Since classes ended last Thursday (with a discussion of family feuds in Turkey - not like the game show, but like Hatfield-and-McCoy shooting at each other for traffic accidents. There was a blood-feud-inspired shooting at a neighboring hospital, and assailant was currently in our hospital. Relatives of the victims were supposedly outside waiting in black vans. Longest parenthetical statement yet? Possibly), I have been to a few we'll miss you meals held by students. Usually these end with the students grilling me about my travel plans. They may or may not be interested, but once they figure out when I won't be traveling (I'll be in Van for about two more weeks) they ask, "Why is class ending? Don't you want to come back next week?" I respond: "I do - I really do - but my department head is against this. Ours is a forbidden lesson."
Mark and I went to a man dinner of hamsi, lots and lots of hamsi, which I thought were anchovies but after so many plates I'm not sure anymore. The dinner was hosted by three of the male students, and was jolly enough until one, Ahmed, got a call on his cell. He became serious and walked away from the table. Thurgood leaned in and said, "His wife. Is terrified."
"She is terrified."
"No. Excuse me. We are terrified."
Last night I had dinner with three female students. Sevda, Selma, and Gulsen have taken me out before, if only to practice English, because during class they are too busy giggling. They have been extremely gracious to me, both cooking and buying me meals, and even purchasing gifts for my family (which I'll probably claim are from me). However, when we're out, they always want to gossip about the class.
"Who is the best speaker?"
"Who is the worst speaker?"
"Who do you hate?"
Of course I've never answered these, even though I want to. I'm serious - I really love making fun of people behind their backs. And I can't do it here because I'm the teacher. Also, sometimes it gets me in trouble. But yesterday they caught me.
"What do you think of Hayatin (Hayatin is the sixty-something professor of theology who starts every statement with "According to me" and ends every statement with "that is what it means to be a human being," or the broken English equivalent)?"
"I like Hayatin. He is a good person."
"But in the last class. You laughed at him."
It's true. On my very last class of my ten week term, I broke. Hayatin, as well as a few others in my class, had been giving me off the wall answers for my whole time there, and I had always handled it with grace. But on my last day I broke.
The question was, "What are some interesting or strange phobias?" We listed a few (brown plants? grow up, Murat. Of course with him he could very well have been saying brown pants) when Hayatin raised his hand. I deliberately ignored him for a few more answers until I finally called on him, due to his persistence.
"I would like to tell a story."
"Hayatin - will the story give an example of an interesting or strange phobia?"
"I would like to tell a story."
"But does the story include a phobia?"
"Once upon a time there was a snake charmer..."
And he proceeded to tell a religious fable where the charmer is eaten by a snake he thought was dead. It did not include any phobias.
When he finished, without responding I turned my back to the class, faced the wall, and tried to hold in a laugh. It was like holding in a fart. It was only louder when it came out. When I turned back around, Hayatin had a wide smile on, like he was extremely proud of himself.
So at dinner with the three girls I finally admitted: "Yes, sometimes Hayatin speaks without thinking."
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