance in the form of a parade with the ingredients  might be fun.  You know, like the three Magi going to visit the baby Jesus, although we know you don’t have any delusions or illusions about that, we just liked the processional, and it was a nice way to come back from the writer’s block vacation in style.”

“OK, puppets, I will get up as soon as I can, but right now, I am feeling……a bit……..diz……….zy…….” I remember saying this just before falling into a narcoleptic sleep episode.

I woke up several hours later, as M. was saying goodbye, and could barely remember the puppets’ visit – were it not for the garlic, honey and milk sitting on my bedside table.  After all, it’s been a tough week.  A young and dear friend of ours was in a crisis that we tried to help with, and is now somewhat resolved,  and now I am downed by what appears not to be a bad cold, but rather a flu.  So, I have moved from writer’s block to flu thanks to my students who came to class quite sick last week!  I think it is time for me to reconsider my attendance policy, but that is another story.  So, there I was in bed, with honey, garlic and milk, the 4th day in bed and without a voice, that was new.  I couldn’t call in sick to my boss as making the vocal chords activate is painful, so I sent an email, and while waiting for a reply to make sure the email was received, I googled “Turkish flu remedy garlic, milk, honey” to pass the time and to see if I could remember what the puppets told me.

As a former student of both medical anthropology and the history of medicine during my undergraduate years, I do love learning about how different cultures address health and illness – and I really wanted some new approach to use given my desperate state.

While I have written several times about the powers of good and bad air as framed by Turks I do and don’t know, I have not addressed how flu is treated on the home remedy front.  Luckily, YouTube provided the answer for what to do with the puppets’ gifts of garlic, milk and honey, not only with this video of some crazy American kids taking the advice of “a Turkish priest” by burning garlic, mixing it with milk and honey and drinking it (and feeling better, so they said) but more aptly with a Turkish commentator who responded to the video by suggesting boiling the garlic in milk and adding honey – which is what I forced myself out of bed to do.

Sitting up a bit after returning to bed with the concoction, I steeled my fingertips to the heat of the ceramic cup covered with butterflies and took a tiny sip. Not half bad, and it seemed to help me feel somewhat better, too. Let’s hope it cures writer’s block, too!

An image of Turkish pine tree honey for sale by the road (from Charles Fred's Flikr photostream)

Related articles
Posted in Cross-cultural learning moments, Turkish Food!, Visits from the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Puppets on vacation – Writer’s block sets in

Posted on January 29, 2012 by lizcameron

See the massively talented artist who created this cardboard typewriter over at Etsy (the puppets had it delivered in order to usher in the current era of writer's block)

After a truly lovely gourmet anniversary dinner at a tiny (and tony) local-food fancy restaurant, the puppets decided to take a vacation – and they sent me a gift – it is called “writer’s block.”

They are all in the upstairs “mango room” – so named for its wall color – revelling in the sunshine and playing hide and seek in between dust-bunnies behind my desk. It’s been a couple of really busy and intense days in the non-puppet world – and I really miss their presence. It’s hard to live without Rumi quotes, rebellious tricksters, flower-emitting hippies and manners-minded mavens.

Several times, I have sat down to write the stories knocking about in my head – and what happens is that my laptop begins to look about like the photo here, of a cardboard typewriter, that, need I say, does not produce written words. So, it looks like there are EVEN writer’s block moments on the cross-cultural journey that is my Turkish-American marriage – even though there is so much going on that my brain is akin to a massive hotel stove with 6 pots simultaneously simmering, boiling, poaching and braising various topics. From being black-and-white in arguments to the merits of bacon to the surprise of a tiny Eritrean girl upon seeing our faces walk into her father’s social club – there will be some good stories coming along as soon as my puppets come downstairs from the mango room and rejoin me again. Will it to be so, folks.

Related articles
Posted in On writing about my life with the Karagöz puppets | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments