[A Kurdish waterpark - note the mosque and ramshackle stone huts on the hills behind the olympic size pool]
After a quiet morning of work and sleeping in late, Jon and I got a phone call. It was Mehmet, and he was sending a car for us to meet him in a garden outside of the city, now. As I scrambled to change from my pajamas and put in my contacts, Jon said offhandedly, “from here on out, we’re not in control of our own lives.” He wasn’t joking.
The taxi Mehmet sent took us some 15 minutes outside of the city, to what turned out to be a waterpark and series of covered gardens frequented mostly by Diyarbakir locals. We were met by Mehmet, a delegation of Kurdish men, and another Mehmet (who in personality, size and importance I can only call Big Mehmet). Big Mehmet owned the waterpark and the hotel we had visited yesterday. He summarily introduced himself, told us he loved America, and took us for a tour of the grounds, which included an orchard, a small zoo and a giant swimming pool with waterslides. Then, we took a spot on a covered bench where a manmade waterfall trickled water over our feet to cool us down and Big Mehmet ordered food to be brought over.
The chai started rolling, albeit a lot faster than our conversation. My Turkish being nonexistent, it was difficult for me to take part, and I’ll be honest, I’m still getting used to men not meeting my eyes for much of the time. So far, nothing’s stopped me from going where the men go and everyone has been exceedingly friendly, but little things, like when I ask a question and men address Jon instead, or men declining from shaking my hand (an Islamic taboo) are unsettling. Suffice it to say, with the language barrier and my uncertain position in these groups of men, I’ve been getting used to awkward silences.
After a few hours in the shade of Big Mehmet’s gardens, we returned to town to meet up with Jon’s friends in town. With the family’s two teenage boys, we wandered to some of Diyarbakir’s more famous sites, including the Ulu Camii mosque and a church hidden in the winding streets of the neighborhoods that was built in 300 AD.
On the way back from the church we stopped in a candy shop where they were making hard sugar candies from scratch. We watched as they took a 25 kilo blob of melted sugar and sesame seeds and stretched it into sweet seedy goodness in front of our eyes. They passed us some candy – still warm – to munch on as we left.
Then, on to the family home where I was about to eat the largest meal of my life. Jon’s honorary Turkish mom had cooked up a feast, with dolmades, stuffed peppers, a tomato and meat stew to be eaten with homemade bread, salad and cherries in cold juice. Then baklava, cherries, apricots, watermelon, candy and more chai! Always more chai. I might turn into one of those tiny glasses of chai soon. Jon’s Turkish mom was incredible – each time we finished something she would pile more food onto our plates before we had a chance to say no and agitate until we cleared it. I felt her disappointment and my own as after two helpings of stew, three stuffed peppers, two stuffed eggplants, and two handfuls of bread, I had to push my plate away in defeat.
As we left, she gave me a scarf covered in sequins and told me that she had never had a daughter, so every time I was in Diyarbakir I could come to her house and I would be hers for however long I stayed. We left with a promise to return on our way back from Iraq, in some two and a half months.
Tomorrow we will officially cross into Iraq. I’m no longer nervous, just very very curious to see what this new city and culture will hold.
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