Acayip Prodüksiyon Hararetle Sunar: Grup MAŞRAPA

Kural: Herkes Çalamadığı bir enstrümanı çalacak
Kostüm: Fehmi Abi
Amaç: Bakalım Dayak Yiycez mi?
Maşrapa: Alaturkanın olmazsa olmazıdır. Teyemmümde kullanılamaz.

İzleyiniz:

http://vimeo.com/18246005

Only after the last river has been dried... A tribute to Alakır River

"The Average man in the city has a dream of moving to the South after retirement. He thinks: I will establish a farm and plant tomatoes and gather them. I will practice farming and sell my products and make a living. This is a dream many people have. I think the existence of these villages is very useful in revealing the reality or the illusion about this dream" says Birhan, a Turkish young man who lives an anti-capitalist life with his beautiful wife in a village near Alakır river on the valley of Kaz mountains.

Birhan has moved with his wife to live a self efficient life in the valley 9 years from now. He was fed up with almost everything in the city life. The greed, the competition, the injustice, politics, religion and a sick sick society. Birhan and Tuğba have worked for quite a bit after finishing university and have already lived all their lives in Istanbul. Until one day they decided that was it and took off to India. They didn't have much money and they have never been luxury freaks. So they traveled on basics and stayed at peoples houses instead of hotels. Running on a tight budget they managed to stay in India for a year, where they were inspired by the modest life styles of local Indian communities in different parts of the country.

They knew before they returned that they would not be able to live in the city anymore. They were certain they couldn't return the system, they did not want to contribute to it "buying their ignorance with their money" as Birhan described it in the script, which I have justed completed translating from Turkish to English, of an upcoming documentary of Bingol Elmas that will touch upon on the issue of Hydroelectric power stations in Turkey besides other ecological rural and urban concerns and their affects on people lives, mainly building on the story of a young couple: Birhan and Tuğba.

Though the issue has not been given the public attention in deserves through the Turkish media, it remains a major crime committed in Turkey against nature and the ecological system in different locations throughout the Anatolia region where such stations are built, let alone the destruction of a number of important archeological sites such as Hasankeyif and Halfeti.

What is happening is that a corporation decides to produce Hydroelectric power. Hydroelectric power is produced by water power. So, to get water with a flow strong enough to produce power you need to gather massive amounts of water in a pool, let the water run over a massive concrete dam, forming a massive waterfall.

Well it might all sound just OK. But let us take a closer look. What is happening here is this: to gather that much water you need to dry up a multiple number of rivers in the region. So as a corporation you lobby with the government and you buy the land, that might have been untouched for over 60 years and inhabited by people with simple lives, including the rivers in that given land and ignoring the people as if they did not exit. Next, you suck the water out of rivers through massive pipelines you build on land that has remained untouched until you and your machinery stepped in. The rivers dry as your greed grow and as all the animals, plants and other species and therefore you die, as the river dry! What part of the picture don't you really get?

People who have lived efficient and simple lives around these rivers for generations, can no longer stay. Where there is no water, there is no life. They never had enough money to buy the land. They were just there farming it and making simple and modest livings. But now the corporation owns the land, there is no water and they are forced to leave. Yet, they resist! They protest and through stones at representatives of multinational corporations, they sing for land and seeds and flowers while men in suits look down at their funny looks and show them documents sealed by ministries of environment and forestry saying they own the land, the rivers and the water! They own the means to human lives whom all they wished for is to be left alone in peace.

People are forced to move to cities, to live in urban ghettos and to serve as brand new cheap labor force, only to later become once again victims of urban planing and development projects, but that is another long long story.

Dried rives and vanishing natural and human lives on one side, there is yet another darker side of the rusty dirty coin, the smallest representative of the monetary bloody system. While water is gathered on one side drying up rivers, it floods other locations in massive amounts enough to cover entire villages and archeological sites and remains of civilizations of the Anatolia that might have stood there for hundreds if not over a thousand of years. Goes without saying that people of flooded villages are also forced to move to join the destiny of people of dried rivers in dirty city ghettos, with no access to public services and hardly any culture at all.

Birhan says: I live here and I listen to the noise of bulldozers wiping out the land around me with all the life within it everyday, the man in the city doesn't here them. You are damn right Birhan! We do not hear them because they are long gone after they have swept everything away. We are left here living in boxes and buying food rapped in trees and dried rivers and dead turtles and bees. We hardly hear them bulldozers, but for whatever the good it might do, this is just to let you know that the noise of the destruction that we have caused is earsplitting! I wonder how they still do not hear!?!

P.S

I haven't spoke to any of the people involved. My information is based on data I personally collected through the internet and through the text of the documentary mentioned above that I have translated from Turkish to English. I have rephrased comments of people involved as I remembered them rather than quoting their exact words. It is important to underline that the aim here is not to report some news as the issue is quite an old one and is far from being news anymore, it yet remains an emergency. I simply got steamed up at the whole thing and it inspired me to write what I have written above.

So for more information you should look up:

http://m-h-s.org/ilisu/upload/PDF/2010/Invitation_Dam_Conference_Nov_2010.pdf (Eng)

http://www.alakirnehri.org/AN.html the website is not without its problems but scroll down, click the album, scroll down again and you can click on the pictures to listen to the album that the Alakır River Movement have recorded to finance the expenses of their resistance.

http://alakirnehri.blogspot.com/ (Turkish)

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000188595481

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=251511550556 Brotherhood of Alakır River page on Facebook

http://ekolojiagi.wordpress.com/2010/07/23/tugba-ve-birhan-evimizi-alakir%E2%80%99i-rahat-birakin/

http://www.sekizsayfa.com/haber/2560-arastirma-baska-bir-dunya-mumkun.html

http://www.sonirmak.org.tr/sido/ this is the website of an independent orchestra named Son Irmak (Last River), their concert locations and music is very impressive

Let the rivers flow...

spider woman in pajamas a.k.a tuck a sock and shut the door

Being an independent woman able of fixing things around the house without needing a dude has always been a source of pride for me. I always show it off and mock female friends who can't change a light bulb or the door lock, the later which has proved to be a vital ability in case of the urgent need to lock a boyfriend out.

Well, I might have pushed the limits this Monday, I confess. I live in an apartment with a spectacular view to the Bosphorus bridge. It's rented and I'm a guest. So No I'm not one of them lucky bastards. I'm thankful. But, there is a building of Zurich Insurance right in front of my window. The building has an open roof on top where employees take their smoke-coffee breaks. The place is so close, one can actually see faces in detail. I almost feel like I know them, the blond girl with short hair, the fancy shiny suits guy, the on-the-phone for ages with the boyfriend chick. I feel like almost saying good morning to each one of them. I can't complain though. In fact, I love the fact that they are there stuck in an office while I'm having my coffee in pajamas. Obviously, we have made our choices, I really can't feel sorry for them.

Funny how even at these little rented boxes we live at in cities and call homes, one can still have the settings just enough to write a whole screenplay. My life feels like a TV Show, which makes me wonder why people watch TV instead of just looking around, watching things and people, observing, taking a close look at things. Anyway, so I woke up just as usual that Monday morning in my little box in the city of a 15 million others doing their thing, to yet an another happy happy day waking up without an alarm clock. I crawled out of my bed and sleep-walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

The moment I turned back I realized I have locked myself out of my room. Don't panic! I thought out loud! I stood there for a bit staring at my locked door and sipping on my coffee. It didn't take me much before I was filled with the confidence in my ability to fix this. Rule one, I thought, every problem is fixable. I can't be locked here forever. So yeah, I'll fix it. So I kicked hard. The door opened.

Yet, that was not going to solve the problem. So first I found a screw-driver and literally screwed the lock. I wanted to test the damage so I closed the door just to lock myself again only this time in instead of out! My coffee was on the other side this time! I was stuck in my room with no coffee and my coffee was getting cold. I wasn't as calm. I couldn't kick. I had to pull hard and that was not doable.

So thats how I ended up walking out of my window like spider-woman-in-polka-dot-super-hero suit (or pajamas) and bad bad hair, wall-crawling to the window of the living room while being watched by a whole office on their coffee break. I'm sure my ass was all what Zurich Insurance talked about that day. Yet, I can only be proud for brightening up their Monday. I made it before my coffee got cold, the lock is on the floor and I tuck a sock to shut the door. Brilliant!

No Man's Land

Mom loaded the green portable car fridge with ice and peaches. We packed some clothes, our long missed swimsuits and the passports then hit the road. Myself, my sister Faten and Mom. We had a blue car that Fatin and I loved dearly, we even knew its' plate number by heart. We lived in a small house in the middle of a peach farm in the outskirts of Amman. My Mom was a teacher and we would travel for three months each year from my 10th to the 13th birthday through the summers of 1988 to 1990 up until the 1st Gulf War.

We used to drive from Amman to Istanbul and back within three months. We would drive North and through Syria to Turkey then follow the Mediterranean cost all the way up to Istanbul. On the way back we would follow a shorter route crossing the Anatolia to Syria and finally to Jordan; "home" at the time.

We would drive all day then find a decent hotel to spend the night wherever we were at before the sunset. Next day we would have an early start, wake up, get breakfast and, as the sun rose on the top of the nearing mountains, we would hit the road again . I do remember one remarkable exception to this; it was dark one time before we managed to get to any signs of civilization. We were basically at the middle of nowhere and Mom was about to fall asleep after driving for most of the day. We were about to give up when we noticed a gas station in the distance. We drove to the station, Mom put all our valuables in the car boot and parked leaning the back of the car on some wall. We settled ourselves to the chairs and fell asleep. That night I dreamed of flying buses and massive lollipops. We woke up next morning to the tapping of a guy on the windows of our car. He was holding a tray with a tea pot and glasses on top. We barely spoke any Turkish at the time but we still managed to make some conversation as we shared breakfast with this kind perfect stranger before we hit the road.

I have hundreds of memories from these trips but perhaps the most vivid are those of crossing borders. I remember how much I enjoyed the whole adventure of crossing a border; the sudden change of things on the other side and the ambiguity of the distinction. Observing and experiencing this would later become a hobby. I think what I love most about the whole thing is the feeling of absolute freedom after departing one country and before entering the other. Perhaps the reason why, opposite to many others, I enjoy spending hours in airports watching people from all over the world in this transitional space where no one is at any country and everyone is going somewhere.

Yet, there is something that makes land borders more special than airports. Flying from one place to another one would miss out border cities and border people. There is something about border cities and people that had always amused and confused me, even as a little kid. I used to -and in fact I still do- love observing the differences and similarities of people and places as I cross from one country to another. Land borders have a completely different reality. As cut and dried as the crossing points are, the transition between people, culture and geographical terrain remains yet vague and intricate.

I remember how hard I found it to understand as a little kid with a simple perspective on life why people couldn't cross invisible boundaries. The idea itself sounded ridiculous- and proved to be so as I grew up. I recall bombarding my mother with questions and her telling us how unnatural and meaningless political borders are. She would tell us stories of people separated by borders and of how borders were drawn in the Middle East. She would explain why people in Aleppo spoke Turkish and why those on both sides of the Syria-Jordan border spoke the same dialect of Arabic. Meanwhile, I would lean my face on the rear window of the car, watch the soldier at the crossing point behind us get smaller in the distance and the moon follow us as we edged of. I would think of the broken red lines we draw between countries at school and enjoy the ride on no man's land.

The idea of No Man's Land never ceased to amuse me. As strange as it may sound it is on these buffer zones where a sudden sense of belonging enfolds my soul. I have never really stayed in any place long enough to develop a sense of belonging throughout my life. Yet, for some reason No Man's Land has always felt Home!

Şam yollarından seçmece notlar

Halep sokaklarının labirentinde dolaşmak zamanda yolculuk yapmaya benziyor. Daracık koridoların oluşturduğu arnavut kaldırım taşlı sokaklara açılan minicik kapılar içerdeki hayatları hayal etmeye itiyor beni. Siyah metal işlemeli kapıların insan eli şeklindeki tokmakları ince bir işçiliğin eseri. Kapıyı çalıp tanrı misafiriliği yapsam, bana çay ikram etseler, evin içine görsem diye geçiriyorum aklımdan. Kapıların ardındaki avluya açılan odaları, avludaki fiskiye ve yasemenleri görmek istiyorum. Neyseki akşam yemeğini bu sokaklarından birindeki lokanta olarak hizmet veren bu evlerden birinde alıyoruz. Merakım inceden de olsa gideriliyor.

Çirkin binaların ve gürültülü sokakların olduğu caddedeki bir hanın içinden geçerek bir arka sokağa geçiyorum. Bu sefer de İtalya'da bir meydana ışınlanıyorum. Bir Mornite bir Rum Katolik ve bir Ermeni kilisesinin karşılıklı durdukları bir meydanda buluveriyorum kendimi. Meydanın ortasında St. George'un bir heykeli dururyor. Klisenin iki kulesinin tam ortasında dolunay parlıyor. İçeri giriyorum. İçerde ayin yapılıyor. Sırada dizili Hiristyanlar tek bir ağızdan Arapça ilahi söylüyor. Karşıda papaz beyazlar içinde elinde bir buhurluğu sallıyor. Köşedeki kadınlar mum dikiyor.

Ordan çıkıp yan kliseye giriyorum. İçerdeki avluda fiskiyenin etrafında 3lü koltuklarda beşerden minicik yaşlı kadın oturuyor. Kekler, çaylar gidip geliyor. Çocuklar ortalıklarda koşturuyor. Yaşlı kadınlar kıkır kırkır Papazla şakalaşıyor. Hepsi şenşakrak. Hepsinde bir süs püs, ayin yeni bitmiş sonrasının kakara kikirisinde herkes. Bir kadın gelip benimle kırık bir Türkçe'yle sohbet ediyor. Ermeni. Avucumun içine topladığı yasemenlerden bir kaçını sıkıştırıyor. Bir diğeri kek ve çay ikram ediyor.

Hama'dan sadece geçiyoruz. Sokaklar bomboş. Dükkanlar kapalı. Bayramın hiç bir günü çalışılmıyor. Şehrin tam ortasında bir cami var. Bahçesi mahşer günü. Çocuklar, kadınlar, mısırcılar, baloncular ama bir gariplik var. Bütün kadınlar tepeden tırnağa kapalı. Yüzleri bile. Küçücük kızlar bile. Camiye girmek için örtünme zahmetine bir kere daha katlanasım gelmiyor, onun yerine otobüsün yanında bir sigara tüttürüyorum. Mavi eşofman üstü giymiş ve tazecik tecavüz suçundan bir şekil firar etmiş bir tipleme durup beni göz hapsine, tabiri caiz ise göz tecavüzüne tutuveriyor. Önce dik dik bakarak "Ne bakıyorsun" manasında bir harekkette bulunmanın faydasını alamamanın dehşeti ile otobüsün içine kaçıyorum. O da yetmiyor, yere otururyorum. Tip kapıdan içeriye kafayı uzatıp bakıyor. Kapıyı kapatıp bekliyoruz. Bir an önce uzaklaşıyoruz.

Bu arada 80lerde Hama'da Müslüman Kardeşler adlı lanet kuruluyor ve rejimi ele geçirerek şeriat devleti kurmak üzere askeri üse saldırıp 20 askeri öldürüyor. Olay Hafız Esad döneminde gerçekleşiyor. Esed'in yanıtı net: havadan ve karadan saldırı ile 1 günde 20,000 kişi hayatını kaybediyor. Şehrin bir girişine bir çıkışına olmak üzere iki adet Esad heykeli dikiliyor ve mevzu süresiz kapanıyor. Bana kapanmış gibi gözükmüyor pek, potansiyel olarak oracıkta duruyor. Havadan gelen çözümler ufuk genişletmiyor sadece kelle uçuruyor; yerine aynısı aynen yeniden geri türüyor.

Seyyide Zeynep'ın kubbesi ve kapıları saf altın. Caminin iç duvarlar yerden tavana ayna işçiliği ile kaplanmış. Kadınlar bölümü can pazarı. Kapıda siyah çarşaflara sarılsam da arkamdaki logodan kapalı olmadığım anlaşılıyor. İtiş kakış mahşer günü ezilme tehlikesini göze alarak dalıyorum içeri. Hüseyinin kafasının gömülü olduğunun söyendiği bir türbe var binanın içinde kadınlar ona dokunmak için birbirlerini eziyorlar. Getirdikleri bebek kıyafetlerini ona sürtüyorlar. Kimi namaz kılıyor, kimi hüngür hüngür ağlıyor. Birbirlerine küfr ediyorlar saçımı çekiştiriyorlar. Elimdeki ayakkabıma işaret edip Haram! Haram! diye bağırıp beni itiyorlar. Can havli ile kendimi dışarı atıyorum. Dinlerden bir kez daha nefret ediyorum.

Zenobia Roma imparatoruna kafa tuttu. Palmira'dan çıkıp tüm Şam'ı , Arap yarımadasını ve hatta Mısır'ı işgal etti. Resiminin olduğu para bastırdı. Palmira Hadria'nın eline düşünce de kendini zehirledi. Tapınıkları, agorası ve ilk vergi yasası yazıtları, tetrapilon ve sütunlu yolları ile Palmira nefes kesen bir vaha. Zeytin ve hurmalarının lezzeti de tarif edilmenin ötesinde.

Günde 3 öğün humus yemeye ve naneli çay içmeye özen gösteriyorum. Bu toprakların kokusunu ve tadını seviyorum.

Crossing continents

No doubt Istanbul is so beautiful. The seagulls scrolling above the boat as we cross continents, its magnificent! Its just that the planet is too big and I need to keep going. I don't think I have enough time to waste in familiar places, seeing the same people, getting drunk and walking the same streets back to some place I barely call home.

Home doesn't lay at any of the ends I look for. I'm not after any ends at all. I'm just happy to be a part of the flow, go with the flow...

My existence does not have a purpose. It does not need one. All I need is to be free and I'm willing to take the consequences.

Every scenario is possible; there is no such thing as less or more risk. Risk is always there. Risk is what we rather call fear; fear of the unknown. As if we could ever know anything for real.

It is when you realize how different things are and how similar they are at other ends that you get to understand why leaving is not at all more risky than staying.

Obsession with the familiar and the presumably "known" rather than seeking for the hidden unknown! Why would anyone make such a choice?

Would you go for one color when you can get the Rainbow? I don't think so :)

maybe not

Shut up and listen! To what your inner voice is saying, and when it says nothing, what is it that you do? seeking understanding for its only a habit, all without knowing, where things are meant to go! But what if no wisdom, could really ever solve it, and so what if its meant to be, forever misunderstood. Like words without meaning, when only put together, perhaps for no reason, could maybe mean a lot. Well...what ever makes you happy, so why the hell not:))