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My Turkish wife and I live
year-round
on the beach
along the Aegean Sea coast
about 80 km south of Izmir
in the little resort town of Gümüldür.
Crime is almost non-existent
in Summer when the tourists and summer residents swarm in and leave the local folks fat and happy.
But in the Winter, after
all the citrus fruit is picked and packed,
there isn't much honest
work to be had.
And it's during those slow
months that most of the burglaries occur.
The tourists and the summer
residents are long gone then,
and their uninhabited vacation
villas
(still filled with lightly
guarded furniture, clothes, and electronics)
can be tempting targets
for otherwise honest men --
who can't always afford
to put a piece of meat, once a week, on the familydinner
table.
On a winter morning just the other day (January '98), I awoke
unexpectedly early (at about 3:30 am)
in our cozy little beach-front bungalow. I lay there sleepily
for several comfortable minutes, dozing -- when I distinctly heard a low thudding sound. I thought
it might be air in the water pipes and waited for the sound to
stop.
It didn't, and I began to get suspicious.
Our bungalow
has not been broken into
in the 5 years we've lived here,
but several summer-resident homes
nearby have indeed been robbed
--
one home has been burgled twice in consecutive years!
I eased into my clothes and started downstairs to investigate.
As I groped halfconsciously down the steps, I could tell (with
some relief) that the sound was coming from outside -- down the road a bit from our place, near an adjoining seaside 'summer-homes'
development.
I made a quick decision to get our night-watchman and scare this
would-be thief
back to where he belonged!
Outside, the thudding sound was noticeably louder -- and I called
out in my American-accented Turkish, "Merhaba.
Kim o?" (Hello. Who's
that?). The sound stopped
on a dime.
But then, after about 30 seconds, it resumed -- and
this time with a little rhythm to it! I thought
to myself, "Why you cheeky devil…"
-- and strode off purposefully to fetch the night-watchman.
As I walked, I noticed that the sound was moving,
somewhat in parallel to me -- although I couldn't see who was making
it. But at least that meant it wasn't the sound of a house
break-in, right? …So what the hell was it?
I stopped and let my brain fully engage.
Where
was I?
Turkey.
What time
was it?
Three forty-five in the morning.
What month was it?
January.
What was that rhythmic-thudding sound?
A primitive drum.
Do these facts
add up to anything? Yep,
they sure do.
This January,
Turkish Muslims are right in the midst
of the
Ramazan
religious celebration --
when the
faithful get up early to have
their last meal before fasting
for the rest of the long day.
And the
primitive drum? Why… it's nothing more than
the traditional Ramazan
drummer boy (davulcu)
who accepts
tips to act as
a human alarm clock to wake
faithful followers
for their very early morning meal!
When the realization hit me,
I turned like a sheep and slinked
back home...
In defense of my temporary cultural amnesia,
this was the first time in five years
that a davulcu
had made it all the way
down to the seaside
in search of faithful followers during Ramazan.
And, besides…
it was "Burglar Season"
and I was only half-awake…
[Not good enough, huh?
oh, well…]
JM (January '98)
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