Wonders Never Cease

I will not make any promises to blog regularly again. In the next month I do not know what my load of responsibilities will be.

I have had my share of stress, excitement, and surprises in the last two weeks. I am currently living with my boss and his family until another apartment is located for me. One had been located in a section of Izmit where I would have a view of the bay. The city’s Sunday bazaar would have been a welcomed sight and convenience just across the street. It was my kind of apartment with lots windows for the light to pour in and a view of ships in the distance (ahhhhh), but I lost it to someone else because I was not sure I was going to stay in Izmit or for that matter, Turkey.

My two months have been heavenly, hectic, and hellish. I was offered a job at a prep school in Istanbul. I even went there and signed the contract, but my loyalties were already strong in a short period of time for my current school.

The hellish part of my sojourn was caused by my former American (the ugly American) roommate who not only harassed me but who has gotten on the last nerve of just about everyone else her psychosis prompts her to. Now that the harassing is over and I’m out of her reach, it seems that my boss will fire her today. At least, that is what he told me night before last following one of her usual episodes of showing how ungrateful and hateful she can be. I actually worked for her on Wednesday, which is one of my off days. When she came to the school that evening after being in the hospital the night before with a bad back, she refused to mark her student’s exams. I had given the exam to them. When one of the managers handled her the student’s papers, she asked, “What the
hell is this?” In the last week I have worked in her place once and twice in the place of my other American colleague. The latter got lost in Istanbul the other evening, and the school could not locate him. He was not supposed to go there because really it was not his day off. He went anyway.

The Ugly American gets some kind of weird high out of being rebellious. She is rude to the boss’ wife and just about everyone, especially if the other person is of the female sex. Her students complain to the management and me about her. They tell me that either they don’t like her, her teaching (or lack of), or her accent. Some beg me to be their teacher. Others who are jointly in my and her classes say that they wish I could be their teacher all the time. The management rotates the American teachers since we three come from or originated in different regions and therefore have diverse accents. They want the students to get a taste of a variety of American accents. I always thought my slight southern drawl would be a turn off, but many of the students like it.

Wednesday night was the apparent end for the ugly American. I am waiting to see what will be the outcome when the boss drops his bomb. She certainly worked hard to alienate herself from the Turks and to infuriate them. Since she has quickly grabbed a Turkish boyfriend after weeks of promenading loudmouthed with loud colored clothing up and down the streets of Izmit, I wonder how she is going to work this one out. If she is fired, will be the boyfriend do his best to keep her in Izmit even if she is jobless? According to her, he’s supposed to be some big military man. Maybe he can pull some strings for her somewhere in the city.

As for me, wonders never cease. Last week shortly after I was moved bag and baggage to my boss’ place, I was at home one morning when I mentioned to the housekeeper/nanny that I was a little sick. She speaks no English. I speak only “broken Turkish.” She was listening to a call in radio program. That much I know. I understood enough that she was trying to tell me about a doctor. She got on the phone and called someone. Then I understood that she was insisting that I speak to the other person on the other end. I started speaking, and it was a man who spoke Turkish. I asked him in Turkish if he could speak English. The next thing I realized was that I could hear my voice and his over the radio that housekeeper had put in the kitchen. I was on Turkish radio! I was so shocked that I shoved the phone at her and walked off smiling saying in my merger Turkish that I could speak only a little Turkish. There are always surprises here, often pleasant ones. I am still amazed at the kindness and generosity of a lot of Turkish people even though I see it every time I come here.

My biggest and most shocking surprise came this week. A day before announcing to me that he was going to fire my troublesome former roommate, my boss told me that beginning next year, I would be the school’s education director. He was handing over many of his responsibilities to me because in the last two years he has lost both his father and mother to cancer. His father established this school. Some of the school’s textbooks were written by his father. In the last five years my boss has lost seven family members to cancer. His mother died three weeks ago. An uncle of his that I met two weeks ago is battling cancer, but the prognosis is good. The family has a cancer gene, I was told.

I am to be the boss’ right hand at the school, he says. He told me that for two years he had waited for an English teacher like me. He is not very pleased with my two American colleague’s work, but he obviously feels that in me he got a long waited for prize.

I know I am going to be inundated by work and many responsibilities. From what I have observed here in Turkey, when an employee is good at what he or she does, they are inundated.

I have already mentioned to my boss some of the innovations I want to introduce to make the school function better, and he has not said no. He says that I will have to be tough. By nature, I am a shy person. I may seem tough on the internet, but I am a softie. Still there is a toughness that I will not relinquish when confronted or when my principles are attacked.

My boss and the other members of the management feel that I have a temperament similar to the Turks. I am “emotional like eastern people,” my boss says. I actually despise American individualism and “dog eat dog” ways of doing things, so how things function here in Turkey is right up my alley in many ways. The Turkish staff operates like a family. There are disagreements and disorganization, but in the end things are worked out.

I was never fully American in my ways. I am American and always will be, but I am a product of a slower, more generous and gentler time. I am very much like
my maternal grandparents, who were rather “Turkish” in their ways and who were products of the 19th century. My boss has seemed my efficiency, dedication, and honesty at the school. He told me that he has observed me, and after speaking with his wife, one of the other managers, and the head teacher, they all believe that I am the best pick to oversee all issues concerning the other foreign teachers, the school’s students, and the some of the school’s, especially classroom and class organization.

I do not have the time or energy to continue here. I want to continue blogging, but my life is truly moving into a different dimension now. There is more I could, but maybe I will way until later.

I have had what I call an “Obama rise.” Like him, I have risen very fast in a new area. In less than five years Barack Obama rose from being on a small local stage to the international one in a land I am sure he loves. I am in a land I love, and where I would love to stay. To have some of the staff here bow to me or to have a student kiss my hand is wonderful. My hand was never kissed in America. I had to go to first Africa and then Turkey for it to be kissed. It has been kissed several times. I love old world pleasantries, etc., because I am a romantic. I will go to my grave one. I am happy and humbled by all that has happened. I will nurse my achievements and my adventures with care. That was something the Ugly American did not do. She took so much for granted; so many people take so much for granted. My former roommate did not understand that even though the accolades can come, they have to be respected and never ever taken for granted.

Perhaps in about a month I will be blogging again regularly, but if I came not, I will be dropping a post here and there of my times here and the things from the past and the present that I love.

Randoms

I have a dilemma, but it’s a good dilemma. I want to start another blog which will be a commentary on many aspects of my country and the mindset there along with other random observations. The behavior of my soon to be former roommate and two rather frightening articles I saw on Yahoo and The Independent got me thinking that maybe I should start another blog. I want to get this blog back on track back to its original intent.

I see my country as diseased on so many levels. Some carry the diseases with them even when they go abroad to escape the malignancy stateside. I look at my roommate. She is such a sick individual that she is completely unaware when she is being insulting and racist. Last night she was talking about a racist joke she told her students about East Asian people. This all comes from an African-American who constantly tells anyone here, who will listen, how racist America is.

Yesterday, I gave her a note with some information about a class we share. I misspelled her name. She made sure to emphasize that I get her name right the next time. Now here is a person who still cannot pronounce the names of the Turkish management and staff correctly. The lady and gentleman who run the school’s cafeteria/canteen are two very sweet individuals. They look out for me, but to her they are nothing, In one month and three weeks here she still does not know who they are. She just calls them the “tea man” and “tea lady.” She yells sometimes, “Hey! Tea man.” Or “Get me a glass of tea!” The other day when someone told her to tell Yasar what she needed, she said, “Who’s Yasar?” He’s the “tea man.”

She does not know the names of any of her students. She says it is not important, She claims that she never learned names when she was a teacher in America. But was she really a teacher or did she lie on her resume? One of our students told me that she spelled “break” “breat” on the board one day.

There are many things about this woman that just does not add up. Last night she came to me and said that the bosses’ wife wanted her to pull out five slow students from a class we share in the evening. These students would be placed in a separate class that I would teach. I could not understand why this woman could not select the students herself. The bosses’ wife told me that “Mary” not her real name “does not know the names of any of the students.” Since I know most of the students, I had to be the one to do the selection.

“Why is this person here?” I ask myself daily.

My other American colleague is not much better. He is just not as blatant in his psychosis. Both of these people constantly compare life here in Turkey with America, and with them there are constant complaints. The woman has no real sympathy for anyone. Thought she grins in the face of the boss and his wife, she said to me the other day that our boss needs to get “over it; that's life.” He lost his mother last week to cancer! In five years he has lost seven family members to the disease! My heart goes out to him, but I am not a selfish pig. Sorry. I just have not seen such a heartless person in my life. I know she is sick, but instead of coming to Turkey, she should have checked into a mental institution back home. The school, the Turks, and I don’t need this.

Last night she said, “I like for people to respect me.” But she respects no one unless she thinks there is something beneficial coming out of the relationship for her. I have to spell her name correctly. The Turks have to pronounce her name correctly or she reminds them to. She cannot even say my name correctly.

The image of Americans worldwide is often of a people or a government that is arrogant, mean, selfish, greedy, and racist. Not all Americans are that way, but too many of us have been contaminated by the “gods” of our nation: individualism, money, and superficiality. Some of us escape the “American affliction” or boycott it, but it is in us all in monstrously large or tiny portions. Some of us are determined to fight it and cure ourselves. My soon to be former roommate and my other American colleague will not. They say to the Turks daily now, “This is how we do this or that in America.” They want to make Turkey into their version of America, but isn’t that the way we are and our government, wanting everyone to conform to our ways? If the world does not, we throw a tantrum or start a war.

These two are not in America now. They need to accept that or go home. My mother told me when I was a girl, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” She did not mean to engage in bad or destructive habits or behavior, but if you are in another culture, you should abide by the customs of that culture as much as you can. One friend recently said to me in an e-mail, that we are basically ambassadors of our countries when we go abroad.

My colleagues need to show some respect. They are guests here. Don’t talk down to the people and grin in their faces at the same time. I have had some friends tell me to not let this woman ruin it here for me. The management has finally accepted that we cannot live in the same apartment. Last Sunday morning she started to play some gospel music loudly and the other American whom she clings to, because both act like they seem to be afraid at times of the Turkish people, came out of his room and cursed her out and slammed some doors. She barged into my room and blamed me! Is this sanity? Then she fired off an e-mail to the manager and the head teacher that she could not stay in the same apartment with me. All this was happening while I was in my room getting ready to go to work. It was like being an innocent bystander during a drive by shooting, or going about my business and a terrorist hits. By evening, she and my other roommate had made up. It is almost as if they are afraid here. They have to walk to school together; walk back home together. I walk alone or sometimes the boss and his wife give me a ride home in the evenings. What are the Turkish people to my American "friends"? Animals? But who is acting the most animalistic and uncivilized here?

I notice my colleague sometimes out of the side of my eye rolling her eyes at me or staring at me angrily. She sees how the Turks treat me. She could have gotten the same treatment if only she had respected them and herself.

I told my family that I am afraid because America is a violent place and so many there are violent. This woman has so much rage. Could she be dangerous? I don’t have to be concerned much longer though. I will be going today to look at an apartment the school has found for me.

Once I have moved, I doubt if I will have internet access at home. I will probably have to write at school on the two days that I have to go there and just stick around in case a random student needs me. I want to start that new blog and keep this one covering less of the personal and political. I want this one to go back to the good and interesting things in life, not what mediocre blogger is writing about.

I have really been inspired by some of the Iraqi bloggers who write in English. I mentioned earlier this year Iraq Blog Count. This blog keeps a record and commentary on all the Iraqi blogs in cyberspace. Some of the Iraqi bloggers write such amazing observations on life in Iraq and life in general. What some of them put down is almost literary. They have been my mentors in a way. I am even in contact with one of them. I think the Iraqis are some of the most superior of the bloggers that I have read. Some of them have gotten recognition for their work on places like the BBC website for their work as can be seen here and here. One that I want to share with you is a blog called An Arab Woman’s Blues. Layla (not her real name) writes with raw literary power and emotion. What she has to say about Americans and others is not for the sensitive or faint of heart. She knows us better than we know ourselves, and she does not like us as the post No Title shows. I encourage you to read what she has to say, however, but with caution. It is not nice or pretty.

My brother was pessimistic about an Obama win, now he thinks that Obama will be assassinated. Let’s hope he is wrong again. I am doubtful, but people are capable of anything. We have to face this. Two bloggers whose political blogs I used to write on wanted to put their heads in the sand about racism in America. Not only do some want Barack Obama dead, but there are secessionists who don’t want to live in an America headed by a black person. So many people are so naïve on so many levels or they just don’t want to face harsh realities. These are the two scary articles I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

After Obama’s Win, White Backlash Festers in America
White Rage: The Rednecks Out to Kill Obama

None of this comes as a real surprise to me. When I told my Turkish boyfriend last week when we were together that some people in my country would have a problem with us because he is "white" and I am black, he could not relate. There are plenty of blacks in America who would have a problem with us too. As my roommate shows, racism in America is not just a "white thing." I have seen it in plenty of other black folks. Do they really care about what happens to the Iraqis or the Afghans? Some of them think that all Muslims are terrorists too since their own preferred source of information is US corporate TV. When I told my mom about these secessionists who want to separate from America because of Obama, she said, "Let 'em! Who needs them!"

I have so much to say that I think is important about the American psyche and other things. My family is over there. In so many ways I have given up on my country. I did this a long time ago, I just stuck around. I cannot relate to the mentality.

In the last several weeks, my roommate has shown to me up close and personal how horrible and twisted a person’s thoughts and behavior can be. My boyfriend and family have asked why the management doesn’t fire her. They are caught between a rock and a hard place with this issue. They know she cares about nothing or no one but herself. They are not idiots, but they need native speakers of English to teach their English classes. Their school is not just a school, but it is a business. Hiring is like most things in life, a gamble. If only there was a better way to screen people. It's bad enough hiring people face to face, but from the internet...

I will keep you posted about my upcoming new blog.

Empress in Waiting

Earlier in the week I was not sure if I would have the time or mind to continue blogging here in Izmit. So much was going on. So many unanswered questions were lurking in the corners or floating around. This evening I am on a roll, it seems. I will be glad when I get the chance to do research for my next historical post. When that time will come, I cannot predict, but hopefully it will be soon.

In this post I just wanted to bring to your attention a stunning photo of Michelle Obama that I discovered on my friend’s Talula’s blog. The photo was in published in Paris Match. It can be seen up close here.

Her husband in a session earlier this week at the White House in preparation for running the empire can be seen here. I don't know if he went to the right person for pointers though. But seriously, I love the angle the photographer took for this photo.

Mrs. Obama looks like an empress, albeit of a perhaps crumbling empire?

The People I Belong Too

Me and my grandparents J.C. and Savannah Barrow sometime during the late 1960s

Gino Vannelli, Grammy winner from the 70s, ex-sex symbol, and musical chameleon,and one of my long time favorite singers wrote a song called The People I Belong To on his album Brother to Brother. The song talked about the people in his life and their backgrounds. The people I belong to and who influenced me the most, outside of my parents, were my maternal grandparents J.C. and Savannah Barrow.

Granddaddy died in 1987 before the advent of the internet. When grandma died in 2005 at age 93, she did not even know what the internet was. Now we have the first African-American president which the internet had an integral in contributing to his win. I wonder what my grandparents would have thought if they had lived to see the day. I am sure that they would have been ecstatic and overwhelmed with pride and happiness.

Granddaddy would have probably wept more easily about it than grandma. I have inherited this tendency to weep at the drop of a hat. Like Barack Obama, my grandfather was biracial. His parents, however, were never married. They could have not have even they had wanted to in those days almost a century ago. Blacks and whites could not be legally married in most places in America until the late 1960s. The case of Loving vs. Virginia ended legal restrictions on who people could marry according to race.

My great grandmother never spoke a word to my grandfather about who his biological father was. My grandfather accepted his stepfather as his real father. He knew no other. His mother’s other children were fathered by the man my granddaddy accepted as his real father.

I used to wonder how it must have been for my grandfather being the odd one with white skin and white features in a family where everyone else was dark. My grandfather saw himself as completely black though. He never questioned his origins, because in America at that time and even now, though people do not really discuss it openly, a person as they used to say with one percent of “black blood” is really a black person. The feelings are still there in more conservative sectors of the society and with many of the older generation. That is why Barack Obama did not win by a landslide in these troubled times, but win he did.

My grandfather was later told by some white acquaintances that he was their cousin. They said they knew of the man who was his father. When they told him, my great grandmother had been dead for quite sometime.

My grandfather was told that his father’s surname was Ellis. My grandfather was given the surname Barrow because that was his stepfather’s name. Mr. Ellis, as I will call him here, was a married man. Whether it was rape or a love affair between him and my grandmother is unknown. The truth died with them both, since my grandfather’s white cousins did not give him any details as to the nature of the relationship. My family assumes the relationship was not consensual. The reason we have this assumption is because of the nature of black-white relations throughout slavery and through post-Civil War times. Most interracial couples in America today are black males and white females. In the times before my grandparents and after, the mixing of the races was only between white men and black women, the relationship of slave and master. After the Civil War, with slavery over, these elicit relationships continued with some black women who were domestic servants or who willingly or unwillingly caught the eye of some white man. I remember what my father used to say about such relationships. “Those women’s minds were raped along with their bodies. They felt they had no choice but to give in.” Still today, it is very difficult for most black women in America to see themselves dating or marrying a white man because of our history, family, and community pressure sometimes even more so than overall societal pressure.

In the end, whatever was between my great grandparents, it was not long lasting. My great grandfather was already married. He was a white man in the south over 80 years ago, and my great grandmother Janie (everyone called her Ma Jane) was black. There was no future even if they had wanted one. When my great grandfather found out that my great grandmother was pregnant, he took his wife and fled the county, never to return. Ma Jane went on to marry a black man, have a large family, and to never look back. Nevertheless, I am sure the scars and shame was there until the day she died nearly 40 years ago. I used to see her when I was a girl. She was a relic of the 19th century with her ankle boots and long dresses and skirts. She liked to talk a great deal and complain about how bad she felt. She was afraid of thunderstorms. I was also fearful of them even on up until I was in my 20s. We carry the traits of our parents and grandparents willingly against our will. They put their marks on our lives. They are with us even when they are gone out of existence.

My grandmother grew up to her teenage years with both of her biological parents. Her father was named Garnett, and her mother was Matilde. Grandmother once described her parents to me as thus. Her father was a tall dark skinned man, while her mother was a short light skinned woman with Indian (Native American) ancestry. My grandmother came out a combination of her parents: dark complexioned and short. When they were in their early 50s both of my grandmother’s parents died within a year of each other. They had both developed what was called dropsy. My grandmother and some of her brothers and sisters, who were not old enough to take care of themselves, went to live with an aunt.

My grandmother married late for the era she came in. She told me that she was close to 30 when she accepted my grandfather’s proposal of marriage. She had already been proposed to before by another man who had light skin and was of mixed background like my grandfather. This man would continue to be her friend throughout the years, dropping by to see my grandparents. In fact, my grandfather had courted this man’s future wife before he fell in love with my grandmother. They switched partners.

My grandparents had a large family. They worked hard to take care of their family. They picked cotton. My grandmother did domestic work for years until her last employer who was elderly like her was finally put in a nursing home. My grandfather was a carpenter. Granddaddy was illiterate. He only went to school one day. He hated it so much that he never returned. The most he learned in the education arena was to write his signature. On the other hand, my grandmother did go as far as she could in school in her era for a black woman in the south. She made it as far as the sixth grade. In her final years her favorite television show was Wheel of Fortune. She loved trying to guess some of the words.

My grandparents were highly generous and religious people. If you visited them, their home became your home. Their generosity and hospitality reminds me very much of Turkish people. If there was something in my grandparent’s house that you admired, grandma would be quick to say, “You like it? You can have it.” A number of children would have gone hungry if my grandparents had not taken them in after school and sometimes over night to feed them. Though grandparents were certainly not rich, they did not have to go without. Their generosity and kindness bred the same in others, so people were always giving them things. My grandparent’s kitchen, refrigerator, and large vegetable garden were open to all. Whites and blacks regularly dropped by. Color was never an issue for my grandparents.

Granddaddy was the quiet type. When he spoke, it was usually words of wisdom. Grandma was the opposite, lively and with a wonderful ability to not take herself seriously. She would make jokes about herself calling herself, “ugly.” Granddaddy would mumble, “Popie (that was one of her nicknames) was pretty.”

My mother used to tell me wonderful stories about her childhood with my grandparents. Grandfather not only did not know who his father was, but he was not even sure of the year when he was born. He and grandma always said he was born about 1917. Grandma knew when she was born, 1912.

My grandparents were married for 49 years. They were years of happiness, hardship, courage, and tragedy. They both lived to bury two of their own children. My mother is the eldest of all her siblings now, but there was one before her, a boy who died about 1943. My grandparents lost their eldest child to a kidney disease when he was only six. Another son who was strikingly handsome died at age 24 in a car crash. He had only been married for a few months and had a baby on the way. In 2005, my grandmother who was still alive but dying lost a third child. The family never told her that one of her son’s had cancer. She was such a worrier and ill that it was decided by the family not at add to her burden. In fact, my grandmother and uncle were both diagnosed with cancer in 2005. My grandmother had colon cancer at 93. My uncle Willie, or W.B. as everyone called him had sarcoma at age 63. My uncle died on December 26, and grandma died the next day. None of us had the courage to tell her that her son had died in his home with his family around him. The day before grandma died, we visited her in the hospital, and she was extremely lively, telling my aunt to find chairs for everyone. The next morning, my aunt called my mom and told her, “She’s gone too.”

My grandmother outlived her beloved husband by almost 20 years. Granddaddy had passed on in 1987. His death was a shock to us, because he was one of the most beloved and respected members of our family. We just did not want to believe he was dead. He died of a heart attack while out doing yard work for a lady. He was probably about 71 or 72.

I have no more grandparents now. It seems strange. I think about my boss who has lost both of his parents in less than two years. His mother died last weekend of cancer. His father, who was also the founder of the school where I work, died last year of cancer. When the people we have known and loved are gone, there is a void we cannot escape. We feel it almost everyday, a kind of emptiness. I asked my mom a few months ago does she often think about her parents. She says she does. I asked her does she sometimes feel sad. Mom is a strong person, and she told me that she does not feel sad so much because she remembers the good times. That makes up for much.

Not everyone believes in an afterlife, Heaven or Hell if you will, but I believe. When my grandmother and my uncle died in 2005, I had a vision of my uncle waiting for my grandmother in Heaven and telling her on her arrival that,” It is okay now.” Both had suffered so much in the months and weeks before their deaths.

I think my grandparents are young and attractive again, reunited above.

Developments

Sometimes there is light at the end of the tunnel.

The last month or so has been rough. A few barracudas have come after me in one form or another. I was on the verge of a pity party and saying, “Why me???!!!” With a roommate from hell, etc. Well gosh darn, a girl could get depressed!

I have hung on with my finger nails though. Like my mother has often said, “Good things come to those who wait.” Well there have been about three very bright sources of happiness for me this week.

Drum rolls, shall we.

After being here for a little over a month, I have finally seen my boyfriend. Our situation is complex especially since I live on the Asian (Anatolia/Anadolu—Turkish) side of Turkey. I am almost an hour from Istanbul. He lives three hours by bus on the other side of Istanbul in Edirne near the Greek and Bulgarian border. My off days are Wednesday and most of Thursday. Officially I was only supposed to get a day off from work, but I negotiated. My boyfriend has only Sundays off. How were we ever going to meet? He took the initiative this week and told his boss he was going to Istanbul to meet me. We spent Wednesday and part of Thursday together in the city. I was not sure he was coming, so I took my time leaving Izmit on Wednesday, and he ended up having to wait at the otogar (bus station) for one hour and thirty minutes. I felt bad, but in the end we were so thrilled to see each other after not being together for close to two years. In that time we have had ups and down, but we kept in contact. I will end about this here because we are both about as private about our relationship as Beyonce and Jay-Z were about theirs.

Another wonder this week that lifted my spirits is that they are very happy about my performance as a teacher at my school. I work with three different groups. I teach children from ages 6 to 11. I teach TOEFL to university students, and I use the Callan Method of teaching English to university and adult students. The management and my students young and old like me, I am told. One thing that has endeared them to me along with my passion for professionalism is my willingness to combine my limited Turkish with English. Also I learned the names of all my students in two days. The “Ugly American” said in a meeting yesterday that she does not know the names of any of her students. Her claim is she never learned the names of any of her students in America. I know in America a lot of us don’t believe in giving things the personal touch unlike many do in Turkey, but this is ridiculous!

Finally my friend blogger Cathy at Catherine Sherman lifted my spirits from afar. She bestowed on me the “Proximidade” award. The award stands for this:

This blog invests in and believes in the “proximity,” meaning that blogging makes us ‘close’ . They all are charmed with the blogs, where in the majority of its aims are to show the marvels and to do friendship; there are persons who are not interested when we give them a prize, and then they help to cut these bows; do we want that they are cut, or that they propagate? Then let’s try to give more attention to them! So with this prize we must deliver it to 8 bloggers that in turn must make the same thing and put this text.”

Since I have been in Turkey this is my second blog award. I received another one for my Christian blog shortly after I arrived here. I must be doing something right. I know these blogs awards are little things to some, but to me they mean a lot.

Thinks Cathy:)

I Decided

I was a little different.

I didn't do what the fast girls do.

The above words could be my motto. Aspects of this song and video has so much personal meaning to me.

At the school they installed a flat screen television in the canteen/cafeteria two weeks ago. It is always turned to Turkish MTV which plays a combination of American, British, and Turkish hits. I saw this video for the first time today by Beyonce’s sister Solange Knowles, and fell in love with it. It covers the decades that I have lived through thus far. It creatively shows icons of revolution and change politically, socially, and culturally in the last four decades. This links it to now as well since this week we have seen a revolution.

Memories of Diana Ross and the Supremes and The Beatles...

Enjoy!

Walking Into the Future: President Elect Obama

It is now almost three days since the surreal experience happened. I have been too overwhelmed for a few reasons to make a timely post about something that I actually dreamed about one night months ago. I was almost afraid to believe my dream which went like this. I was in a room somewhere with a group of people, which included Barack Obama. We were all waiting for the election results. Then the news came that Obama had won. We all smiled. I then walked up to him and gave him a big hug which he returned.

Like a professor I spoke to yesterday in Istanbul, who had offered me a job at the English prep school of new small university said about Barack Obama, “He is a good person.” Because Barack Obama is a good and very special person, I think the attacks on him were especially harsh. Many don’t like good people. Be good and decent and get ready to be attacked and blamed quicker than the vile. I have long been concerned that Obama may be too decent a person for politics.

Now let me put my two cents in as an African-American. I never thought I would live to see the day that America would have a black president. I certainly never expected that my parents would live to see it. When I got the news about Barack Obama’s win, it was early morning here in Izmit. I called my mom, and she said they were all so excited at home. She said that it really did not seem real or true that he had actually won and would be our next president. Over the last several weeks, I have on occasion been a little concerned about where my vote might turn up. I voted three days before I came to Turkey. Would my vote be discarded or handed over to McCain and his “pit bull” companion? I guess it wasn’t.

There are many great expectations about what an Obama presidency may mean. Certainly many feel that he will be a compassionate head of state. Others even feel he will be more than an American president, but a real statesman. Some feel the racists will come out with their knives and do Obama in. I doubt it because security is so much more different and air tight than in the days of John F. Kennedy. It is just not easy to bump leaders off anymore. You should never say never where people are concerned.

Over the pass few weeks I have run into Turks who just LOVE Obama. My boyfriend says he just loves Obama too. I go into a little shop which is called a bakkal sometimes on my way home. The owner always brings up Barack Obama in his very limited English. A few days before the election when I stopped there, he said to me, with a thumbs up, “Obama doing good!” I answered, “Yes, for now,” in a skeptical sort of way.

I know exactly what Michelle Obama meant when she said for the first time she was proud of her country. She was not being unpatriotic. She was speaking a truth with its basis in history. History does not matter so much to us Americans as history does in this part of the world, but history should matter. African-Americans carry a lot of pain; some more than others. My “Ugly American” roommate seems to carry much more than I. She is always telling Turks that America was “built on the backs of black people.” Then she goes right along and insults Turks and Muslims in some of her other comments. Oh, well…

I do not think Barack Obama will be able to fix everything like some people with their too high hopes have. Utopia isn’t coming. He has a monumental task ahead of him: a crumpling economy, two wars of attrition, and a crumpling world. I do thank Barack Obama can do a lot because he is a gentleman, dignified, courageous, clever, tenacious, and good. That combination will help in many ways. We haven’t seen that in a long time.

The election of Barack Obama is so momentous that my good friend and artist Emma Alvarez even did a post about him which can be read here.

All the best, President Obama:))

Great Historical Posts

No, I am not suffering from insomnia even though if you check the time of this post it might seem like it. It is after 3 AM here in Izmit. I do not have to go into work tomorrow until 5 PM, so I am up.

I was so impressed by some posts by two bloggers that I wanted to direct your attention to them.

My friend Cathy over at Catherine Sherman writes with a quiet sensitivity as always. I wish I was as laid back in tone as she is. In John F. Kennedy, she writes about John and Jackie Kennedy from her own personal remembrances. It is a wonderful piece about one of America’s most legendary couples which I recommend you read.

Elizabeth Kerri Mahon has done two part posts about two of the 20th century’s most notorious women, Eva Peron and Mata Hari. The links to the posts are below.

Evita—The True Story of Evita Peron, Part I
Evita---The True Story of Evita Peron, Part II

The Truth About Mata Hari, Part I
The Truth About Mata Hari, Part II

Love your new template, Kerri! So elegant.

Speaking of espionage, on Wednesday when we were waiting to board the boats that would take us out to the Turkish battleship that we later toured, our boss asked my roommate/colleague, the Ugly American, in a joking manner "Are you an American spy? I believe you are a spy..."

Blogger Ban Over and An Ugly American

Last week on Friday evening when I came home from the school I thought my blogs had been hacked. I nearly panicked. Then I learned that Blogger was banned in Turkey!

Some say Turkey bans as much as China. I cannot verify if this is true or not, but in the last year or so Wordpress and YouTube have both been banned. The Wordpress ban was lifted, but YouTube still cannot be accessed here unless you do it through a proxy server.

Certainly the practice is not democratic, but whose to say whether my country is anymore democratic than Turkey on certain levels? Like my boss said to me today, “It takes a long time to develop a democracy.” I guess we are learning the hard way in Iraq and Afghanistan. But was creating true democracies really the American goal in those two places?

Anyway, I don’t want to get started sounding political. I will leave that to the political bloggers.

Tonight I was just about to turn off the computer after waiting to see whether a friend of mine who is a blogger from Iraq, but who lives in exile elsewhere, might come online. We have a lot to catch up on. He told me about one way to get around the ban. I just learned on my own last week how to access YouTube.

I have been very busy with my job and adjusting. Tonight for some reason I decided to see if the ban on Blogger was lifted. I was doubted that it was, but voila la!, The ban has been lifted after less than a week. Since last week, I have not wasted time roaming the net to find out why Blogger was temporarily banned. I still don't know why. I am learning that if you forget about an annoying thing, situation, or person sometimes the annoyance will just Poof! disappear or sometimes even change over into something better.

I have been going through a lot of ups and downs in the last month. I decided that I was not going to let Blogger be one of my downs. I cannot afford to. I do not live to blog. I am in a beautiful country with a great culture and traditions, so why chain myself to the internet? For example today, my school’s teachers, management, some of the staff, and a few students went to a breakfast at a quaint hotel/resort on the outskirts of a town called Karamursel. My boss says the town gets its’ name from that of a Seljuk Turk general.

Today was also a holiday in Turkey. It was Republic Day. The Turkish republic was founded in 1923, 85 years ago.

Not only did our group have a wonderful Turkish breakfast, but we saw some spectacular scenery of Turkey’s inland sea The Sea of Marmara lapping against Karamursel. The water up close looked sapphire blue. We also toured a Turkish battleship this afternoon. I was the only non-Turkish speaker with my group, so one of our students who is a military man would stop me after each talk about a different portion of the ship and give me a private translation. It was a lot of fun, but naval men would be doomed on a ship if they suffered from claustrophobia and could not climb well.

It’s still a treat that for some reason the ban on Blogger has been lifted so quickly America is not a full democracy, so I cannot shake my finger at Turkey. Though the US government is not keen on banning, still if you are a curious sort and do not enjoy being insulated from anything but your own environment, chances are if you are a American your world view is very limited. Our media does not help, nor does our mindset.


I am living with an “Ugly American” right now who has become quite a monkey on my back and a joke to many of the Turks who see and know her. Imagine a 50 year old oversexed woman who screams, “Hey you!” at some Turkish people when she wants something, shouts “Merhaba” (that’s hello in Turkish) in a mispronounced sort of way to every Turkish male who happens to look her way, talks loud as she walks down the street, runs the students out of the school’s canteen/cafeteria if they smoke, then screams at the our poor tea carrier who does not understand English for allowing the students to smoke, lies about her age to men because as she tells any victim, “I’m looking for a third husband (without her make-up she looks more like 75),” meddles in everyone’s business, criticizes my teaching techniques even though with it going into a month here she still cannot correctly pronounce the names of any of the Turkish managers or staff, flirts with any male from 18 to 80, talks and giggles excessively when she is not trying to order everyone around, used profanity in a meeting against the school’s head teacher who has been more than helpful to us, makes comments like, “That’s Turkey” if anything goes wrong here even though she is usually wrong about everything and knew nothing about Turkey until the day she arrived here, tells everyone the goriest details of her former and private life, gets up at 2:30 in the morning to talk loud on MSN Messenger or Skype to her son, her son’s father, etc., and you have one of the UGLIEST Americans.

Last night our third American teacher arrived from the states, and since the school has to decide where to put him, he is living here with me, the “Ugly American,” and my Turkish roommate who is actually an ethnic Kurd. Starting last night she has been following him around like a sick puppy constantly chattering and giggling like a school girl. The poor man seems like the mild mannered and timid type, so he is in for it. I don’t think if he will know how to get this monkey off his back. “Come on,” she told him tonight, “Have dinner with me in my room.” I am sure he is going to feel he has to be extremely cautious because he is white, and he does not want this raging inferno to perceive his rejection as racism. I feel for the poor guy.

The "Ugly American" has told me that I am stupid for loving a “poor Turk.” When I told my mother about her comment, she said, “What’s it to her?” My boss told me how to tell her in Turkish to “mind your own business.” He just enjoys getting a laugh at her expense, but she thinks he takes her seriously. One of the managers made a comment today when he, I, and the boss where walking together, and The “Ugly American” and our new mild-manner roommate were coming toward us, “Fresh Americans!” She constantly picks on this manager. The Turks see her as a joke. My mom calls her a joke. I call her a clown and an embarrassment.

Really it is so sad when Americans behave like this abroad. What makes it even sadder is she is also African-American like me. Of all people, we should be the most tolerant considering our history. Still I have known some African-Americans who are more virulent racists than many whites.

I see the "Ugly American" getting herself in some major hot water because already the boss is suspicious that she received her certification from a Christian institution. He asked her on the first night we arrived and were having dinner at his apartment, “Have you come here to convert us?” She has also made some borderline ugly comments about Islam. She has said that if she marries a Turkish man, he will have to convert to Christianity. I have Muslim, Bahai, and atheist friends even though my faith is the center of my life. Faith is a personal choice. I don't like it when people try to eradicate my faith or when others try to impose their's. If someone makes a decision to become a part of my faith, great! Otherwise I am not going to browbeat anyone into accepting Christianity. I say I am a Christian with pride, and if someone wants to knows the doctrine and beliefs of my faith, I will tell them, just as I welcome their comments on their faith. Knowledge is power.

Even though my roommate and colleague is not a tourist this blog post, The Stupid American Tourist, is an excellent description of behavior I witness from her everyday. Now my colleague will eat Turkish food. She loves it, loves Turkish men, and she loves the fact that Turks do not look down on black people. Otherwise, she has no genuine respect for Turks or anyone, not even herself.

Hopefully I will soon be moving to a new apartment to live alone away from that tigress.

To Istanbul and Back

Two days ago I finally got internet at my apartment. I was the odd woman out here because both of my roommates were able to get online. Plus they also have television, which I am not interested in. I started looking at television when I was a toddler, and though some theorists say it is unhealthy for young children to do so, it does not seem that my intellectual propensities were diminished by it. I was curious about learning then as I am still now.

So now with internet, my world in Turkey is now in the process of shaping itself in several areas. This past weekend I was given my first group of learners, a young group of 7, 8, 9, and 10 year olds. They are all so cute. I have had only one adult student thus far. He is a young naval officer who is here on leave until the end of this week. He is studying for the TOEFL exam in the hopes of passing it and entering an American university. Our time together working on his speaking skills was cut short this week because I and my colleague who is female, African-American, and a little older than me have to attend a three day course on the Asian (Anatolian/Anadolu-Turkish) side of Istanbul in Kadikoy. We were in the city today for about four hours. The class concerns a teaching method called the Callan Method which as I mentioned in the previous post, the manager/owner of our school is interested in having us learn and utilize in the classroom. I did not feel very favorable about this technique at first, just like our trainer today said he was also skeptical about it in the beginning, but I think I am slowly warming to it. I am curious to see what results this teaching style will birth in my future adult classes. So far, the adult classes at my school have not been scheduled yet since students are still being recruited at the city’s university for courses.

This part of the world has so many stories. Even the people themselves have amazing stories particularly about their ancestries. For example, my naval officer student’s family came from Macedonia in north Greece and from Crete.

The trainer of our course appeared to be Turkish. Later we found out that he is not even from this part of the world but is the product of a New Zealander father and an Iranian mother. As he said, the New Zealanders called themselves “Kiwis.” He told us that he had a good job in New Zealand where he was born, but he decided that life is too short to just work and stop learning. He decided to come to Turkey where he makes far less money. He loves to travel to Cyprus. Next week he plans to visit the Greek side of the island since he has already been to the Turkish side. I like his philosophy. I saw the same philosophy in some of my friends who were German exchange students years ago. I have seen it in my friend Lee who is Iranian and an American citizen. He has two master degrees, and is a teacher and an artist. I heard from him shortly before I came to Turkey. Right now he is somewhere traveling in Iran. For the last year he has been trying to decide whether to return to America. He, like me, became disgusted by the turn the country made after the 9/11. Like me, he saw an eerie and fearsome ugliness descend on the country. Those that could have spoke out did not, contributing in their own way to my country’s further slide into a moral, spiritual, and anti-intellectual hell. Others were drowned out by all the jackals barking. A minute few threw up their hands and the only protest they figured that would count was to leave the country. This last group did not get much press, but they did “flee” like my friend Lee did, and I have done erratically.

Already the Turks are looking out for me on my job, and already some of them that I have known less than a week express the desire that I will stay here among them. My young learners like me. The head teacher told me over the phone before I even came here, that she considered me to already be her friend. My best friend in Turkey who was my former student and my boyfriend who is Turkish both express the hope that I will never go back to America. My Turkish best friend, who even once tried to get me hooked up with her uncle, is already planning for next summer when she will have a month off from her job. She wants us to travel throughout Turkey. I have to go back to America some time though. I am close to my mom, just like my American colleague is whom I mentioned earlier.

My American colleague is an attractive 50 year old who is twice married and has a 17 year old son from a relationship outside of her two marriages. I am warming to her now even though she can be a little too earthy for me at times, but with me she seems to realize that I expect some dignity. In the early, early days here she was like a kid in a candy store reveling in how attractive and friendly some of the Turkish people are, especially the men. “They look like Italians!” she’d say. Their exoticism was like an intoxicant to her. That Turkey and most of this region has very little racial bigotry towards blacks was a stunning and emotional epiphany for her. Now she seems to be coming down to earth, and trying to be respectable. That’s good for her and all of us. No one is an island, and one person’s actions can have serious consequences for other individuals, a group, a nation, or the world. Like the manager, the head teacher, and I have told her. This is not America.

Question mark. Will I stay in Turkey? I have to remind myself that such a process has to be undertaken one day at a time. Most of my life, I admit, I have not felt the kind of fondness and interest for my country like I have for Turkey or for Botswana when I was in the Peace Corps. Turkey is the one place on earth, I've been to, outside of Africa where black people are generally welcomed. My Iranian friends Lee and Nasrin have told me that this is also the case throughout most of the Middle East as well. I have been encouraged by them to even visit Iran. Even today the instructor in the Callan course told me I would be fine in Iran. I would like to go someday if my country or Israel does not decide to do it in. Iran actually borders Turkey.

When I asked the manager/owner of our school why is it that so many Turks seem to like blacks, he said, “Some of the prophet Muhammad’s companions were black.” I had read that at least one was, so I had wondered if this were the biggest reason there is a look of excitement on the faces of some Turks and words of praise if I show up. Also because there are very few black native Turks, some people look up with interest and want to get to know me because Turkish people like as one Turk once told me, "anything that's different." The concept of racism is alien to Turks just as my friend Nasrin says it is alien to Iranians. In southern Iran there are very dark Iranians who in America would be considered black. Nasrin says that no one discriminates against them because of the color of their skin.

Ideally I would not like to get frustrated and leave like before because despite my grievances with some Turks in the past, I do consider this place my second home. I even speak some of the language. My boss says my accent is very good. That which I learned has not left me. That tells me something.

Speaking of the navy (my student that I mentioned above), I could not find any interesting photos of Izmit. However, since Turkey is a peninsula with large bodies of water being visible in so many places, I decided to post some photos from the Istanbul Naval Museum here.

Home is where the heart is…

I Have Arrived

Dear Friends,

Thanks for all of the comments and good wishes. I arrived in Istanbul last Saturday, stayed a few hours at the apartment of the head teacher's little brother before going back with the driver, the head teacher, and others to the airport to pick up the other American teacher who arrived about 4 PM. After getting her, we all drove to Izmit and arrived there at about 7 PM. Our apartment is very nice. Izmit, or as some call it Kocaeli, is not as fast paced as Istanbul, less noisy, and cleaner. It is an industrial city, but I have not seen any factories yet.

I love the sea, even though I cannot swim. If I walk up the hill a few paces from my apartment, I can see what I assume is the Bay of Izmit. There are ships lying at anchor there. Sometimes at night I can hear one blast its' horn.

I am still trying to get over the jet lag and other little minor physical annoyances, but I feel I will be fine. My classes have not been fully scheduled yet. Thus far I know I will be teaching English to adults during the week days. On the weekends I will be teaching 7 and 8 year olds. My school is a privately run school, managed by the late owner's son. The late owner even wrote some of the school's course books on grammar.

In the coming week I and my American colleague will probably have to take a 3 day course in Istanbul dealing with a teaching method that the manager likes.

Some adjustments will have to be done about the internet at our apartment. My Turkish roommate has the router in her room, and where my other roommate the American teacher has been able to get her laptop connected to the router, I cannot. Hopefully, I will be back online as soon as possible in the privacy of home.

One thing I will miss in Turkey will be YouTube. I loved to post an accompanying video clip on my blog from time to time. I cannot access YouTube because it is banned in Turkey. I hate that...

Take care, and I will be returning soon.

Until We Hopefully Meet Again, Fare Thee Well

Nearly a month ago I was offered a teaching position in Izmit, Turkey which is an industrial city about 40 minutes outside of Istanbul. Since that time I have been receiving calls, sometimes twice a day, from the head teacher of the school during this period of negotiating and planning for me to go there. There was a misunderstanding once, and I rejected the offer, but everything was cleared up quickly.

It seems like more, but I have been to Turkey three times to work in the last five years since the first time I visited the country in May 2003 as a tourist. The first time I worked there it was for the largest language school in the country, English Time. English Time is the largest but not the best of its’ kind. The second language school I worked for was the now defunct Interlang which was a better school. However, a couple of years before I was hired, English Time bought Interlang and made it its sister school. While I was employed by Interlang, my colleagues and the students waited in worried anticipation when we heard that English Time was going swallow up all of the Interlangs and convert them into English Times. The conversion happened and a number of us, including myself, ran for the hills.

Last year this time I was on the verge of leaving a job I had as private English tutor to a Turkish family. I learned from that experience that I do not like having one student to focus on. If the student is not much to work with, like this family, the job is futile. The classroom with students is the best place for me. Somewhere in the group you are going to have a few gems that will do well and make teaching worthwhile.

I was determined this time around that when I go to Turkey, I would not suffer the kind of losses I have in the past. This time, instead of spending my own money and tacking on some debt to get a plane ticket, the school pays for my plane ticket. Last Friday, they did. This time I will not have to stay in a hotel or pay rent. I will be staying in an apartment owned by the school. The only things I will have to pay are the utilities and for my own needs.

Before at the other schools, I was one of a number of native speaking English teachers. This time I will be one of a pair of foreign teachers, both of us Americans. The rest of the school’s staff and faculty will be Turkish. Instead of battling the beauty and the crowded ugliness of Istanbul, I will be in a much smaller city. The head teacher told me that she feels that Izmit is a more “healthier” place than Istanbul with its’ massive traffic jams and petty criminals. She worked there for eight years and did not enjoy it, she says. Though Istanbul’s population is well over 12 million, it does not have the kind of violent crime that an American city does. I think it is a great place for the sights and the history, but the noise did get to me at times.

So I am off to Turkey via Atlanta via Chicago on Friday. I will arrive in Turkey on Saturday if there are no delays which I pray there are not. For the first time, I am trying not to picture anything in my mind about how Izmit or the new people I will meet will be. The head teacher has told me that she already feels that she knows me and that I am her friend. Sometimes when she called here, our conversations lasted up to 40 minutes. I was after a good deal this time, and I believe I have one. It is not perfect, but it is certainly better than what I had before especially since the school paid for my ticket and is offering me free housing. I haven’t had it this good since Peace Corps. Only the pay is better.

Since A Very Fine Romance Redux was opened in March after my blog of a similar name was hacked, I feel I have gotten better as a blogger with more focus on things that interest me that is worthy of an audience. My "mentor" has been Spanish blogger and friend Emma Alvarez. Emma has been an inspiration to me even though I am old enough to be her mother. It is amazing how similar the experiences and attitudes she and I share. Several months ago, she, I, and her husband Jordi sent e-mails back and forth for several hours sharing things. Jordi introduced himself and told me that Emma talked about me all the time. Jordi directed me to some of his and Emma’s work on virtual worlds on his blog. I had seen the icon for his blog on Emma’s but did not know it was a link to her husband’s work. In short, our friendship is one of a handful I have developed with some great people online. I wasn’t looking for friendship because by nature I am still a little shy like I was when I was kid. I was not seeking accolades for my work either; I just wanted to write even if no one read anything I wrote. Writing is in my blood like teaching. I have to engage in it or I do not feel right or well at times.

Blogging does have its’ down sides too as Emma has talked about on her blog recently where her digital art work is concerned and as Catherine Sherman, another blogger friend of mine, was discussing with me in a e-mail this morning. Sometimes people get the wrong idea. Like someone once said to me, “You’re still blogging to get friends?” Because she was online seeking men, she assumed I was blogging for friends. Then there are the guys who think because you are a single woman and they are lonely, desperate, and cruising the blogosphere and social networking sites that you’re looking for the same thing they are. My blog does not and never has had a sign on it saying, “I am looking for a man or a date.” One person had to learn this the hard way.

Generally, my experiences as a blogger have been positive and I have some strong friendships online because of it. I was even invited to an event of writer Karen Tintori’s in New York recently. She has commented on my blog in the past and is one of my Facebook friends. Her website is also on my side bar. Though I had to turn down the invitation which was the second one she had sent me, because I have to use the funds I have for Turkey, I let her know that I hope that someday we can meet. I have been truly fortunate with this blog. Three people who make a living with their writing has commented on here. The most recent to comment is freelance journalist, my new friend Catherine Sherman.

I am hoping that I can continue to blog once a week when I get to Turkey and settle in. I was told that the apartment where I will be living has wireless. I don’t want this blog to just lie dormant here, so I will try to come back once I am settled in. I hope you won’t have to give up on me.

Today I voted absentee since I will be leaving here on Friday. I think Senator Barack Obama was the winner in Friday’s debate because in the end Senator John McCain seemed cold, distant, and did not once look at Obama during the debate. Obama had a better command of the topics too. McCain offered little more than this phrase which he repeated over and over, “Senator Obama does not understand.” As former UN Ambassador Richard C. Holbrooke wrote in this article, “The gambling, brawling style of John McCain has its attractive side to Americans, but it is not what we need in the White House in these troubled times.”

I haven’t looked at Saturday Night Live in awhile because I don’t watch much television and I try to curb my internet use to, but their sketch of the debate was cutely hilarious. It can be seem here.

In closing I want to mention some links to some blog posts that made me smile or look up with interest. A few are oldies but goodies in the time span of blog posts.

Mary Kingsley was a Victorian spinster who became an adventurer. Read Emma’s post about her here.

George Gordon, Lord Byron was a member of the triumvirate of young Romantic poets who died young. The other two were Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats. Lord Byron was a libertine extraordinaire and an adventurer. He is one of my favorite poets of the Romantic period. Emma wrote a post about him recently, and it can be read here.

Another friend, Catherine Sherman, whom I mentioned above lives in Kansas, and she is a freelance journalist. She is interested in even more diverse topics than me. She recently wrote about preserving Monarch butterflies and tattoos.

My friend Ardent, who is a blogger in Australia of Turkish-Cypriot origin, recently posted about a friend of Greek-Cypriot origin who is imprisoned in Thailand for writing a book containing a sentence deemed as insulting to the crown prince of Thailand. Read her post about her friend here. In January she wrote two compelling posts in tribute to her late father who was an immigrant from Cyprus. Read them here and here.

Superhero who is a Turkish blogger recently wrote a funny story about a lover’s spat on a bus in Istanbul. Me is a fogey can be read here.

19th century/Basje who lives in The Netherlands and whose blog has long been listed on mine wrote a post about a clothes horse of the early nineteenth century, Beau Brummell. She also posted about a Victorian prime minister and author whose last name rhymes with Israeli. He can be read about here.

So Fare Thee Well, my readers. I hope to return as soon as possible.

Lovers of the Ages: Heloise and Abelard

Beware of tutors and their pupils baring great intellectual gifts.

Heloise (1101-1164) and Peter (Pierre) Abelard (1079-1142) were two of the greatest thinkers of their day who were student and tutor, lovers and soul mates. Their love story is one of the most poignant of all time. Their affair began with passion, progressed to tragedy, and finally ended in devoted and eternal love. Nearly 1000 years since their deaths, visitors to Paris can go to a crypt which is said to be the final resting place of the lovers.

Peter Abelard was a philosopher and theologian. He was born in a small village in Brittany in France and was of the lesser nobility. He could have been a knight, but he chose instead to become a scholar. His battles would not be on the battle fields but in the cathedral schools of the time. The concept of the university was just on the horizon in Abelard’s day, but not quite developed. He was a great debater, and his reasoning often caused him to have very serious brushes with the church. He was even accused of heresy.

Peter Abelard was a wondering scholar. Drawing crowds, he debated almost everywhere he went. He arrived in Paris where he became even more renowned. He was feted by his admirers and envied by his enemies. At the same time a young woman who was about 20 years his junior was also growing in fame because of her intellectual abilities. Her name was Heloise.

Though not quite 20, Heloise had already gained attention and praise for her aptitude in languages, reading, writing, and philosophy. Abelard heard about her and was anxious to meet this prodigy. He may have been attracted to the idea of meeting a woman who was on his level or at least he desired a meeting to observe such a curiosity. In an age when the majority of people could not read or write, the few who could were men. That Heloise could, and was functioning on a level as high as Abelard, was truly remarkable.

Heloise may have been born illegitimate. She was being raised by her uncle who was a canon named Fulbert. Some believe she may have been Fulbert's daughter since their relationship was more like parent and child than uncle and niece. Canon Fulbert was determined that his niece get the best education that money could buy. He hired Peter Abelard to tutor her. It may have been love at first sight for Heloise and Abelard. Though 30, Peter Abelard had never been with a woman. His learning and thirst for knowledge had occupied most of his time. Now he was wildly and recklessly in love with his pupil. Both were not only highly intelligent but they were also said to be physically attractive.

Abelard wrote,
Under the pretext of study we spent our hours in the happiness of love, and learning held out to us the secret opportunities that our passion craved. Our speech was more of love than of the books which lay open before us; our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned words. Our hands sought less the book than each other's bosoms - love drew our eyes together far more than the lesson drew them to the pages of our text.
So he could always be near Heloise, Abelard told Fulbert that his living quarters were not conducive to study. He explained that if he could board in Fulbert’s house it would be both good for his and Heloise’s studies. Not suspecting that a love affair was going on between this great scholar and his niece, Fulbert agreed to Abelard’s request.

Once Abelard moved into Fulbert’s house, the affair was discovered. He wrote,
Oh, how great was the uncle's grief when he learned the truth, and how bitter was the sorrow of the lovers when we were forced to part!

Heloise and Abelard continued to rendezvous in secret until Heloise learned that she was pregnant. With Abelard’s help, Heloise fled to the home of his sister. She stayed there until she had her baby, a son which she named Astrolabe. Maybe because she was young and imaginative or eccentric like many learned people, she decided to name her child after an instrument used to study the stars.

Peter Abelard finally got around to apologizing to Fulbert and asking for Heloise’s hand in marriage. Fulbert had no objections to the marriage because he wanted the scandal to blow over as soon as possible, but Heloise did. She felt that since Abelard was such an influential person in the academic world, marriage would cut into the time he needed to devote to study and teaching. He would never be able to reach heights of even more greatness if he had a wife and child chained to him. Abelard continued to press Heloise about the matter of matrimony. She finally gave in. Leaving little Astrolabe with his sister, Abelard and Heloise secretly married. They would never see their child again because Abelard would make a decision that would separate them from their baby and each other forever.

Abelard took Heloise to a convent believing this was in their best interests. He was going to go back for her, but when Fulbert heard that his niece was in a convent, he thought Abelard had forced her to go there with the intension of abandoning her. He decided to get revenge. The scandal had become the talk of Paris and France. One night while Abelard lay asleep some thugs that Fulbert hired were let into the rooms where Abelard was staying by one of his servants. The thugs castrated Abelard while he was asleep!

It was now over for Heloise and Abelard as far as being together as man and wife in the normal sense. Abelard’s career was also in effect finished. In the years to come, he would regain some of his fame, but it would be a torturous climb back to some normalcy. The story of the attack of Abelard spread like wildfire throughout Europe.
Heloise and Abelard reluctantly married the church becoming a nun and a monk, but they did not fully love or embrace their decision. They still loved each other. Even though because of his horrible fate, Peter seemed to be cold at times toward Heloise in some letters he continued write to her and love her. For 20 years the lovers corresponded while being cloistered. Their letters were passionate, but as time moved on their love seemed to reach a higher level, that of the spiritual. Peter would refer to her as his sister. He continued to study, learn and debate, deliberately getting on the nerves of some of the other monks with his controversial ideas.

Most of Heloise's and Abelard's love letters have been lost, but the few that still exist show a love and devotion that is alien to our culture and age. Christina Nehring wrote in a 2005 New York Times essay about these quintessential lovers of the Middle Ages and all time that,

The story of Abelard and Heloise hardly resonates with the spirit of our age. Not least, its origins in the classroom offend: teachers, we know, are not supposed to fall in love with their students. Heloise, moreover, is no feminist heroine, despite having been one of the best educated women of her age and writing some of its most affecting prose. Nobody who takes the veil on the command of her husband and swears ''complete obedience'' to him can hope to sneak into the bastion of feminism.

Today, even the high romance of the couple's liaison strikes us as foreign: all that sacrifice and intensity! We live in a time of broad antiromanticism when teenagers, according to The Times Magazine, have given up on relationships altogether and adults write to the editor to salute their wisdom. ''Romance?'' scoffed one correspondent. It's just ''an excuse . . . to work off sexual energy.''

Small wonder, in this climate, that the anguish Abelard and Heloise suffered for each other renders them even more suspect. What with safe sex, prenuptial agreements and emotional air cushions of every stripe, we have almost managed to riskproof our relationships. The notion that passion might comprise not only joy but pain, not only self-realization but self-abandonment, seems archaic. To admire, as an early-20th-century biographer of Abelard and Heloise does, the ''beauty of souls large enough to be promoted to such sufferings'' seem downright perverse. And yet there's a grandeur to high-stakes romance, to self-sacrifice, that's missing from our latex-love culture -- and it's a grandeur we perhaps crave to recover.

When I ponder the love of Heloise and Abelard, I think, ‘Boy! The love we have lost!

Before she died, Heloise said that she wanted to be laid to rest beside her husband who had passed away years before. Severed from each other in life, Heloise and Abelard were finally reunited in death. This is their tomb in Paris. There is a little uncertainty as to if this is the actual final resting place of the lovers.

The following short video is called The Song of Abelard and was made by someone who lives in Turkey. The music in the clip is by a Turkish composer named Ismail Sezen.

One of Heloise’s letters to Abelard can be read here.

Click here and when you scroll down you can see a postmodern artistic representation of the two lovers which is symbolic of their erotic love, eruditeness, and their final fate which was celibacy in the church.

Two years ago a book called Heloise and Abelard: A New Biography was published. I have read it and recommend it for those who want to learn in detail about these two real life lovers.