The Uninvited Guest
Çapa Şehremini. A delightful neighborhood in the Fatih district of Istanbul. The name got stranded in my memories on the first day of my arrival in the city. The opening of the alley started with breakfast serving restaurants and ended with a streamline of small Baklava shops. The night I arrived my host treated me with tantunis and glasses of ayran. The shop was small and for some odd reason the lights were off and candles were used instead. You could see the gold flickering lights of Baklava shops nearby. In front of the entrance, through the glass sealed window, you could see the crushing of julienne cut beef and lamb, being ready to be fried in cotton oil. The other tall guy kept preparing the chopped onions, tomato slices, green peppers, and parsley. The end product is getting them mixed and rolled inside the lavash bread (thin flatbread baked in a tandoor). It was then served with pickles and ayran (a white drink made from cold savory yogurt and salt).
My mornings started with the aromas of Baklavas and cheese and with the warm gesture and smiles of the sellers of the neighborhood. It was cold but the sun was visibly shining throughout, a perfect seasoning to taste the mid-spring Istanbul. The grand bazaar was nearby or many call it the Kapalıçarşı, meaning the covered market. My destinations included Istanbul University and Marmara University. The latter was far out as such it required both the trams and ferries every day. I was kind of happy for the long hours it took me. It gave me an opportunity to get absorbed into the heart of the city.
From Çapa it took about six to seven stoppages. I would not miss a day I did not visit the bustling center. “Selamun Alaykum” — a man in this mid-thirties smiled at me as I passed the tram centerline onward the entrance of the bazaar. Something was particularly odd and nice at the same time. I have come to realize it was quite common to receive greetings from the Turkish people, specially when you are out and dealing as a welcoming guest or a buyer. But a random greeting is well off the charts, even for a place like Istanbul. I nodded with a smile and we went our ways, a meeting that posed no significance for either party.
My hands were full when I came out from the bazaar, packed with layers of Pistachio Baklava boxes, two Turkish lamps, and boxes of ground spices. I had to put the stuff in my place before I reached the campus center. As such, I had to take the former route from the entrance. Lots of stalls and shops were placed on either side of the center tram line. You had to get on from the eastern side for the trip to Fatih. As the Marmaris was on the opposite I need not cross the center when I arrived at the bazaar in the morning. There were countless people all around, and with all the noises and aromas it was getting kind of dizzy to reach my stoppage. Inevitably one of the boxes dropped and I needed complete bending down as my body was already overwhelmed with the weight I carried. With a momentary flash, someone grabbed the back of my hooded sweater and I was jolted for a moment. I did not fall from the sudden pull. It only caused a slightly off-balanced motion. Within seconds I realized I was crossing the divider when the packet dropped and I was left there without a hint of how close the tram was. Because of the number of people crossing and the whistling sounds coming from the vehicles, seagulls, and the bazaar nearby sometimes it becomes difficult to notice. Even more so when you have your hands full and your mind is wandering in hay way directions. The man uttered something in a very composed manner. I did not get exactly what he said but as far as I could comprehend his Turkish tone, he told me to be careful. He left swiftly within the crowd without giving me a chance to thank him. It was astonishing to have realized he was the same person that greeted me at the entrance in the morning. I noticed it from the backside of the navy blue coat he was wearing. Our previous encounter presumably had no effect on what took place afterward. The former and the latter, both were coincidences. Even though I could have figured the reason for a stranger saving a stranger I could never figure out the directed greeting coming from a stranger.
Throughout my remaining days, the incident never left me. It startled me in many ways. The man with no name, someone whose face I won’t even remember after some time saved my life. The twin encounters so smoothly designed, initiating with a greeting and ending with the saving of a life. I ask myself now and shall ask this for the days to come. Who designs these encounters, who writes these unwarranted stories? The stories of life are written in the stars which only the writer has hold of. We are just mere characters in his magnificent novel of life. At the heart of the most beautiful city, I was comfortable, happy, and loved. Yet I was left at the mercy of a stranger. I was his uninvited guest that he served well, I was his responsibility that he took care of.
