Inci Arici

Care & Share

İrem and I discovered a common interest in dancing music and poetry, and from then on, 16 years ago in secondary school, we decided to perform on stage together every week. We would rehearse at each other’s houses several times a week and on the occasions we practised at her house, she would meet me at the traffic lights near her house. We worked on our performances in her living room, which also contained a big library. And we would we take a break from rehearsing when her mother called from the kitchen, inviting us to come and enjoy the delicious pastries she baked.
Her father, Mr Çakal, was a journalist and he taught us how to read poems fluently when he arrived home from work in the evening. Her older brother had a school desk in his room and when he was out, we used to read the love letters he hid in it. Reading aloud the enamoured words he shared with his young girlfriend felt much more like real poetry than the texts we were asked to read on stage at school.
Our friendship grew and we worked hard at school, motivating each other to get good grades. Either she or I would often get the highest grades in the school and eventually a sense of competition began to creep into our friendship. We were only 15 at the time and too young to realise that our school grades were not as important as our friendship. When it was time to go to high school, we parted company and had very little contact in the years that followed.

Around 10 years ago, I happened to be in the neighbourhood of her father’s office. The crazy university rush we all go through at the end of high school in Turkey had just ended and I decided to drop in and tell her father how proud I was to have achieved high grades and been accepted to university. I walked into his office and met his secretary. I told her that I had been the best friend of Mr Çakal's daughter at school and that I wanted to say hello. She asked me to leave though, explaining that he had lost İrem and his wife in an earthquake on the 17th of August the previous year. She said that he would be back at the office soon and that the sight of me might upset him. She also said that shortly after her death, Irem’s father had received a letter stating that Irem had been accepted to study law at university.
I took a taxi straight home. I started to hear and see her in my mind. I was too young to be able to deal with news like that, I guess. I kept seeing her wake up in the night to the sound of the earth moving, animals and people screaming. I saw her bed and the floor under her feet shaking as she tried to walk. I saw how this made it impossible for her to escape and how the walls fell down and the roof fell in on her. This was the hell that greeted her at the age of just 17.

You might feel very small in this huge world when you can't deal with situations or aren't able to change things by yourself. Although they say that you are only limited by your imagination, sometimes you need help from others to believe in this. Back then, I couldn’t imagine how her father felt, having been left to deal with this reality.

Of course, you don't need to experience something like this to realise that you can help people – like how my friends worked around the clock to set up a donation application for television in just one day, how many other Dutch people raised over 600,000 euros in two days via this application, how families have expressed a willingness to adopt an Haitian child or how the radio and television stations teamed up last week to raise money for Haiti. Similarly, rescue teams from across the world came to aid of Turkey in the aftermath of the earthquake that took İrem on the 17th of August 1999.

On Saturday, the Haitian government decided to call off the rescue efforts in Haiti. Now isn't it our task to ensure that the people who survived the hell of this earthquake know that the world cares and is willing to help and that they can still believe in the future?

Inci Arici

De klank van Istanbul

Mensen uit Istanbul hebben een harde stem. Totdat we zeker zijn dat de ander ons kan horen, praten we zo hard mogelijk. Maar je weet nooit zeker of je wel gehoord wordt, vanwege het lawaai van de trams, het getoeter van gefrustreerde automobilisten, de roepende straatverkopers, de muziek van kraampjes die om het hardst de nieuwste hits draaien en het getrommel van zigeunerjongens en -meisjes die met muziek op straat de kost verdienen. Op Istiklal, met stip de bekendste straat van Istanbul, moet je wel meedoen aan het lawaai. Een gesprek kan lastig zijn, want alle verschillende geluiden vormen gezamenlijk een tapijt van klanken dat een vast bestanddeel vormt van het leven in Istanbul - een tapijt dat warm en uitnodigend aanvoelt onder je voeten.

Inci Arici

Taxi!

The other night when we took a taxi home from the pub, our taxi driver told us stories about his wife that were so funny, our laughter could be heard ringing through the streets. He said that she is Kurdish and that when he gets home, she is more concerned about what he has earned than the fact that he is home safely after having driven all night.

Nilgun Yerli

De appel valt soms ver van de boom

De rook die uit de sigaret van de buschauffeur komt, stoort mij mateloos want ik zit net achter hem in de bus, maar durf er niets van te zeggen. Op zulke momenten vind ik mezelf het meest irritant, omdat ik het niet durf te zeggen. Mijn vriendin Ida die naast mij zit en voor het eerst in Turkije is, valt de rook niet eens op. Ze is in alle stilte aan het genieten van het uitzicht. “Wat heb je een mooi land” , zegt ze. “Het is ook jou land, het is toch onze wereld”, zeg ik. We zijn op weg naar Kirsehir, mijn geboortestad. “Waar ligt Kirsehir eigenlijk?” “Een klein plaatsje dichtbij Nevsehir”. “En waar ligt dat?” “Dat ligt in het gebied Capadokya, dat ligt een uur rijden van ons vandaan in Anatolie”, zeg ik.

Wilco van Herpen

In Turkije sinds 1998

Hoe komt een Nederlander in Turkije? Het begon allemaal in 1989. Ik werkte als kok in Hotel Okura Amsterdam en wilde weg uit het kleine Nederland. Door verhalen van een schoonmaker over Turkije raakte ik geïnteresseerd in ‘zijn’ land.

Wilco van Herpen

Blonde Turk Wilco is wereldberoemd in Turkije

“In 1985 kwam ik hier voor het eerst en de derde keer dat ik in Turkije was, beloofde ik me zelf dat ik hier ooit zou gaan wonen. Inmiddels woon ik hier elf jaar en voel ik me heel gelukkig. ”

Lopend door de straten van Istanbul wordt Wilco regelmatig aangesproken. De Turken zijn dol op zijn televisieprogramma waarin hij met een camper door het land reist op zoek naar bijzondere verhalen in alle uithoeken van Turkije. ”Mijn Turkse vrouw maakte televisieprogramma’s en ik deed weleens wat research. Van het een kwam het ander, totdat ik gevraagd werd zelf een programma te maken”. Van Herpen maakte inmiddels 110 televisieprogramma’s en raakt niet uitgesproken over zijn fascinatie met Turkije, met name over zijn woonplaats Istanbul. “Het is hier heel erg opwindend. Er gebeurt van alles; deze stad vibreert. Istanbul voedt je. Istanbul eet je.”