Shop Full of Refugees
Originally written in 2015
When my mom decided to join me on one of the most random adventures that I have gotten myself into to date, she told me that there had to be a compromise. Of the month long backpacking extravaganza we were embarking on, she needed ten of those days to be in an apartment in Istanbul overlooking the Bosphorous. Too Easy.
By the time two and a half weeks were up and Istanbul’s Ataturk Airport was beckoning us nearer, we were READY. The Balkan region is visually stunning and the people are warmer than anticipated, but the ferocious weather and antiquated mass transit systems waned on us very quickly. I tried my best not to complain because then there would be two of us, uncomfortable in some way, everyday, being annoying as hell. On the low, I couldn’t wait ANY longer to get to the boujie accommodations that awaited us in Istanbul’s Taksim neighborhood.
Thrilled is an understatement as to how we felt when we put our bags down in the apartment after climbing five flights of circuitous stairs. Two bedrooms, full kitchen, heat, balcony, wifi, full sized bathroom, and a rooftop that had an incomparable view. We were beside ourselves and at home, Dad was beside himself that we were still alive and kickin. Wins all around.
Having an apartment that was so close in proximity to a major tourist trap, The Galata Tower, our front door was on the main thoroughfare from cruise ships. It was a little hellish for us because that many people give me agada, but we usually left first thing in the morning to experience as much as possible before dinner. Upon arrival, back at the apartment, we would pass roughly three street shops in which the owners began to recognize us as regulars. They would be sitting on the two or three stone steps out front, in between rushes of people, and drinking their Turkish tea with massive blocks of sugar. Everyday, the owners would ask us to join them for tea and conversation. We politely declined most times.
This is how it is in the Eastern hemisphere; at least what I’ve seen of it in places like Jordan and Egypt. Men of all ages are running around town with round silver trays that can hold up to six cups with a special holder for sugar cubes. They are the delivery men of old and are relied upon for the much needed midday break. It was at this time when me and mom decided to take up the offer of tea time with the shop owner below our apartment.
We found out that the spice-and-nut shop owner was Bulgarian and moved to Istanbul for a better life than that of begging and wondering if he’d eat that night in his native country. His assistant, a twenty-three year old Syrian refugee from Aleppo, was sent to Istanbul by his mother with some money in his wallet because she saw what was coming down the pike for them. He and I spoke for some time about his fortune in life and he said, besides the bombings here and there, Aleppo wasn’t as bad as the media portrays. Obviously, hard to believe in light of recent events, however his overall attitude may have swayed me a bit. He was light hearted, positive, easy to talk to, and even happy. What we thought would be a ten, maybe fifteen minute departure from our normal routine, ended up being a two hour dance party in their shop!
The Bulgarian shop owner turned on some Madonna and things started to get lightly wild. He taught me and mom how to dance a traditional Bulgarian two-step and then the assistant taught us his Syrian rendition. We danced to everything from Frank Sinatra, to Kygo, to Balkan artists where we understood nothing at all. We were sweating when tourists walked by, did double takes, and then reversed their steps to take photos and videos of the American’s dancing in the spice shop.
This post is written in light of the Syrian refugee diaspora and my understanding that, it is often the smallest, most extreme portion of the larger population that complicates the wider perceptive net of our world. Not every follower of Islam, woman in a hijab, Arab, Syrian, Iraqi, or Afghani (and the list just goes on) are terrorists. Use your good judgement, not social media blasts, when forming an opinion on the happenings of our current state of affairs.
