Mother Natures Prozac

Tags

Çig Kofte, Kurdish culture, Kurdish family life, Kurdish Food, Kurdish Travel, Kurdish Village, life in Turkey, Turkish food, Turkish Travel

The weather here at the moment is idyllic; sunshine with a breeze and no humidity.

Waking up to the sun streaming through the window and the birds singing is like natures Prozac – the kind of weather that keeps a smile on your face.

Yesterday, after a leisurely Turkish breakfast, we decide to spend the day in the village. I’ve been in the village a lot lately…..making up for my seven month absence!

My mother in laws house is a hive of activity when we arrive. Dursin and Zebiha (another daughter in law) are out on the balcony washing carpets; barefoot with salvar tucked into their knickers.

Murat and I sit on the kitchen floor drinking tea after which, Mu stretches out his long limbs and slides down from the bolster cushion for a little nap – Lazy sod.

Meet Melisa

Brother in law Hassan and his wife Zebiha have a two month old daughter, Melisa or ‘Zengi’ (black girl) as she is affectionately called (there is nothing derogatory about that here) and she has, up until now, been fast asleep in a crib in the bedroom. I stand over her for a second or two, watching her take tiny shallow breaths as she slumbers before picking her up and nestling her in my arms.

On the balcony, Dursin is now washing the smaller rugs. Instead of laying these on the floor and attacking them with a hose and a scrubbing brush, she has them in a large plastic bowl and is dancing up and down on them, washing them with her feet as suds go flying up her legs.  I laugh my head off.

‘Ne Kym’ she says shaking her head at me

‘Cok komik’ I tell her

She grins and carries on with the dance.

Zebiha is gathering together all the necessary bits and pieces to bath Melisa and when she has them all in a pile, she lines the large plastic bowl with a fleece blanket.  I have already stripped Melisa and now put her little wiggling form in the middle of the bowl, on the blanket.  Dursin takes a break from the balcony and comes in to help bathe her granddaughter and myself and Murat, who is now awake, watch from the side-lines.

I remember bath times with my son Jordan. As a Brit, who is used to treating babies with kid gloves, I would take such care not to rub his skin too hard or get soap in his eyes. Bath times were fun and he used to giggle and laugh as the water poured over him, although saying that, I have seen plenty of babies cry at bath time, soap in their eyes or not.

Dursin scrubs Melisa quite firmly and when it comes to hair washing, well the baby shampoo goes on, is rubbed vigorously over her head and face and then a jug of water is poured completely over her head to wash it all off.  She catches her breath and starts crying; Murat says it’s because of the soap in her eyes.  No Dursin and Zebiha say, it’s baby soap, it doesn’t sting. This is what the adverts say so why shouldn’t they believe it?

Soon Melisa is clean, dry, smothered in talcum powder and none the worse for wear.

I sit contemplating bath time. I’m thinking I would have done that differently. It’s a bit of a contradiction in terms lining a plastic bowl with a fleece blanket for Melisa’s comfort and then washing her like you would a doll but then, all of this has been done with love. These village babies are more than loved, they are adored and no-one would do anything to harm them. Perhaps it is ignorance and lack of education but then I think, is treating our children with kid gloves really good for them? I’ve watched these babies grow over the last seven years from babies that are passed around and loved by everyone they come into contact with to healthy and happy children who respect their elders and I wonder who has it right?

Murat stands, clearly bored with this ‘women stuff’ and takes himself off to Orman Kampi.

Another daughter in law, Ozlem, wanders up from the house downstairs. She is a first cousin from Urfa who recently married brother in law Hussein.  Murat had strongly advised Hussein against this marriage, not because Ozlem was a cousin but because Hussein had only just got out of the army where he had seen quite a lot of action. This can obviously screw with your head and Murat’s concern was that when Hussein got used to the real world again he may change his mind and this would cause a family war. It’s happened before in this family.  There were other reasons; Hussein had no real job to come out to and no real prospects of one and that’s not an ideal start to any marriage is it? Still, here in the village, what you have is shared so they won’t go hungry.

Ozlem takes parsley and spring onions from the fridge and starts chopping.  Zebiha lays a sofra (tablecloth) on the floor, takes out an aluminium dish from the cupboard and fills it with bulgur wheat, chopped tomatoes and diced onions.

‘’Ne yapacak’’ I say, asking her what she is making

‘’Domatesli cig kofte’’ she says

She adds salt and spices to the dish and sits on the floor, mixing it all together with her hands.

Before the mix is complete, Ozlem adds the ingredients she has been chopping along with some oil then starts making Ayran.

All the washing is now blowing in the breeze and Dursin in on her knees in the kitchen with a cloth, cleaning up any speck of stray bulgur or parsley that the girls have missed.

Brother in laws and cousins wander in, join us around the sofra and we all eat and chat and somehow end up talking about snake and scorpion bites.  Not a great subject as I have brought some herbs with me to plant up in Hassan Amca’s garden later; Now I’m home, I can start making this years herbal teas and tinctures.

After lunch I take a walk outside and chase the chickens.  The mother hen has eight babies that are running around on their tiny little legs chirping, seven black and one white. She does not take kindly to me following them so closely and tells me so by turning on me and furiously clucking ‘’get away from my babies you giant’’ – I think that’s what she says anyway.

Islim

Having done all her chores, Dursin comes with me to Hassan Amca’s house where we sit drinking yet more tea and watch Islim (Hassan’s wife) gather kindling for the outside oven as their son Yusuf tries to get me to play ball.

Hassan and I walk over to his garden where lined up in neat rows and irrigated with lengths of black hosepipe are tomatoes, peppers and aubergines, none of which has fruit as yet. He finds me a corner by the gate next to his nane (mint), starts chopping away at the earth with a pick axe and before you know it, my green bits are in, watered and basking in the sun with not a snake or scorpion in sight

Murat returns and the rest of the afternoon is spent under Hassan’s grapevine, eating cherries and watermelon while talking about the past.

At dinner time, various family members wander in we end up with thirteen around the sofra eating Dursin’s lahmacan and Islim’s kizatma.

I end the day much like I started it; with a smile on my face

Here are a few photos from the day and a little clip of mother hen and her chicks

Getting the washing done

Domatesli Cig Kofte

Mitchie & Ferat

Hassan & the Nane

Melisa & I

Mu & Melisa

Hassan & Zebiha

Yusuf hogs the cherries

The Daily Bread

Tags

Making Bread, Turkish family life, Turkish Yufka, Village Bread making

It’s Mother’s Day here in Turkey and we have decided to go to the village for breakfast.  We steal some roses from the complex gardens before leaving; they smell beautiful, the pink ones in particular and these I believe are the ones that make rose ice cream.

We stop at the village firin for bread, then round the corner to pick up Ayfare, Hussein Amca and their children; Helin and Murat.  Ayfare is going to Safye’s house to help her make yufka (flatbread); we drop her off on the way.

At Dursun’s house I hand over the flowers with a ‘Anne Gunu Kutlu Olsun’ (Happy Mother’s Day) and a couple of kisses before going to the kitchen where sister in laws and aunts are waiting for us. A large silver tray is on the floor and on it is cheese, goats butter, home-made tomato sauce with green peppers and black olives lounging in a bowl of olive oil. We pass around the hot bread we have just collected from the village firin and breakfast commences with family chit chat and lots of cay.

After breakfast we head over to Safiye’s house to see Nine. While I have been in the UK, Nine has been diagnosed with tumours. They are all over her body but the results have come back with benign and it doesn’t appear that they are cancerous but still, everyone is worried.

At the back of the village we pull up in-front of the house with a corrugated iron roof held in place with tractor tyres.  Nine is in the garden with her stick doing a bit of gardening,  Berfin and Fatos come running at the sound of the car shouting ‘Kym abla geldi’ as they join Helin and Murat around my legs, clutching at my skirt. I am the Pied Piper here in the village; all the children follow me around and everyone hands me the babies as soon as I arrive. I think I must smell like chocolate!

Nine greets me as I bend and kiss her on both cheeks, my eyes glued to the huge tumour that is distorting her chin. I want to reach my hand to it and zap it away with my willpower. I do no such thing of course, instead I reach for her bucket but she shoos me away and retains her independence as she picks it up and carries it herself.

We follow the sound of chatter into the small brick built oven where Safiye and Ayfare are making the yufka, arrange ourselves on plastic chairs and wait for Berfin to make cay.

Out of all the village relatives, Ayfare is the one most like a sister. We joke around and tease each other and always have a good banter, normally about our lack of cooking skills compared to the rest of the family! Here is a woman with a smile that never leaves her face; she is a beauty and great fun and of course the mother of Helin who, from a baby was stuck to my hip.

Instead of describing the bread making to you, I thought you may like to see for yourself:

 

Murat and Hussein leave us women and we do what women do best: natter away until we hear a car pull up.

‘Murat?’ Ayfare asks

Through the opening I see it’s not.

‘Bedir Amca’ I say and at that Ayfare and Safye stop what they are doing and rearrange their clothes, pulling their headscarves back in place and ensuring their skirts are pulled all the way down to their ankles. The chatter dies down and we all assume our respectful positions for the arrival of Bedir Amca (Dursun’s older brother) and Crazy Uncle who is with him.

I stand up to shake hands as they both welcome me back and at the same time berate me for being gone too long.

‘I was very worried’ Bedir Amca says, ‘I was scared you were not coming back’.  I reassure him that the only reason I was gone so long was down to Jordan and business.

On hearing the name Jordan, Crazy uncle beams and asks after ‘bizim oglum’ our kid for want of a better translation – his English family as he calls him. I bring them up to date on the ins and outs of my trip as we drink cay and the girls carry on with the bread making.

Murat and Hussein return, have a quick chat with the Amca’s, then decide to bugger off to Altinkum.  While we have been chatting, Safiye has told Berfin to go to the kitchen and take out a chicken. She returns when the men have left and tells Safiye that there is no chicken in the fridge now as Baran has taken them.

‘NE’ (WHAT) Safiye says with a look of thunder on her face

Baran, her eldest son, has decided to go for a picnic with his friend to Orman Kampi. He has taken not one but two cooked chickens from the fridge that were meant for dinner.

It is and it isn’t funny. Safiye and Hyder have four children and Nine lives with them also. They are the poorest of all the family and under those circumstances, they can’t afford to lose two chickens but, the scene is comical and we can’t help but laugh. Safiye rings Lami (another Amca) who owns the café at the dolmus stop across the road from Orman Kampi – She tells him to warn Baran what he is coming home to!

The Yufka sits in a pile; two weeks’ worth that has taken three hours to make. The last two pieces to come off the fire have been spread with butter made from goat’s milk, torn into pieces and handed around.

‘Lezetti’ (delicious) I say out loud ‘Ama tavuk daha iyi’ (but chicken is better) I tease Safye

Dursun erupts with laughter and slaps her hand on my knee ‘Oy Kym, Oy Oy’ she says….

I’ll leave you with this photo – Safyes idea to scare the birds. I’m calling it a shoecrow

 

Earth to Earth

Tags

farmers markets, Fresh Food, Healthy Eating, Healthy living, living in turkey, Markets in Turkey, Organic fruit and veg, Shopping in Turkey, Turkish food

Finally, after 7 months, I am home in Turkey.  I was happy to see the house spotless; Mu had got the cleaners in. It’s just a shame they didn’t look in the laundry baskets….I did and there I found laundry from 7 months ago!!

The Mother in Law called early the next morning; Welcome back she said before the inevitable: ‘Kym, you said you were going for two months and it’s been seven’’.  Not one to make excuses I said ‘I know, I’m very naughty’ at which she laughed ‘oy Kym, oy oy’ she said.  What a bad yabanci gelin I am!

One thing I missed badly when I was in the UK, was the produce. In Turkey, the fruit and veg literally spills off the stalls down the market in bright green chains of stalk and leaf surrounding nature’s multi-coloured gems.  I couldn’t wait for Wednesday!

Up early and out the door in my shalvar (yes really) and Birkenstocks that are now adapted to help fix my ankle problem (more about that another time), I got to the market and was lucky enough to find a parking space right by the entrance. So far so good.

The Wednesday farmers market is where the old market used to be, behind the new mosque in Yenihisar. The stalls sit in neat rows behind which all shapes and sizes of headscarf and moustache call out to passers-by:  ‘Buyrun’ they say, here we are, ready and waiting, please have a look.

My first stop is at my father in laws stall where brother in law Enis beams at me, ‘Hos geldin’ he says welcoming me. We engage in general chit chat after which I give him my order for various seeds and spices and leave him to that while I wander.

I manage to get most of my green leafy things (yesil ot) at the first stall I stop at. I ask the lady stall holder for a ‘poşet’ so that I can pick and choose myself and while I’m doing so I spy some beautiful looking tomatoes on the vine at the next stall. On closer inspection, I note the yellow sticker and fly symbol that means they have been grown using chemical sprays and insect deterrents so I don’t buy them. No matter, it’s not long before I come across some that have been grown organically and after a good prod and poke, into my poşet they go. Hands now full of bags; I wander back to Enis and leave my shopping with him as I set off for round two.

Fruit comes next followed by olive oil, yoghurt and honey and I’m done in no time.

Back to Enis and he has been joined by the Father in Law Nedim. ‘Hos Geldin Kym’ he says and then frowns and proceeds to tell me I have been gone too long. I know exactly how to answer, ‘iş yaptin’ I say, I made work there. This prevents any further frowning and I am back to being a good yabanci gelin

My bags are packed in a crate and Enis carries them to the car for me. On the way I bump into Dave aka Smurf, long term resident expat and sun worshiper. ‘How come you get your stuff carried and the rest of us have to carry our own’ he says white teeth shining out from his mahogany face. ‘I’m related’ I say with a grin on my pale face.  Just one of the plus points of being a yabanci gelin eh?

In comparison to the UK, where I lived mostly on Sweet Potatoes and Avocado’s, there is absolutely no contest.  My market shopping cost me fifty lira, that’s £17.98 at today’s rate of exchange.

I think the photo’s speak for themselves but to back them up, here is my shopping list of goodies purchased.

1 bunch of rocket

1 bunch of tera (tastes like watercress)

1 bunch of dereotu (dill)

2 bunches of maydanoz (parsley)

1 kilo of ispanak (spinach)

5 pancar (beetroot)

Half a kilo of salatalık (cucumber)

2 kilos of domates (tomatoes)

4 kilos of patates (potatoes)

1 kilo of sogan (onion)

2 kilos of elma (apple)

1 kilo limon (lemon)

4 bulbs of fresh sarımsak (garlic)

1 kilo of kayseri (apricot)

5 kiwis

Half a kilo of koyun yogurt (sheep’s yoghurt)

A large jar of cicek bal (flower honey)

1 litre of zeytin yag (olive oil)

The bits I got from my father in law, of course, I didn’t pay for but for the sake of what’s available here, I’ll include them below:

Hemp seeds – Linseeds – Aniseed – Sumak – Nar Eksisi (Pomegranate Syrup) – kara biber (black pepper).

At home, my green bits sit prettily in water glasses, waiting to be plucked. The seeds and spices have been poured into glass jars and the rest of the goods have been washed and arranged in bowls that are now in the fridge. It’s like opening a jewellery box.

The world has been getting health conscious for more than a few years now. People are turning their backs on processed goods and fast foods and rightly so but, instead of allowing everyone to reap the benefits of fresh food as nature intended, it is just another way to make money.  Anything worth having is pricey and out of reach for most and even more so if it has an organic label on it. This is just plain wrong.

I know I am lucky to live here, in a country where food grown from the earth doesn’t cost the earth.  In some countries, the food affordable will actually put you in the earth way before your sell by date!