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.
His youngest son, who is 16, is of similar mind and aims to earn a living as soon as possible. Unlike the taxi driver, all of his children are able to have an education. His face lit up as he told us about his family. He also spoke about his wife's mother, who had been ignoring their phone calls. Although she is unable to read and write, she enjoys learning of their news in the letters she receives every three months. These are – and always have been – read out to her by somebody from her village and she cries when she hears the stories. You could really tell that our taxi driver was ready and looking forward to heading home for the night.
The next day I had to go to the airport to take a flight back home to Amsterdam. The traffic was terrible and I wasn't sure if I would make it to the airport in time. I was probably looking slightly nervous when a man in a shiny suit approached me and asked if I needed help. I asked whether he could 'fly' me to the airport. Suddenly another girl approached us who also headed for the airport and the man said that he could take both of us in his taxi for half the rate. He spoke in a very kind way and helped load our luggage into his taxi. During the conversation that followed, the man said that his taxi is unlicensed and that his taxi-driver friends allow him do this illegal work, alongside another driving job in order to fund the education of his children and the children of his best friend, who had been killed. However, he said that he wouldn't be able to do it without the help of his brilliant wife, who is Balkan Turk. He also told us about his active political life over the past ten years and communicated in a way that revealed a high level of education and happy disposition.
You share your story in Istanbul and it doesn’t matter who listens, what is told or where you tell it. What matters to us is the conversation and it is the conversations we have that make life that little bit more bearable. That’s probably also why I stopped worrying about missing my flight during those two hours in the traffic jam and just enjoyed my conversation with the taxi driver.
When I arrived at the airport, I had a smile on my face - a smile that grew even bigger when I learned that my flight had been delayed and that I had all the time in the world to check in and make my way to the gate.