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.
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.
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
Maria said:
Lovely blog and sounds yummy…..x
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Thanks Maria – Was all good for the waistline too 😉 x
michelle said:
Wow Kym I felt like I was there with you!
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Awww thanks Michelle – Happy to have taken you on the journey 🙂
backtobodrum said:
You post raises lots of niggles in my brain. This scene looks ideal – good food, close family, healthy air and yet we are always pushing our kids to “do better ” than this. Why do we do it ? Surely living like your relatives is a better way of life. Why is living in a city, working 12 hours a day and never seeing family considered a more “successful” life choice?
Turkeywithstuffin said:
You know Annie, I totally agree with you. I remember the early days of my visiting the village and Id stand on my soap box and preach to the woman about all the things they could do if there were born in the UK – Their reply would always be the same: ‘We have everything we need here – why would we want that?” – Taught me a lesson!!
I can’t speak for all villagers around the country but I can say that my lot are very happy with what they have.
I do think the world is waking up though and realising these work orientated stressful lives are no good for anyone!.
Linda said:
What a lovely description of what sounds like an ideal sunday! Really enjoyed reading it.. Thanks for sharing it with everyone x
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Your welcome 🙂 Glad you enjoyed it x
inte fan gör det det said:
I feel as if I’m there!
Just love Reading about your day!
/anna
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Thanks Anna – it was a lovely day and I’m happy to share it with you 🙂
Linda Graham said:
Lovely Kim….I was in the village with you for as long as it has taken me to read your blog….loving this all so much ….xx
Madhu said:
That sounded like an idyllic day! The joint family is fast disappearing from urban India, but villages still retain a similar family structure. Love the picture of you and little Melissa 🙂
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Thanks Madhu 🙂 I hope progress is very slow to find traditional villages around the world; I would hate to think of a world without a village to retreat to.
Ozlem's Turkish Table said:
Lovely post Kim, I felt I was up there tucking in the icli kofte, hugging the baby 🙂 I do love the slower pace of life, for children to be grown up in nature, not in front of computer games. and there’s always a little drama with us Turks, but in a sweet way, greatly enjoyed reading : ) ozlem
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Thank you Ozlem. I agree with you, the slower pace of life and a natural environment for children is a blessing. I feel lucky to have such a place to escape too 😉
The Travelbunny said:
I love reading about the every day life in the village – especially the foodie bits!
Turkeywithstuffin said:
Thanks Suzanne – I should by rights be the size of a house!!
Nipped over to you a couple of days ago – nothing new since Pammukale or am I reading it wrong?
The Travelbunny said:
Hieropolis post was most recent – all work work work lately and no time to write 😦