(...)
Soon we are surrounded with many others from
the neighboring tents, “which channel is it?” is the first question we get.
Before the camera rolls, Jonathan takes out a small mirror out of his pocket
and combs his hair. The expressive/animated woman says in Turkish “You’ve
become very handsome, maşallah,” and laughs. She makes others around her
laugh as well. We shoot the same scene three or four times (I repeat the same
translations) before we continue our hunt in the heavy mud. We witness a fight
in one of the waiting lines, I overhear the accusation of someone shouting at
another that he was in the same line before and thus getting the same aid
twice. The moment they see the cameras and western-looking guys, a man hushes
the crowd: “Let’s not embarrass ourselves in front of the foreigners, ayıp.”
But it is too late, this time Michael took the shots without permission of any
sort. It was an authentic fight scene.
Before we go in the taxi that was hired for
the day, Jonathan approaches an old and dark man and asks: “Do you speak
German?” He nods and they begin chatting in German. The old man is very calm,
thankful, and submitted to God’s will. I can still hear his last words in
response to Jonathan’s words of appreciation and goodbye: Mach nichts
(you are welcome). I can’t help my curiosity and ask him once in the car: “How
did you know?” Jonathan shrugs, “maybe intuition, maybe because of the Turks I
met in Germany, I have developed a feeling about a certain type.” I am still
very impressed, what a good observer!
Another man in the crowd approaches and asks
me: “How is Zeytinburnu?[i] Is there much damage?” I learn that he lost
everything here, and the only other property he has was a flat in Zeytinburnu.
He couldn’t get hold of the contractor so he wants to learn the situation from
me!
We return to the “base” where the buses and
other media channels are parked for montage and other technical stuff. Sara
notices me wandering rather aimlessly while waiting for the next stop and
suggests that I go inside a big bus a bit further away before I get fully
soaked. “That bus belongs to us too.” Good idea, I rush to the bus while
thinking that people act very conflicted over wearing masks. I notice the very
picky BBC team are not wearing them, I also observe that a few other European
channels’ staff don’t have any face masks. I decide not to wear one either. I
greet the guy in the big bus before finding a seat where I can rest a little.
He has a heavy accent and looks like a Turkish guy. He says he is a freelance cameraman
from Israel, and hands me some old newspapers to clean the mud under my shoes.
A very blond guy (platinum-blond!) turns out to be a Turk named Haluk, and
translating some reports about illegal housing in the area into English. The
Israeli man’s name is Boaz, sounds unusual but nice, I actually don’t
know how to spell it. I tell him that I am thinking of living on a kibbutz[ii]
once all this is over. I want to leave Turkey for some time and experiment a
communal living on a farm, explore the holy lands before grad school. I get out
of the bus, wishing for something to feel useful and keep me busy. At that
moment, Sara comes and asks whether I would like to visit one of the newly
setup hospitals with the two other team members. Of course, says I!
We first stop by the Canadian Military
hospital which originally is a stadium. It is almost 9 pm now and soon it will
be dark. I realize that there is no need for a translator since the guard at
the gate is Canadian and there are no patients inside yet. It is raining very
hard. They tell me to stay in the taxi and lend my raincoat to Jonathan. The
driver and I began a conversation. He lost his house so they are staying in a
tent but life goes on and he likes to work and bring some cash back to the
tent. Suddenly, we are surrounded by hundreds of mosquitos in swarms. A
bug-repellent was the last thing in my mind when I left home very early in the
morning. I get a bit nervous but there is nothing we can do about it. Then,
they leave as fast as they arrived, very weird these post-earthquake creatures…
I decide to go out and soak myself into the
beauty of the surroundings. Tranquility and breathtaking scenery calm me
down. So quiet. Right across me is a huge, empty amusement park. A large
iron gate has the sign which says: Sporcu girişi/Entry for sportspeople.
A Canadian soldier is guarding it now. There is a giant willow tree behind
which the sun must soon be about to set, based on the first gray, then purplish
dark pink-orange tones of all kinds. It is one of those very memorable moments.
I fail to get around the willow tree because of the amount of mud. I am aware
of a unique presence; yet, I feel like a commonly agreed but vulnerable reality
is lost. A military vehicle approaches the gate and after an exchange of a few
words in English, it passes through. If only I could ignore the collapsed
buildings not far from where I am, I can get convinced easily that I am
enjoying a movie set visit whose staff is very busy preparing the final stage
before the shoot. First time in my life, I see heavy-built blond women soldiers
in uniforms. They wander around the stadium, probably fulfilling their guard
duty.
A few bold locals approach the gate, waving at
the Canadian soldier whose merhaba was well pronounced but met with
their “hello, hello!”s nevertheless. He drops the trash bags and returns to his
spot. Alan comes back to the gate, apologizes that they left me in the car all
that time, not realizing that the rain stopped a while ago: “Would you like to
take a look at what is going on inside the makeshift hospital?” I eagerly walk
in with him, literally dazzled with the brightness of the lights inside the
moment I step in. The very same stadium at nights of soccer games must exude a
similar feeling before the audience’s admission, except that there are dozens
of soldiers around now, working on setting huge tents, installing more lights
and many stoves for the communal meals in the coming days. I climb up to the
stairs in the tribunes to enjoy a full view of the place. I see Boaz, Alan, and
Jonathan in the middle of the green playground still filming. I am impressed by
the extent of technology for this particular occasion. From where do all these
huge water-purification systems, electricity grids, sewage disposal pipes and
generators come? Even imagining the military’s transportation network beats me.
All the jeeps around have Canadian plate numbers so does it mean that they
brought their vehicles too or just install the plates here?
A soldier comes to chat, asks whether I work
for the BBC as well. I tell him only for the day, and I work as a translator.
He is friendly and sounds genuinely interested in the wellbeing of my family
and how I have been feeling since the earthquake. In return, I ask him how he
feels about visiting a country like Turkey under these circumstances and “for
work” whereas the ideal would be to explore the ancient sites and especially
the West coast for a holiday. “Sakarya, believe me, doesn’t make our top 10
list,” I joke. Another soldier comes close but with a flashlight to check each
and every screw of the setups including the old tribune that was already there
when they arrived. Some time later, another soldier comes and checks them
again, to make sure. I admire the meticulousness and the professionalism that I
see all over. They probably don’t let illegal housing and thus won’t have the
blood of thousands of dead and injured bodies on their hands in case of a big
earthquake in Canada.
The trio bring another man in uniform under
the BBC spotlights, probably the highest rank possible, and interview him too.
After this final shooting is completed, we thank everyone and finally leave the
premises. We have been treated really kindly which I attribute to the
prestigious name of the media channel. Having a BBC ID card allows one through
many official doors as I witnessed today ranging from Sakarya Deputy governor’s
office
The taxi driver hands in a receipt of 80
dollars. Alan hands him a 100 dollar bill and tells him to keep it. I can never
forget the driver’s face. He asks me a couple of times so that there is no
misunderstanding or mistranslation. I say it is okay, and yes, 20 dollar is
your tip for the day. I feel sorry and awkward about this, that the gap between
Turkish Lira and the USD is not something that the dollar-owner and earner
cares much about. It is always the other way around.
We are back at “the base” in Adapazarı,
everyone is asking each other “so... how was your day?” all in tired but more
or less satisfied tones. The final editing of the news is done and it is ready
to be aired for the 9 pm news, London time, of course. The sound engineer who
was the first person I met this morning checks with me “so... what do you
think? How are you feeling?” to which I answer: “I feel very tired but it was
exciting and unforgettable.” In fact, I am very hungry and in need of sleep.
Yesterday, Sara told me on the phone that I should be at home by the sunset. I
call home at 10 pm and tell my parents that soon we’ll hit the road to
Istanbul. The drivers keep complaining too. I try to fall asleep at the back of
one of the empty buses. The fragments of the day pass through my mind, my eyes,
my heart… I am in that half-awake half-asleep zone and I decide to be fully
awake. The whole team gets together to watch their work, what’s been aired on
the screen in a clear excitement. I could almost hear the invisible thoughts
running in the air: We did it, we made it on time! We had images of the sea of
mud, crying women, running children who piss inside their tent, the deputy gov.
who failed to present the right papers, and more… Yes, all these we have cut,
pasted, recreated a reality to your taste, and here we go. Hey, the world, stay
tuned!
[i] A district of Istanbul on the European
side.
[ii] A collective community, traditionally
based on agriculture.
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