A-Z April Blogging Challenge - Summary so far

Summary so far:
A for Alphabet Eyelashes
B for Bunohan
C for Comfy Convenient Couch
D for Dali
E for Mista Ee
F for Feriha
G for Gamze
H for Handan
I Ilhami
J for Jonker Street
K for Kurt
L for Lessons in Private Schooling


My thoughts:

• It's been fun. 
• Stressful at times. Searching for a topic was not smooth sailing.
• In the beginning, rather blasé about it all, thinking it would all gel together somehow, someway. 
• Got going from E when I struck gold with Mista Ee, historical figure of old Malacca in the early 20th century. 
• Creative juices cranked up, "The 100 and 1 Tales from Turkey" emerged featuring Feriha, Gamze and the gang, inspired by a recent trip to Istanbul.
• L was a stumbling block, but thanks to an interesting conversation with my hair stylist...
• Now comes the hard part. The last dash to the finish. Its like the uphill climb of two more hills and a mountain at the end in my spinning class!
• Sorry about the technology folks...word verification can't be switched off due to unforeseen circumstances!
• Its great exposure to new blogs; and discovering commonalities and new friends.
• Happy reading and writing to all.

L for Lessons in Private Schooling

Looking for a private school for your child? You may learn something from these lessons...


Lesson 1:
Friend: So how did the Ox-Cambridge entrance exams, *tongue in cheek*, for your 7 year-old go?
Mother: Oh, he failed!
Friend: What? Any feedback?
Mother: They said he is still teacher-dependant...


Lesson 2:
Mother of 4 year old checking out a potential private school.
Administrator: So your son can read? Hmmm...what books does he read?
Mother: Err, Ladybird books...
Administrator: Please send us a list of the books he has read in the last 6 months.


Lesson 3:
Administrator: These are the terms of reference. Please read them carefully, especially the small print. (First page: Fees) 
Mother: ...And what does the entry exam entail?
Administrator: It covers maths, reading, writing and science.
Mother: Science?
Administrator: Its Ringgit Malaysia $1000 (USD330) for a sitting.
Mother: (Gulp)
Administrator: A resit is possible if he fails, other schools don't allow it, but we do.


Lesson 4:
Upon entry to play school/kindergarten/pre-school for a child 18 months old.
Mother: So what do the children do everyday? Is there a schedule?
Head: Well he is 18 months now, say 2 years old. Don't worry by the time we finish with him he will be able to read, write, do maths - ready for the entry exams.
At this stage, Mother didn't quite know what the Head meant. Now she does!


Lesson 5:
Mother 1: My boy failed the entry exam.
Mother 2: Couldn't he do the sums?
Mother 1: They said he couldn't join the dots and he coloured out of the box!

K for Kurt

Kurt, a young German tourist, made a virgin visit to Cappadocia, out of boredom but mainly due to his passion for hand gliding. It turned out to be a magical experience. He quickly decided to stay on for the summer, and then for the year. It was a no brainer. Apart from his parents, second generation auto mobile  moguls from Cologne, and the Cathedral, he did not care for Koln much these days. From nuclear protests to anti-Islamic rallies, the only joyous time was Oktoberfest, that too, borrowed from Munich.


He had never felt more alive. Fresh clean air, myriads of fairy chimneys stretching as far as the eye  could see and the people, the people were so accepting of this blond Aryan with out question. He befriended a man, Ilhami, whom he hired as his guide and then his full-time assistant for his hand gliding forays through the length and breadth of Central Anatolia. He knew the terrain and the winds as well as the Golden Eagle of the Nevsehir plains.


Hot air ballooning was becoming popular in Cappadocia on two counts. The glorious scenery and the perfect wind and weather conditions for ballooning. Kurt gathered his business wits about him, did the maths and came up with his big plan. Kurt's Kappadocia Ballooning company was set up with the ease of a well oiled machine, only accessible to one who had limitless resources at his disposal. His parents were pleased with his move to engage so passionately in this venture.

With his trusty assistant, Ilhami, and a small band of ground crew he soon became one of the success stories in the region. Turkey was opening up to the West. Touted as "One of the Thousand Things You Should Do Before You Die", the lure of hot air ballooning in Cappadocia beckoned to all who could afford it.

For the ten years Kurt was growing his business, his parents never managed the time to visit. One spring they announced that they would be making a trip that May.


The morning of the flight, Ilhami, took the helm as Kurt had hurt his hand. His parents and four other tourists climbed into the basket having been briefed on safety procedures in case of an emergency. They should lay flat at the base of the basket if there was air turbulence. 


When the balloons collided, the basket tipped. Kurt's parents toppled over and being disoriented they crawled to one edge of the basket. It was not the base, but the open end. Their bodies were discovered a few hundred meters from the fallen and smouldering balloon. Ilhami died instantly as he threw himself between the flames and his passengers. Four souls were saved that day. 

J for Jonker Street

Mista Ee had encountered many adventures since the monsoon winds brought him to the shores of Malacca that 19th day of December 1906.

The first weeks were trials of sheer grit adjusting to the uncertainties of a foreign land.  The  heterogeneous mix of people and cultures confused him. It took all his willpower not to stowaway on the next returning boat to China. If he could find one friendly face he could survive.

He frequented the domain of the migrant Chinese. Simple reason - language and food. The money he had brought with him did not last him very long. At least he found refuge at night outside the busiest coffee shop, run by a fellow Cantonese, 30-something, and by the look of it, pretty well off. Every night he waited for the shop to close, which was considerably late by his sleeping time back in Guangzhou. When lights dimmed, he crept to the corridor which was sheltered by a tin awning and curled up for a nights' rest.

One morning he woke up late and was set upon by the owners wife who cursed him in Cantonese, "Soi yan!" and shrieked for her husband.

As luck would have it, Wong, was a kindly man and in need of someone to help in the kitchen. He had been observing the boy this past week. Although close to destitute, he had not attempted to break into his shop or steal food. He liked the boys' face and admired his guts for doing what he himself had done not so long ago, venture alone to a strange land.

"So you sleep in my shop every night? Do you have money to pay for shelter?" Wong raised his voice, more for effect than anger, his wife was still chirping about being startled for no good reason.

"What no tongue to answer?" Wong persisted in Cantonese. This time Mista Ee answered in a low voice, "I did not mean to startle taai taai, the Mrs. I woke up late today. Usually I am early so as not to disturb anyone. My humble apologies to you and your wife."

Now Wong was impressed. "What a respectful demeanour and answer from a man so young. You don't see that these days. He must have been brought up well by his parents."

"Okay, don't grovel. You have been slinking around my shop for the past week. If you want work, you should have asked. If you don't ask, you don't get?" hollered Wong, testing the young man's mettle. 

Mista Ee returned a golden smile, showing his teeth which were in need of much repair work. "Oh please, I would be most grateful for a job Sin Sang" referring to his future boss in an honorific term.   "I have no more money left. I will work for free till I pay you back for sleeping outside your shop."

Sin Sang Wong could not help being drawn to this young man. Even his wife did not treat him with such respect. In fact she bullied him.

"Okay today you will start work in my coffee shop, the best coffee shop in Malacca, on the corner of Jonker Street and the Malacca river.  What is your name anyway?" bellowed Wong feeling very pleased with himself.

"Mista Ee."

I for Ilhami

If Ilhami could run a masterclass in hot air balloon maintenance he would. He had worked for Kurt's Kappadocia Balloons for the last ten years, and learnt every thing he knew about ballooning from his mentor and friend. It took nothing less than dedication to fire up the balloon before dawn for the tourists every day from April to October, the best time for ballooning. 

The low season months were reserved for maintenance. Ilhami brought his eldest daughter, Handan, with him to keep him company, but mainly to get her out of her mothers' hair. She had been a smiling baby from the get go. He had named her Handan, which means joyful, merry, smiling over Hande which only referred to smile. 

Handan did a good job of cleaning and folding the envelope when she was twelve. By fifteen she could mend the envelopes blind folded. 

"You have magic hands, Handan. Your stitching is neat and even. Maybe Kurt will employ you one day" Ihami continued to inspire his apprentice. Handan savoured these special days with her father. 

"How did Dede know that Baba would be so inspiring and gave him the right name?" Handan marvelled at Grandpa's intuition.

While they worked together Ilhami, shared his deepest thoughts with this child whom he had such a special connection. 

"I feel a deep sense of responsibility for the 6 to 10 souls in each basket, and of course Kurts'. Their lives are in my hands" he used to say.

The balloon carrying 6 passengers lifted off smoothly over the ground crew. Kurt had sustained a cut to his palm which made it impossible for him to control the gas tanks, so Ilhami, who had had his flight log certified the month before took the helm, as he had done many times in the past.

It was a glorious day. Many balloons were out that day. Sailing over the unusual lunar landscapes formed by eroding rains and winds over lava covered plains was a surreal experience, one that even Ilhami, could never tire of. He was grateful to the Almighty. 

As he prepared for the descent, he noticed another balloon heading precariously close to him, visibly out of control. He tugged at the controls and tried to avoid the collision. It was inevitable. The balloons grazed each other causing his basket to tilt almost horizontally thus dislodging a gas connector.    

It was over very quickly. The burner sucked in the gas and the basket went up inflames immediately. A few seconds before ignition, Ilhami had shoved the passengers to the far end of the basket, away from the spray of leaking gas, using his body as a shield. 

The basket plummeted to the ground like a stone while the envelope formed a tower of flames. 

If Handan could have willed that day in May away, she would have.

  

H for Handan

Handan was aching for Kayseri like a throbbing tumour in her brain. She was homesick for the ancient Citadel and the fairy chimneys of Cappadocia, a habitat she had grown accustomed to for all of the eighteen years of her life. 

The hot air balloon catastrophe changed their lives. With father gone, within a year, their finances were stretched to the limit. 

Her mother, a housewife all her married life sighed wearily, "Handan, you have to go and find work. We can't go on like this. Uncle told me they are recruiting for factory workers in Istanbul. The pay is good and you can live with your cousin on the Asian side."

So within a week, she found herself training as a machine operator in a textile factory in Istanbul, Asian side.

As Handan tried to memorise the sequence of the procedures for Mule Spinning Machine Type MSM 644/Crompton/7645, she spotted a tall well built guy in Blue overalls pass her aisle. She had seen him around and even sat at the same bench for lunch a few days ago. 

"He reminds me a lot of father, the way he takes pride in his work" she smiled to herself. "A man with dimples. Hmmm nice."  

G for Gamze

Gamze donned his overalls, bright Blue in colour, and stored his day wear in the locker. He glanced at the dog-eared photo of his two children which was hanging by its last sticky bit of cello tape to the back of the locker door. Two children, too soon, and the last unplanned. He quickly moved to his station for the first shift at 6 am sharp at the textile factory.

Shrieking air horn alert. Derrummm...of the generator. Nothing could stop the process short of a lost limb or an earthquake. Both of which have occurred in the not too distant past. 

Five months ago, Gamze's predecessor had left an Orange overall strap unbuttoned. That was the last of that overall, and him of course. The system shut down automatically, and he was literally hanging by his overalls at Station No:1024, white spun cotton aisle, Orange team. Apart from his dignity, he was unhurt, but he was summarily dismissed for violating protocol.

Since then, Gamze, decided to live near the factory so as to be on time for roll call. 

"It's funny how a job can change your life" he thought. He had always been a cheerful, laid back sort of chap, and he had dimples to prove it. Perhaps that's how he came to be named Gamze. It means dimples. "Mother must have had her fun with that" he mused. 

So for the past four months, Gamze lived on the Asian side of Istanbul, while his wife, Feriha, lived and worked on the European side with his mother and their youngest child. 

Gamze was aware that Feriha preferred his second name Cagan, which meant holiday, as it played to her fanciful ideas of leading a life of adventure and travel. Early on in their courtship she had said, "Dimples is such an effeminate name, a mama's boys' name. I need man." 

He did not make much of it then as he was in love and took it as part of foreplay. The physical separation was an adjustment, and he did wonder if Feriha would actually act on her words and look for a replacement.   

Gamze was popular among the women workers. One particular machine operator, Handan, usually found herself sitting with him for lunch and tea. The older women would tease, "Careful Handan, he's married with two children."