by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 16, 2019 | People
My hospital room, or I’d rather call it a suite, resembled a five star hotel. The view from the window was breathtaking and it all felt calm and serene, except for the noise. The crowd in the waiting room was getting louder and I wondered if there was a medical emergency, somewhere further down the corridor, until my mother-in-law explained that it was just my husband’s extended family filling up the lobby. I was scheduled to have a C-section, so I was amazed to discover that the party had started, before the tiny guest of honour, had even arrived.
Some of you might remember from previous articles, I married into a very big and tight knit Armenian family. Turkish Armenians are an extremely close community and they support one another in all life’s occasions. There always has to be fuss and visitors (and cake). The arrival of a new baby is the best excuse for a family gathering and the birth of my baby was anticipated with more preparations than a royal birth. If Princess Catherine managed to side step the paparazzi when her babies arrived, that was only because they weren’t Armenian relations.
My mother in law had ordered custom made chocolates a month in advance. Nothing like a bit of catering pressure, to bring on those first labor pains. Each individually wrapped truffle was topped with a ribbon and a ceramic angel. “A simple baby favor to give out to all visitors”, said my mother-in-law and I couldn’t protest (because I have seen more elaborate favors consisting of marzipan pacifiers and baby shaped handmade soaps).
The favors, my mother-in-law assured me, where merely a precursor to the main event. You would think that a baby arriving would be a big deal,, but it turned out that I was only providing a side show for the food deliveries, which just kept arriving from my mother-in-law’s kitchen. Nobody complains about hospital food in Turkey and it’s probably because they never get a chance to try it. My mother-in-law ensured that an entire buffet of tea, sandwiches, sherbet (a sweet beverage made of fruit and a dozen spices) and cakes was set up in the hospital. A special book for written messages was provided (and mine was decorated with rhinestones) alongwith a feathered pen, to guarantee that those messages and congratulatory wishes, were written with an extra flourish.
You can forget to pack a night gown and wet wipes, but forgetting to arrange for a caterer and a hairdresser will cost your reputation. Can’t have that baby without being photo ready!
But the family never shows up empty handed. When they come to see the new mom and her baby, they bring gold. Gold is another form of currency in Turkey. And the closer the family member to the newborn, the larger is the gold coin they attach to the baby’s crib while sipping sherbet and snacking on those custom chocolates.
In the two days I spent in the hospital, I probably received a hundred guests. And some two hundred others showed up to the Welcome Baby Party. But that’s a whole other story.
by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 7, 2019 | People
Throw the Lonely Planet into the trash and don’t bother with the expat facebook group. If you want to learn how to live properly in Istanbul, then acquire a Turkish mother in law. It is not a choice. You will have one (or a collection of Turkish mother-n laws) who will take over your life, even if you resist or run away. It doesn’t matter if are not planning to marry a Turk. In fact, you don’t have to be married at all. One of these ladies will find you – and in true mother-in-law fashion- she won’t wait to be asked. It won’t even matter if you don’t speak Turkish.
I met an American woman, who had brought up two sons alone in Istanbul. I told her how impressive that was. She burst out laughing and said “I didn’t bring them up alone, my mother-in-law helped me.” It turns out that as soon as her husband left, his mother knocked on the door and that was that. No discussion, they both just did what needed to be done.
No American self sufficiency or English reserve in Istanbul’s suburbs. Besides, why would you want to be self sufficient, when the neighbourhood is an extended family and everyone wants to help. As for ‘reserve’, well, there probably isn’t even a good Turkish word for that.
Just yesterday, an elderly lady, whom I recognised as a down-the-road neighbour stopped me in my street and told me off. It turns out, I was feeding the stray cats the wrong kind of fish. “I don’t feed the stray cats”, I said. “It doesn’t matter” said the Across-the-Road Neighbour, “your husband does and he gave them out-of-season fish, which means that you are not feeding him well either, so you need to cook better fish.” I was incredulous. I had no idea that my husband had been feeding the cats nor could I remember what fish I had last cooked. I knew better than to admit to paying so little attention to fish purchasing.
I called Alina, because she has a real Turkish mother-in-law. Alina said “I can’t talk now, my mother in law’s sister and sister-in-law are all here telling me to put my daughter in a thermal vest for school, because she has a cough. They have spent all afternoon discussing my daughter’s inadequate clothing, whilst at my niece’s third birthday party. If I stop to talk on the phone, they will start to make dinner and argue about how to slice the tomatoes, so I have to go. Sorry!”
Later that night, I asked my husband about the fish. He said “I have been feeding chicken to the cats. Never fish. We live in a crazy street!”
This is the thing about Istanbul neighbours – nobody cares where you park, or how noisy your kids are and they will happily ignore your howling dog but your privacy is a different matter. I can park badly and the dog can howl but the stray cats must be fed the best fish. My meekness, it has to be said, is because I am a wimp. Alina, on the other hand, has refused to add another layer of clothing on school days and the cough persists. She is a much braver woman than I, but let us see what happens at the next family birthday party, when she too is outnumbered.
