“Throughout my life, people have pitied me; children, adults, everyone.

“Throughout my life, people have pitied me; children, adults, everyone. But when people pity someone, they can never truly approach them as they should…” -This Land Shall Not Forget Them-

ALİ’S FIRST BAYRAM

“Mom, give me a bag!”

Ali is five and a half years old, living in an age where even six months make a world of difference. He is asking his mother for a plastic bag, but he struggles to say the word poşet. Or maybe, he just doesn’t like saying it. Children are like that. Sometimes, for no reason at all, they simply take a dislike to a certain word. Just like his grandfather, he calls them torba. His mother looks at the bags stashed behind the kitchen door. For some reason, they all seem too large to her eyes. It is as if Ali wouldn’t be able to carry them, as if he would collapse under their weight. After a moment, her eyes catch a small bag of granulated sugar. She empties the already half-empty bag into a jar, then hands it over to her son. Ali grips his bag tightly, twisting the top as if it were filled with glittering gold coins. It is only ten in the morning. Ali had only woken up this early twice before in his life, and both times he was sick. He remembers these things vividly. The five and a half years he has lived feel so incredibly long to him. He even remembers how many times he has ridden in a bus or a taxi. Because Ali counts them. When the time is right, he shows off to his friends, saying, “I’ve ridden in a taxi six times.” He’s lying, of course. Ali has only ridden in a taxi three times.

A little later, his friends arrive. Truth be told, they aren’t exactly his friends. To them, Ali is just a little runt they put in goal when they play football. Sometimes they tell him meaningless things just to mock him, shouting, “Zztt Erenköy!” Ali doesn’t understand, but it makes him angry. Still, there is nothing he can do. He is too small, just tiny little Ali. Until those even smaller than him line up, he will have to keep playing the mascot. It’s much like the seniority system in the army. Once Ali serves his time, he won’t show any mercy to the younger ones either. When they get their heads shaved, he’ll yell “Shave tax!” and slap the backs of their necks.

Five children start touring the neighborhood with plastic bags in their hands. They knock on every door in turn and shout in unison, “Happy Bayram!” Ali can’t bring himself to shout, though; he’s ashamed. He stands at the very back. He never knocks on a door. Those who open the doors offer candy to the children. These are cheap, low-quality sweets — the kind they actually call “children’s candy.” Nobody thinks of making the children truly happy by giving them chocolates or wafers. It is as if they are a completely different species of human living in the city. They just grow up rolling around in the dust and dirt of the streets. Nobody ever notices their existence… You never know, but sometimes children can truly turn into a savage race of humans. They destroy bird nests, throw stones at cats, ride on the backs of dogs. And now, they are laughing at Ali. They have visited ten houses, but Ali hasn’t managed to get a single piece of candy yet. Ali’s hands are drenched in sweat; the grains of sugar at the top of the bag he’s gripping so tightly have melted, smearing all over his hand. You never know, but children can also be the kindest souls on earth. Metin pulls a chocolate candy out of his own bag and hands it to Ali to eat. The little boy’s mouth sweetens, and his ears turn red with embarrassment. Then, at the next house where they celebrate Bayram, Metin takes a piece of candy on Ali’s behalf. And so, Ali puts his very first candy into his bag. He is happy, so profoundly happy. If you gave him the entire world right now, he wouldn’t care. Because he has candy. His own candy. Metin grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him to his side. Now, Ali shouts too: “Happy Bayram!” As his voice blends with the voices of the other children, his courage grows. He shouts, Ali shouts at the top of his lungs: “Happy Bayram!”

Slowly, his bag begins to fill. Ali holds his bag even tighter now, like an old-time merchant clutching his money pouch. Some houses give the children high-quality candy. They open and eat them right away. They are so keenly aware of the quality of the candy they collect. But Ali doesn’t eat his. He stubbornly refuses to eat. He is going to fill his tiny bag, he absolutely will. The residents of a few houses have the children kiss their hands in respect. Ali kisses them too. For the first time in his life, Ali kisses the hand of someone he doesn’t know. Yet, it doesn’t feel strange. He is so small that he doesn’t even see whose hand he is kissing. In fact, in one house, when he mistakenly kisses the hand of an eight-year-old girl, everyone bursts out laughing. They roll with laughter. Laugh and laugh. Ali laughs too. You wouldn’t know. When you are a child, the world is very funny. In fact, it is absolutely hilarious. The jokes the teacher tells, for instance. Or when the teacher beats a student. That is the funniest of all. When their classmates get slapped, tears of laughter stream from the children’s eyes. That’s just how it is. It is the rule of being a child.

The children drew a wide, sweeping arc around the neighborhood. Now they are heading back. They celebrate Bayram at a house with a green door. Just then, an uncle calls out to Ali, saying, “Come here, little guy,” and hands him a five-lira note. When the uncle holds out the money, time stands still for the children. They are only ever given money when they are sent to the grocery store to buy bread. They go to school with packed lunches. To them, the ones who buy things from the school canteen are the rich kids. And Ali reaches out and takes the money. The children fall silent. They ponder. When they go home, this is exactly what they will all tell their families: “Mom, do you know what? A man gave Ali money! A man gave Ali money. A man gave Ali money.” The word grows and grows, wrapping itself around the entire neighborhood.

Ali arrives home. He kicks off his shoes with a shake, and each one flies two meters away. His mother looks at him but cannot recognize Ali. Of course she can’t. Ali has grown up. And how! Ali brought money home. Just like his father. And he brought a bag full of candy. Ali takes both the candy and the money and hands them to his mother. In his world, there is no such thing as pocket money. Money belongs to the adults. His mother will buy bread with this money. The first money her son ever earned will go toward a food as sacred as his name: bread.

March 30, 2025 Gültepe