"Zeynep, come back my sweet one, you’ll hurt yourself if you run so fast. Come back and hold mother’s hand like a good child, for we must be obedient, must we not, Zeynep?”
I ran back to mother, not for fear that she would punish me, or because I believed I would hurt myself. This one evening, I had decided to listen to mother so I could coax her into buying me a butterfly brooch, just like the one my older sister Azra had received on her birthday. I wanted one too and I couldn’t wait to grow older and use it to keep my headscarf in place. After all, all beautiful women wore one.
“Mother”, I said quietly, she couldn’t hear me for we were now in the bustling Grand Bazar, heading to the Sultanahmet camii, a monumental structure that would go on to be popularly known as the Blue Mosque. I cleared my throat, “Mother”, this time she tightened her grasp around my palm and lifted me, saving me from tripping over some lazy cats that lay about by the dozen. “What is it, my dear,” she said, while she steered me toward the park, our favorite spot in all of Istanbul, where we’d arrive minutes before the Adhan would begin.
“Mother, I’ve been a good girl, I’ve eaten all my meals this last one week, haven’t complained and even finished my pilaf this afternoon.”
“That you have my dear,” nodded mother, a small, all-knowing smile escaping her wrinkled eyes, “Yes, you have, now what would you like?”
My mother knew me too well. She always had, she always will. She reserved her most special smiles and all the preferred treats for me, the youngest of six, and I lapped them up like any excited kitten in the city. “Mother, I would like a white and golden brooch, with little shiny red stones around the wings, to tie my headscarf.”
“But you have many years ahead of you, my dear, before you can even wear one!” she exclaimed.
“I know, anne, I’ll store it in my jewel box in my doll house, please.”
We were now seated in one of the many benches that dotted the park, a beautiful place to listen to the adhan, one of my most favourite things to do after anne had her evening cay. She thought about it for a few moments and just when I hoped for an answer, the magic began. “Allahu Akbar...” came resounding from the Sultanahmet camii, leading the call to prayer.
To this day, I still feel the same stillness and magnitude of force all at one go, as if we were the centre of the universe, as if no one else existed except mother and me. The echoes of the voice would haunt the space until the Hagia Sofia, standing in all its glory facing the Sultanahmet, would bellow in return, “Allahu Akbar...” varying pitch and tone, and stretching out the call in beautiful melody. We listened in rapture to the beauty of the voices, beckoning us for evening prayers.
Mother finally responded to me on our way back home, just as we crossed Cemberlitas, and the sun went down. “I knew you wanted one, my dear princess, I saw it in your eyes when we gave Azra her brooch. I picked one out for you the very next day, but it has purple stones not red. Will that do?”
“Oh mother!” I gasped, and hugged her knees, “Thank you!” I planted a kiss on her warm cheeks as she bent over to pick me up.
The blaring horn of a ship cruising in to the Bosphoros brings me back to present day in an instant, a day that holds no present, just the past. The past that flies around me like the seagulls in thousands that swarm the Galata. Leaning over the bridge I see life move on. Traders selling their wares and fishermen counting their catch; ferries navigating their way around the Maiden’s tower and the Suleiymaniye camii, glistening against the dipping sun.
For me, time is frozen. The water does not reflect, and the gulls don’t soar. The Galata is no longer gala, and the Bosphoros calls for painful reminders. Tomorrow, I go back home to Boston. Today, I wait for the Adhan.“Allahu Akbar...”, the stillness is still haunting. However, the warmth has disappeared.
I unfasten the brooch from my scarf, feeling mother let go of my hands as I do so. The finality of the moment hits me, as the brooch falls loosely in to my fingers.
I love you, anne, I always will. You are my one and only.
As the Hagia Sofia responds to the call, I let go of the brooch and watch it drown in Turkish waters, taking with it a heavy heart and torn soul.
I ran back to mother, not for fear that she would punish me, or because I believed I would hurt myself. This one evening, I had decided to listen to mother so I could coax her into buying me a butterfly brooch, just like the one my older sister Azra had received on her birthday. I wanted one too and I couldn’t wait to grow older and use it to keep my headscarf in place. After all, all beautiful women wore one.
“Mother”, I said quietly, she couldn’t hear me for we were now in the bustling Grand Bazar, heading to the Sultanahmet camii, a monumental structure that would go on to be popularly known as the Blue Mosque. I cleared my throat, “Mother”, this time she tightened her grasp around my palm and lifted me, saving me from tripping over some lazy cats that lay about by the dozen. “What is it, my dear,” she said, while she steered me toward the park, our favorite spot in all of Istanbul, where we’d arrive minutes before the Adhan would begin.
“Mother, I’ve been a good girl, I’ve eaten all my meals this last one week, haven’t complained and even finished my pilaf this afternoon.”
“That you have my dear,” nodded mother, a small, all-knowing smile escaping her wrinkled eyes, “Yes, you have, now what would you like?”
My mother knew me too well. She always had, she always will. She reserved her most special smiles and all the preferred treats for me, the youngest of six, and I lapped them up like any excited kitten in the city. “Mother, I would like a white and golden brooch, with little shiny red stones around the wings, to tie my headscarf.”
“But you have many years ahead of you, my dear, before you can even wear one!” she exclaimed.
“I know, anne, I’ll store it in my jewel box in my doll house, please.”
We were now seated in one of the many benches that dotted the park, a beautiful place to listen to the adhan, one of my most favourite things to do after anne had her evening cay. She thought about it for a few moments and just when I hoped for an answer, the magic began. “Allahu Akbar...” came resounding from the Sultanahmet camii, leading the call to prayer.
To this day, I still feel the same stillness and magnitude of force all at one go, as if we were the centre of the universe, as if no one else existed except mother and me. The echoes of the voice would haunt the space until the Hagia Sofia, standing in all its glory facing the Sultanahmet, would bellow in return, “Allahu Akbar...” varying pitch and tone, and stretching out the call in beautiful melody. We listened in rapture to the beauty of the voices, beckoning us for evening prayers.
Mother finally responded to me on our way back home, just as we crossed Cemberlitas, and the sun went down. “I knew you wanted one, my dear princess, I saw it in your eyes when we gave Azra her brooch. I picked one out for you the very next day, but it has purple stones not red. Will that do?”
“Oh mother!” I gasped, and hugged her knees, “Thank you!” I planted a kiss on her warm cheeks as she bent over to pick me up.
The blaring horn of a ship cruising in to the Bosphoros brings me back to present day in an instant, a day that holds no present, just the past. The past that flies around me like the seagulls in thousands that swarm the Galata. Leaning over the bridge I see life move on. Traders selling their wares and fishermen counting their catch; ferries navigating their way around the Maiden’s tower and the Suleiymaniye camii, glistening against the dipping sun.
For me, time is frozen. The water does not reflect, and the gulls don’t soar. The Galata is no longer gala, and the Bosphoros calls for painful reminders. Tomorrow, I go back home to Boston. Today, I wait for the Adhan.“Allahu Akbar...”, the stillness is still haunting. However, the warmth has disappeared.
I unfasten the brooch from my scarf, feeling mother let go of my hands as I do so. The finality of the moment hits me, as the brooch falls loosely in to my fingers.
I love you, anne, I always will. You are my one and only.
As the Hagia Sofia responds to the call, I let go of the brooch and watch it drown in Turkish waters, taking with it a heavy heart and torn soul.
