Turquoise
Place connects us as no other thing will.
In the aftermath of the two
disastrous earthquakes in February in Turkey and Syria, I wanted to connect
with my friends and loved ones who were either now living in Turkey or who once
lived there.
In the early 2000s, I was a hodophile, a "lover of roads." I had the incredible experience of living with a Turkish family and volunteering my time at a restaurant called Zekeriya Sofrasi, or "Zekeriya's Table," listed by Lonely Planet as one of the top 10 restaurants for homestyle Ottoman cuisine in the whole country.
I didn't even know how to say "hello" in Turkish before I visited for the first time. Everything was so different; you could tell from a mile away that I was a tourist. I must've had the deer in the headlights look about me because before I would even open my mouth, kind-hearted shopkeepers would tell me, in English, how much something I was looking at was, would try to explain to me what things were used for, or ask me questions about the place I came from.
Once I mentioned that I was from West Virginia, one of two things would happen:
1. They knew the John Denver song "Country Roads" and would sing it to me, or
2. They would have a blank look, I think, because I didn't say "New York" or "Los Angeles," and they had no frame of reference.
While living abroad, I built a bank of so many awe-inspiring moments with the Turkish people that I always look to help those who are now making their lives in a country I am lucky enough to call home.
I make a point to support the businesses of Turkish expatriates whenever I travel or move, and I hope to create a better community using the things I learned from my host family while living abroad.
The first time visiting with Mr. Murat of Murat's Institute, I was greeted with the same warmth I recalled from the turquoise water and beach-filled summers in Bodrum, Datca, and Marmaris. I had work colleagues with me, but he was effortless in bouncing from English back to Turkish and never letting our glasses run dry.
Upon my visit after the earthquakes, we were the only two in his café, patrons casually coming in and out to use the fitness institute as we reminisced about the country so dear to our hearts in such immense turmoil. Fifty thousand souls were lost. We were desperate in our grief as we talked about the beauty of the Turkish countryside, the food, my goodness, the FOOD! The beaches, the history, the beautiful culture—and warmth—of the people there.And that's when I realized that, because of these small, seemingly disconnected interactions, we have suddenly grown in our friendship, characterized by seemingly small, random events and commonalities. It dawned on me that these events are the thing that creates connection and belonging.
These are the building blocks of community.
As we talked, Mr. Murat told me about his time working for Henrico County and his joy in winning NACo awards for his fitness program. Those things fell into place and gave him the confidence to start his business. He offered me tea, baklava, and revani, a traditional semolina and yogurt cake, while we got to know each other better.
We sometimes have a narrow focus on business—we must achieve
an assigned goal. But we can find similarities and commonalities if we allow ourselves to be open and learn about someone else; we can discover what
motivates and drives them. These connections add substance to our sense of
place and how we realize the creation of a community.
My favorite thing about the Turks is their extraordinary sense of relation and love for their neighbor. I started as a foreigner to them but became so much more—daughter, auntie, sister, and friend.
