I’m about to take a sabbatical - a break from writing to do ... well, other writing, which means working on an unfinished book. I always enjoy reading (and occasionally posting) others’ work. This sample of Cecile Popp’s fine
writing more than qualifies: I’m delighted to present it for your reading enjoyment. Cecile’s essay and bio address the “who, where, what, and why?” questions.
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Cengiz likes to stop at a fruit stand on his way home from work, casually depositing pomegranates, persimmons and quince on the kitchen table when he walks in.
Now I reach for a plump purple fig from the bowl before me. I’ve already eaten more than I’d care to admit, but indulge in another, gently peeling back its skin and biting into its soft flesh. How ordinary a gesture this has become!
We live in Adana, a city in the south of Turkey. Here, in what is arguably one of the most fertile regions in the world, something is always in season. Of course, I didn’t know this when I met my future husband and moved here. Or rather, I didn’t know how much this abundance would change me.
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| Adana, Turkey |
My thoughts drift to another time and place: Toronto, 15 years ago. There, in a supermarket, fresh figs beckon from nests of tissue paper. At $5 each, they’re too expensive for me. I’m intimidated. How does one even eat a fig?
* * *
When I followed Cengiz to Turkey, I noticed all the things Turkish people didn’t have. Reliable electricity and water; sidewalks; libraries. Houses were often sparsely furnished, their cracked walls and peeling paint left unrepaired. I’d come here from Canada, one of the richest, most developed countries in the world. How lucky Canadians are, I thought. How poor Turkish people are!
When it came to food, everything changed: Restaurant tables heaped with meze. Grilled fish, kebap, more hot bread arriving just as I thought I couldn’t eat another bite. Attendants hovering nearby, ready to replace my dirty plate with a clean one; ready to sweep sesame seeds from the tablecloth with stiff-bristled brushes.
And the lingering. Dinners lasting hours. A musical troupe winding its way between tables. A reedy clarinet; a dizzying drum; singing.
And later … endless delicate glasses of tea. Syrupy desserts. A fruit platter. Tiny cups of bitter coffee.
* * *
For years, I was unable to reconcile these opposing aspects of life in Turkey, seeing only what was missing; only what was broken.
On a December visit to Canada, walking barefoot through my father’s suburban home, I thought how cold our house had been, that first winter in Adana. Despite the temperate winter, our lack of central heating and insulation encouraged the concrete walls to absorb the damp. I’d been chilled through for three months straight.
Another year, in Toronto for the summer, it was the big-box supermarket that seduced me. Pushing a cart up and down the aisles, I savoured the varieties of salty snacks, peanut butters and cereals. I couldn’t find many packaged foods in Adana: I cooked everything from scratch, using fresh vegetables, dried chickpeas, and bulgur.
As long as I continued to compare the two countries, all I could see were Turkey’s shortcomings.
* * *
Over time, that opinion shifted. I thought less about the things in Canada I missed, and more about the things in Turkey I’d gained. Where else could I find tahini so fresh, it was still warm when I bought it?
I came to understand financial wealth and abundance are not the same thing. Abundance is a mindset; an attitude; a way of looking at life.
In the mahalle where Cengiz grew up and where his mother still lives, many households support unemployed family members. Because of this, it’s not uncommon to see three generations under one roof. Somehow, there’s always a hearty meal and a bed available - even if that bed is on a sofa, a balcony, or a rooftop.
Growing beside a cracked driveway or over a cinderblock wall are fig trees. Gnarly and determined and resilient. Their fruit hangs ripe for passersby: A young boy in frayed sandals, an elderly woman in şalvar, and me. If the fruit is ripe and the skin is thin, I’ll pop it into my mouth without peeling.
© Cecile Popp, 2019; revised in 2021.
Cecile Popp is a Canadian educator and writer living in southern Turkey. For more than a decade, she taught high school English Language Arts in Tarsus and Istanbul. Now, seeking a quieter life, she has returned to the south to write and work on other projects, most notably a memoir about her Baltic-German grandparents.
You can read more of Cecile’s writing in the anthology Expat Sofra (Alfa). Her YouTube channel, From Canada to Adana, features visual essays about her life in Turkey. A lecturer in the School of Foreign Languages at Adana’s Science and Technology University, Cecile lives in Adana with her husband and their three sons.
