Turkey Thoughts & Turkey Feels, vol 1.
One of my favorite movies of all time is Mrs. Doubtfire. At the end of the film, when Robin William’s character[s] is going back and forth between Miranda’s birthday dinner and drinks with Mr. Lundy, there’s the climax we all remember. Stu starts choking on the shrimp and Mrs. Doubtfire comes to save the day, but in the process reveals her true self. Then, Miranda utters, “Daniel? Daniel?! Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD! The whole time?! The whole time?! THE WHOLE TIME. Don’t talk to me! Don’t touch me! I have to go. We have to leave now. I have to leave. We have to go. We’re going.” You can see in Miranda’s face that all her wheels are turning at full speed. She has a thousand thoughts going through her brain all at once and she has no clue where to even begin. That’s how I feel. Regarding this trip, where do I even start? As time is rushing by, more thoughts and lessons are surfacing. It’s beginning to pile up so high that I’m convinced it will just topple over and end me. However, thankfully, this isn’t about me. This is about the beautiful humans we met and had the opportunity to spend a week with; so, let’s begin there.
Reyhanli, Turkey is tucked away in the South Central province of Hatay. It lies on the border of Syria and is home to about 100,000 people, 75% of whom are Syrian refugees. The Karam House, where we at Humor for Hope led a week-long improvisation workshop, is an unassuming three-story building that hides behind a tall fence and an abundance of grapevines. Almost every person who works there is a Syrian refugee. To answer a few common questions, the workers and kids we got to know all have differences in their displacement story. A lot of them fortunately were able to leave Syria early on in the war, somewhere around 2013. Some traveled with all of their family, some with parts. In order to leave the country without raising suspicion by the Syrian and Turkish governments, they all had to leave everything behind. Our translator Aya*, who came to Turkey with her family in 2013, said that they told officials (at the six checkpoints they had to go through) they were visiting her sick mother in Turkey. If the officials looked in their car and saw enough stuff to fill a home, they’d be denied access. So each of her five children got to choose one outfit, one toy and a few school books. That’s it. Their living situations in Turkey also differ. In Reyhanli, most refugees attempt to integrate themselves into society by getting jobs and renting a home; however, due to the lack in wages and surging of living costs, it’s nearly impossible for most families to make ends meet. Some refugees are able to stay with relatives, while some are living in camps; however, they told us that camp life is pretty horrendous, so a lot of people do whatever they can to get out of it. One thing they all have in common regarding their journey is this: they have all lost loved ones and people they know (some of the kids and workers have witnessed it first-hand) and they all want to go back home.
Most of the kids ranged in age between 13-18 (though, a few eager young ones wanted to join and neither the Karam House nor Hope and I would dare to say no) and, when you look at them, they look exactly like kids. However, when you stare into their eyes, that’s when you can see a difference. The depth of their soul goes far beyond what it should be for someone that age. They have lived a truly harrowing childhood thus far, filled with fear, death, oppression, universal neglect and a loss of identity. They have lost family members. They’ve lost friends. If they haven’t lost them, chances are they’ve been separated from them. All of that is still alive and lurking around inside their bodies. Depending on the age determines whether they think this is just what life is or if they were forced to grow up way too quickly. Regardless, they have lived through an actual nightmare. In, fact, they are still living in it. When the boys would play during breaks, it was very violence-centered. They would shoot each other and hold each other hostage. During the workshop, when they were given a suggestion of “island,” so many stories involved drowning. That has been their reality. Their current reality includes being unable to move back home, unable to relocate to another country and their families being unable to own land/property in Turkey. Given the overwhelming number of refugees (as of 2016, there are 3.1 million registered Syrian refugees in Turkey, half of whom are children), as well as a language barrier, they are unable to attend school full-time. Most of the Turkish residents in Reyhanli do not want them there. We took the girls of the Karam House to the town park one night and witnessed first-hand the stares from other locals. One of the girls told Hope that as we were walking through people would mutter slurs as we walked by, insinuating that they all needed to get out of their town and country. These kids were living in hell in their own country, left with the hopes of a better life, only to find a different hell awaiting them.
There would be zero blame if these kids wanted to give up. In fact, I think they’d all be met with understanding if they didn’t feel like trying anymore. But, when we met these kids I saw nothing but desire. A desire to learn, to laugh, to bring change to their community and to their homeland. The fire has not been snuffed in their hearts. Take the most inspiring underdog story (you should be thinking of Rudy) you’ve ever heard, multiply it by 1,000 and you’ll tap the surface of what I saw and felt when I was around them. Despite their current situation, these kids are determined. Resilient. Strong. Smart. They watch Youtube videos to teach themselves English for crying out loud. On top of all that, these kids are funny.
It was challenging to teach them improv because they don’t have it in Syria. So to say “Your suggestion is vacation. Create a scene inspired by that right now!” was met with an immediate huddle to quickly cast roles and discuss what their scene would be about. As the week went on though, these kids got it. They abandoned their initial inclination to do impressions of Mr. Bean and began creating their own characters. We saw scenes between brothers and sisters, old friends, new friends, teachers and students. They linked arms with their neighbors and told us how to make makdous (a traditional Syrian eggplant dish) one word at a time. According to the laughs around the room in response to the recipe, it wasn’t exactly how to make it; but, they OWNED it and that’s what matters! They were intimidatingly good at object work. I mean, the Chicago improv community could take some notes. To watch them learn these things, add their own personal flair to it and make their peers laugh is something I will never forget. Beyond that, they were able to grasp the deep foundation of improv. After doing activities, we would ask them what they learned and their answers brought me to tears.
“I learned it’s important to trust people.”
“It’s more fun when I am working together with other people.”
“It’s important to let other people have their turn.”
“Letting other people speak doesn’t mean I’m less important.”
“We must support each other.”
“When we support each other, anything can happen!”
“We have to listen.”
I mean, damn, these are lessons most adults have trouble grasping; so the fact that adolescents who have every reason to say the opposite of these truths are not only understanding it, but proclaiming it is amazing!
That’s what these kids are. Amazing. They remind me that loving people are what matter in this world. Work doesn’t matter. The newest, hottest restaurant doesn’t matter (this one stings). The new iPhone doesn’t matter. Loving people are what matter. They would openly hold hands with their brothers, sisters and friends. As the week went on, their younger siblings would show up and they’d all just hug on each other. Not only that, but they’d love on us, too. They’d treat us like friends and family. The kids would navigate through Google translate to tell us they love us. To ask us questions about ourselves. One of the workers sacrificed time with his own family to take us to dinner. Every. Single. Night (His family includes a six-month old baby boy. The week we were there, he found out his son has a hole in his heart and needs surgery to fix it. Know that if you donated to this trip, part of your money went to covering the cost of that surgery). They made us Turkish coffee when we’d arrive every morning. To have everything taken away from you by your own government and still be able to extend a hand (to a stranger nonetheless) is a world-changing characteristic that they all have. Their selflessness reminded me that it’s not about me. Somehow, that’s a lesson I have to learn over and over (yikes). This community showed me that true selflessness brings sustained joy and purpose, which are two things I think we all seek in this life. They taught me that we must keep moving forward. They do not allow their circumstances to weaken them or dictate who they are. They are determined to reclaim their lives. We’d ask them what they want to be when they grow up and we’d get responses like “electronic engineer,” “actor,” “football player” and “computer engineer” (lots of engineer dreams!). They believe in themselves! They are dreaming of the future!
I think as Americans it’s our natural response to feel bad for them. I mean, why did they have to be born into such a war-torn country? Isn’t that sad? The answer is yes, it’s terribly sad; but, they don’t want our pity. What they want is for us to end their war. Help them get home. These people are proud to be Syrian. They love their country. Ending a civil war a tall order, I know, but if these kids can look death straight in the face and still have a will to move forward, we can influence our communities which will grow to influencing our country and then the world. If you think that’s naïve, then I urge you to read any history book on a significant shift in culture or government or state. It all starts with one. If we are all that one, then things will absolutely change. So, after reading this, I urge you to educate yourself on the current Syrian war if you haven’t already. Ugh, I’m asking you to read. I know, I’m the worst. Whatever. Call or write your representatives and express your support for Syria and its refugees. Ugh, I’m asking you to talk on the phone with another human. Still the worst. Whatever. There are also so many organizations who are in existence to help bring relief to these beautiful people. If you are able to donate goods, money or even your time, please do! The Karam Foundation is a great place to start (karamfoundation.org).
Above all, it’s with trips like these that showcase how extremely vital it is to help each other. No matter if they are across the planet or across the street. If it’s a refugee or a person struggling to carry their bags to their car. I say with love and support, open your eyes to the people around you. Life can sweep us away and we have to consciously keep our focus on the big picture which is loving all people. Near and far, similar and different. We are all in this together. As my friend Mrs. Doubfire once said, “…but if there’s love, dear; well, those are the ties that bind.”
*Names have been changed for protection purposes
