O for Onan

Onan, the properous, owner of the thriving Cagaloglu Hamam in Istanbul, was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had worked from the bottom up, as brick layer to factory hand to supervisor to manager. 

Father was a sheep herder of the plains of Anatolia and Onan and was born to a family of ten boys. Being the youngest, he not only gained hand-me-downs, but was never short of male role models. His second brother instilled in him this proverb, a generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed. 

He found truth in this. His timely meeting with a hamam tile manufacturer, who took an immediate liking to him, paved his path into the hamam industry which was booming at the time. He was offered a position to run a hamam in Bursa. 

He learnt the ropes quickly, saved every lire he earned, and taking the lead from his mentor, invested wisely. Within five years he had sourced a property at Sultanahmet Square, ten minutes from the Blue Mosque. It was in need of major repairs but once operational it would be a gold mine. His investment panned out. 

He married the sister of his ninth brothers' wife and now had a son. She had said yes as soon as she set eyes on him. "You know why I agreed to marry you?" she teased him one night. "It's those large flapping ear lobes of yours." Mother had told her that the prosperity of a man is reflected in his ear lobes. "Make sure you marry a man with big ones!"

Onan, loved women who paid attention to him. Melis was all honey-tongued and close at hand. "A man is a man; I give generously and it is a pleasure to receive in return" he rationalised.   

N for Namuk and Nene

Namuk had grown up in Konya, Central Anatolia with his grandmother. He loved Nene like a mother simply because she was there for him. His own mother worked in the city far away.

"Nene, can I go fly my new kite with Kopi? " Namuk always asked politely. "Yes my love, but be careful." Granny called out peeping over her bread-making stove to watch him strut off with a kite clasped tightly under his arm. "Come home before the sun goes down."

It was not uncommon for children to be raised by their grandparents. In some families it was tradition when it came to the first born son. He was a respectful child, diligent at school and spent every waking hour drawing or writing on any form of paper he could get his hands on; white margins of newspapers, half empty exercise books and even on the backs of calenders. 


Nene would often ask herself, "Where did Namuk get this talent for writing? His name means writer, author. It was as if Feriha had some intuitive sense of his talent."

Little did she realise that she, Nene, was indeed the planter of the seeds of fantasy in young Namuk's imagination. 


Every night they would lie in bed looking at the starry skies together; she, weaving ancient Anatolian myths of Tangri, the pure white goose with god-like wisdom and his creation, Er Kishi, whom beset by greed and power became lord of the underworld; and he, integrating and conjuring visions of this concept of heaven and the underworld.   


Then there were the shamans of the earth, with their own brand of extraordinary powers and guardian animals flying between between heaven and the underworld, attempting to enlighten their followers with their drums and rituals.


Many years later, at a book signing at Publishers Arkadas Yayinlari Ltd. Sti. in Ankara, the Barnes & Noble of Turkey, for the launch of his book The Tree of Life, Namuk recalled those magical moments with Nene, the stars and the pull of heaven and the underworld. 

M for Melis

Back in Istanbul, Cagaloglu Hamam supervisor, Melis shooed the girls back to work. All was a bubble about the newbie being posted to the Kuala Lumpur hamam in a few months time. Lucky or bad timing?

"She is having family problems, you know?" whispered one of the girls'. "She hardly sees her husband, now this."

The boss had conferred with Melis about the best girl to send to KL. "Feriha is the best choice. She daydreams about travelling. This will make her happy." Honey Bee offered, giving her treacle-coated smile to Onan, her boss.

It had started two years ago. Melis was still a senior massage girl in the steam room. She enjoyed her work and usually stayed late, on the off chance she would catch a word with the boss as he checked on the days takings. 

She mused to herself, "Hmmm, Onan means prosperous, and he is. I think he will promote me soon to supervisor. I deserve it. I have worked hard for it."

"Melis, working late as usual?" chanted Onan, counting the Turkish lire as he licked his index finger.

"The girls need supervision, they are sloppy if not checked" Honey Bee baited the boss. 

"I am expanding the business, Melis. I am looking to open a hamam overseas. Our Malaysian tourists are some of our best customers. Datin Quraishah, married to a VIP and politician has made me an offer to be her partner. What do you think Melis?" 

"He is asking me?" thought Melis excited as a honey bee hovering over a honey pot. "If the location is good, it would certainly be something to consider."

Impressed by her focus on location, Onan continued, "She owns a large space in a shopping complex in an affluent part of KL. So yes it is an excellent location. How clever you are Melis."

"Well my father, Rustem, is a hamam tile maker, and he always used to say, location is most important for a business to prosper. Maybe you could get him to provide the tiles for your new hamam," Melis surprised herself with this suggestion. "Why not help father's business too?" she rationalised.

A visit to Kuala Lumpur was arranged by the KL partner-to-be. Melis and Onan boarded the Malaysian Airlines flight MH 0031 at three in the afternoon.

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."