Sana Rahim • Turkey
I’m writing this as I watch my mom frantically put Thanksgiving dinner together. It’s quite the spectacle. I could write an entire post about how a Pakistani family like mine celebrates Thanksgiving. Fortunately for them, this is not the subject of my last post on The 195.
It’s almost been three months since I returned from my second summer abroad in Turkey. It feels like eons ago that I was haphazardly traveling all over the country to conduct my research on women’s NGOs. The people I met, the places I saw, and the stories I heard are simultaneously a hazy dream that I barely remember and a vivid reality that I can’t forget. When I walk down the well paved sidewalks along Sheridan Road, I reminisce about walking down the mazelike dirt paths in Van, a small city on the eastern border of Turkey and Iran. I remember that my feet walked on that land just a few months ago, and now I am here. It’s surreal.
I’ve been steadily working on my research, in conjunction with my co-curricular commitments, and class work. It’s been intellectually challenging to maintain momentum on my work from over the summer as I slowly become overwhelmed with my life here at Northwestern. It’s been strange to see my main focus and near obsession for my entire summer take a back seat to more pressing items like finding a job after I graduate (about that…).
My friends and family often have to pull me out of my sentimental nostalgia for the past. Sometimes I want nothing more than to jump on a plane and go back to Istanbul (Turkish Airlines ads make me cry).
Today is a day of giving thanks. When I thought about what it is I am most thankful for this year, I reflected on my past three years at Northwestern. I came in as a pre-med and am leaving as someone who wants to work professionally in the field of development and social justice for the rest of my life. If there was one experience that crystallized my commitment to this field, it was my summer in Turkey in 2009. It was then that I met with the individuals that were challenging the status quo, and stubbornly refusing to settle for anything less than true equality. It was from their passion, perseverance, and courage to unapologetically speak truth to power that I became aware of my role in developing a vision for a more just and equitable world.
To all of those people: Teşekkür ederim. Thank you.
Thank you for giving me two of the most beautiful summers of my life. Thank you for introducing me to the dozens of new families I have all over Turkey. Thank you for sharing your magical history and profound complexity with me. Thank you for challenging my beliefs and faith. Most of all, thank you for complicating my understanding of the world around me.
Before I left for Turkey in 2009, I began perusing through the works of world famous poet Jalal Ad-Din Rumi. There is one quote that has stuck with me: “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”
I have fallen in love with Turkey, and I hope that its beauty will shine in everything I do.
I’m not really someone who reads the news religiously. But the past couple weeks, like many of my peers, I have been glued to my computer. Clicking every news article that is posted to Facebook, watching every video clip in gchat statuses, fervently posting articles and links to my Twitter page, I find myself going from page to page as I lose sense of what it is I’m trying to find.
The potential of a divided America has my undivided attention.
Being an American Muslim is something I have always been extremely comfortable with, maybe too comfortable with in retrospect. I knew very well that September 11th substantially changed the state of Islam in America, but I was lucky enough to never directly experience the repercussions of that change. I gained consciousness in a wealthy suburb of Chicago. Naperville is a moderately diverse community that was more than accepting of my Muslim background. Values of inclusivity, toleration, and mutual respect were present amongst my peers, and my environment granted me a strong sense of self identity and self confidence. All of my closest friends from high school were non-Muslims. When I started to wear the hijab, these friends served as my core support system during that transition. My best friend to this day is a non-Muslim, French Lebanese Christian girl. Religious differences rarely, if ever, negatively impacted my life.
But now I know that just because I didn’t see any problems did not mean that there was not something festering under the surface of the American psyche. The compounding of poor foreign policy decisions, fear mongering, and a sensationalist media was feeding an Islamophobia that was waiting to rise above the periphery of the unstated to become painfully explicit.
Enter Ground Zero.
Watching the Ground Zero controversy from Istanbul has been frustrating, upsetting, and honestly makes me feel like I am going home to a foreign country in three days. I know that life goes on in America, but the Islamophobia I am witnessing everyday from thousands of miles away suggests to me that the Muslim American reality has changed a lot since I left.
In Turkey, people often ask me what it is like to be a Muslim in America. Without any hesitation, I would reply, that there are indeed isolated instances of discrimination and sustained stereotypes, but there was still more good than bad. I would often use the example of the hijab, arguing that it is easier for me to attend my university and even apply for jobs than it is for women who wear the hijab in Turkey. Although a “secular” state, religion is uncomfortably political in Turkey, and as a practicing Muslim, I most definitely feel that it is easier to openly practice my faith in the United States than here. Although I know the Eastern world has a deep distaste for American foreign policy and sometimes culture, I unabashedly call America home, and unapologetically introduce myself as an American in Turkey.
Earlier during my travels I got into an intense argument with a respected journalist who was adamant that as a Muslim I could never truly be American. I refused to accept his argument at any cost. I repeated again and again, that although the dynamic was complicated, the Muslim narrative was inextricably tied to the narrative of the American nation. My experience as a Muslim in America is nothing like the experience of a Muslim in any other country. Although I am of Pakistani descent, I identify America as home, and root who I am today in American soil. I refused to accept that America didn’t belong to me, or that I didn’t belong to America.
Ground Zero: You didn’t change my mind.
There is no clash of civilizations, there is no contradiction in the phrase American Muslim.
I know America will overcome this, because there is no other choice for America. I’m not going anywhere. I love Istanbul but I love you more America. Let’s hope that this is our first and last lover’s quarrel.
Everyone always asks me, “What is Ramadan like in Istanbul?” My usual response tends to be: “Not what you would expect it to be, but totally awesome.”
People often think of Turkey as a prototypical “Muslim” country. But as an explicitly secular nation, the Muslim identity and practice of Islam is extremely diverse in Turkey. Unlike other predominantly Muslim countries, Ramadan does not unanimously change the day to day lifestyle for Turkish society.
Istanbul is undoubtedly the physical manifestation of the identity crisis of this country. I live in Etiler, a posh district of Istanbul that is dotted with Starbucks Coffees and palm trees. BMWs and expensive restaurants dominate the atmosphere of this neighborhood. Coming from a suburb of Chicago, this scene is a bit overwhelming for me. (I live in sweatpants and prefer Taco Bell to a fancy French restaurant any day.) Sometimes I seriously wonder if people wake up every morning, put on designer clothes, and sit at cafes all day literally because they have nothing else to do. Pardon my judgment, but I seriously do wonder sometimes.
When Ramadan started last year, I wasn’t sure what this neighborhood would look like.
To my surprise, everything looked the same. Cafés were flooded with customers as usual; it looked like almost no one was fasting.
The number one thing that gave away how few people were fasting was how many individuals were smoking. I think fasting from cigarettes is the most difficult part of fasting for many Turks!
My Ramadan started a bit differently this year, as I was traveling in eastern Turkey when Ramadan started. My first day of Ramadan occurred when I was in Van, a city on the Eastern border of Turkey and Iran. Ramadan was palpable here. No one was eating, drinking, or smoking, at least not visibly. An hour prior to Iftar time, or the time to break the fast, crowds of families and young friends arrived at büfe’s or small restaurants. They sat before water and hurma, or a date, eagerly waiting for the call for Akşam namazı or evening prayer, which would signal that the sun had set. It was so amazing to see so many people breaking fast together. Having experienced all of my Ramadans in America, it was breathtaking to see a public space filled with Muslims who had all fasted.
The prayer call went off and suddenly all was totally silent. Everyone began to silently pray, saying to me “Allah kabul etsin,” meaning, “May God accept your fast.” I couldn’t help but to feel an immense sense of solidarity with the people around me. Fasting is often difficult and can really test your patience, but breaking fast with so many other people filled me with a sense of international community and camaraderie. The notion of the Ummah, or international brotherhood and sisterhood of Muslims, was all around me. I felt a sense of home I had never felt before. I was with people who didn’t look like me, who didn’t speak my language, but were engaging in the same religious act that tied us all together.
I should probably mention that Iftars in Turkey are absolute feasts. You start off with some chorba, or soup, with some pide, oven baked fresh bread. You always have some fresh salata, or salad. Sarma, dolma, pilav, patlican, manti… the list goes on. All you need to know is that home cooked meals in Turkey are amazing, and that as a foreign guest, I get many invitations for Iftar, and I readily accept all of them.
The other part of Ramadan that is different here is the Taraweeh prayer. During Ramadan, in addition to the five prayers a day, there is an optional evening prayer called Taraweeh. During this prayer, the Imam typically reads one Juz, or chapter of the Quran. Since there are 30 chapters in the Quran, this prayer allows the for completion of the Quran during the month of Ramadan, which is a deeply important religious act during this holy month. In America, this prayer usually requires 2 hours, because each chapter is substantially lengthy.
When I prayed my first Taraweeh in Turkey last summer, the Imam started the prayer by reading a small portion from the last chapter of the Quran. I was totally confused, and I thought to myself, maybe they go backwards here. However, we finished the prayer in about 45 minutes, definitely not having read the entire first chapter of the Quran. After leaving the mosque I asked my friend what we had just experienced. She then explained the concept of “Jet Imams” to me. Turks are impatient, she said, so rather than reading an entire chapter of the Quran every night, the Imam only reads short verses, as most mosques in Turkey do not finish the Quran during Ramadan. Some of these Jet Imams move so quickly that I often feel like I’m doing aerobics and not really praying. It’s hilarious, really.
Although Ramadan is not necessarily what you would expect it to be in Turkey, it is undoubtedly incredible. There’s something so special about walking around Sultanahmet near the Blue Mosque when everyone is breaking their fast, praying before the grave of the Prophet Muhammad’s companion Eyup Sultan, and waiting for the prayer call while eating suhoor, the meal we eat before the sun rises. I feel so close to my faith here, and so close to my Muslim brothers and sisters. Islam is in the sounds, the sights, and the people around me, and it’s so refreshing.
Sigh.
In order to compensate for the depression I am undergoing at the thought of leaving this country, I’m eating as much Turkish food as I physically can for the next nine days.
This post very easily could have been written last summer. In a sense, the fact that it still a valid and necessary post one year later reaffirms the powerful impact that my roommate, my best friend, and my role model has made on my life. Sinem, this one’s for you.
Sinem works as an administrator of international trade in a company nearby. I still remember exactly what she was wearing when I first met her; a light blue burberry printed headscarf with a white blouse and blue jeans. She was modest, but she was totally in style. I remember being almost envious of her confidence and beauty, and her insane ability to make everyone around her feel completely comfortable.
She introduced herself to me, speaking English almost impeccably. Almost immediately, she took me under her wing. It was so strange. I was halfway across the world and I had just met a woman who was ten years my senior, but within 5 minutes of meeting, I felt like I had found my home base with her. She instantly became the friend you call up when you’re having a bad day, the friend you meet for coffee every day after work, the consistent best friend that everyone needs in life.
But Sinem quickly became more than just a best friend. After only 2 or 3 days of living with Sinem, I found myself in awe of how beautifully she leads her life. She’s constantly reading. Any spare moment she has, there is a book in her hand. She could literally spend the duration of her life with a book and coffee. She savors knowledge in a way that I admire to no end.
Sinem literally takes every opportunity she gets to do good. I remember last summer when we were walking around a busy district of Istanbul on an extremely hot day, we saw a kitten who was extremely weak and clearly very thirsty and hungry. Sinem demanded that we stop and buy the kitten water and some food. She sat with the kitten for nearly 30 minutes, feeding it and cleaning it up. I had never seen someone who was so affected by things that I ignore as normal realities on a daily basis. Just yesterday at a bus stop, Sinem ran across the street to buy water for a dog that was panting of thirst in the heat.
I should also mention that as a woman wearing a headscarf, Sinem works at a reputable trade firm, earns well, and is the epitome of Destiny’s Child Independent Woman. The woman is compassionate, but she’s pushing forward in a patriarchal society unapologetically to maintain financial independence and social equality.
But the most profound influence Sinem has had on my life has been on my faith. I came to Turkey last summer in a precarious relationship with Islam. Praying 5 times a day was an ideal that I thought the future would bring for me, but Sinem pushed me to confront my deficiencies now rather than later. Without every really teaching me or judging me, she taught me so much. She wholeheartedly accepted me but simultaneously pushed me to never settle for mediocrity for anything in life. Sinem articulated her beliefs in a way that I had never heard before; she got through to me that provoked me to critically understand my faith. Being around her made it so easy to be a good person, and so difficult to do bad. The natural nuances and simplicity of her life rubbed off on me in ways I can’t describe.
Just tonight when we were walking home from evening prayers, Sinem insisted on walking an elderly woman home from the mosque. For most people, that would be their good deed of the day, but for her, it’s what’s normal, what’s natural, and for me, is what defines who she is.
Sinem is undoubtedly a huge reason why Istanbul is like a second home for me. I truly hope that I can carry everything she has taught me for the rest of my life. I know that she will be a lifelong friend. It’s funny how I’m doing research on woman’s rights issues and how I’m living with a total female powerhouse. Although in two weeks we’ll be thousands of miles apart, Sinem’s constant assertion that “the world is really small” makes me feel like it won’t be too long before I see her again.
I left on the evening of July 27th for Izmir from Istanbul, and 12 days later it feels like I’ve been traveling for eons. I’m mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted.
For now, I’m going to share a story that served as the starting point for my journey.
I had back to back meetings scheduled on Wednesday and Thursday in Izmir. One of my meetings with Çağdaş Yaşamı Destekleme Derneği, a foundation aiming to support contemporary living for Turkish women, lead to an invitation to the closing ceremony of a summer school program for elementary students in a suburb of Izmir called Bornova. The program was hosted by the foundation for children who otherwise probably would have spent their summers engaging in unproductive activities. Many of these children do not have the benefit of parental supervision or babysitters, as both of their parents are working multiple jobs to earn much needed money or are simply consumed with domestic tasks and the duties of rearing numerous children. Additionally, many of the families in this suburb are unable to pay for a vacation for the summer, which is a serious custom in Turkey. (I know this well because so many NGOs that I want to speak with don’t have any staff in the office because everyone is on holiday in their summer homes. America could learn something from Turkey!) The summer program offers students courses in singing, dancing, acting, drawing and other arts. The ceremony was a showcase of the student’s talents for parents, local government officials, and members of the foundation.
While I was staying in a lush, prim and proper part of Bornova, the scenery drastically changed as we drove to the other side of town for the ceremony. The broad avenues dotted with palm trees transitioned to narrow streets covered in dust. The car ride alone revealed a socioeconomic disparity that geographically split the suburb in two.
I arrived at the school, and I suddenly felt like a complete outsider. Literally every single person at the ceremony looked at me wondering where I had come from and why I was there. The children in particular were completely enamored by my foreign look and English language. They hovered around me asking me back to back questions in Turkish. Abla, Nerelisinez? Abla, Evli misiniz? Big sister, where are you from? Are you married? Within minutes, I felt like I had made a thousand new friends. All of the children stole my heart, and I’m really not one of those “Oh my God I love kids” kind of a girl.
After an extensive photoshoot with the children, I began to speak to the students, particularly the young girls. There is one story that I have to share. A young girl named Gülcan unknowingly shaped the work I have been doing for the past two weeks.
13 years old, Gülcan had recently moved to Izmir from a smaller village nearby. I asked her why she wanted to attend this summer program. Without any hesitation, she responded almost immediately that she has to go to school because she wants to become a doctor. Struck by her confidence and determination, I asked her what education meant for her. She shared that for 1 year she was not able to go to school because her family did not permit her to. Although her 3 brothers were able to continue their schooling in the village, she was told that it was unsafe for her to go to school and that there was no reason for her to leave the home. She told me that she cried almost every day; being limited to the home caused her to become extremely depressed. She missed her friends and absolutely hated being isolated from the outside world. After moving to Izmir, she was finally able to resume her studies because the school was walking distance from her home.
I could not get over how powerful and determined Gülcan is. At 13, she had overcome more limitations than I can ever dream of overcoming. Her eyes spoke with an intensity that needed no translation. She was adamant about succeeding, and fought for her rights within the four walls of her home on a daily basis. The stories that I had read about and statistics that I had gone over for weeks suddenly took shape before me in real form. Listening to her story made me realize that I was not just doing research for my senior thesis. Her story forcefully confronted me with the human dimension of the questions I am asking. After meeting with countless NGOs and organizational representatives, I had almost forgotten what this was really about. Interviewing so many people about the same question made me almost numb to the troubling realities that girls like Gülcan face. While I am here to learn about an issue for my academic resume, this is Gülcan’s reality.
Gülcan probably has no idea how much her story impacted me. Humbled, honored, and in absolute admiration, I hope that Gülcan becomes a doctor with all of my heart. If success is about perseverance, Gülcan is destined for success.
I’m sitting in my apartment staring at my travel itinerary and packed bags with absolutely no idea how I got to this point.
Let’s backtrack a bit.
After the ISTR conference finished, I started contacting women’s education NGOs in Istanbul. I met with representatives from an array of organizations that shared similar mindsets and values but offered a unique approach and angle to the issue of women’s education and literacy. It was both exciting and overwhelming to see the sheer number of women’s organizations in Turkey and the passion and energy that the leaders from these NGOs had for advocacy, change, and equality. In addition to countless meetings, I spent hours reading through education reform documents, government statistics on the state of women in Turkey, and various NGO reports on their programs and evaluations.
However the most valuable thing I probably did was visit the Women’s Library in Istanbul. Located in a historically Christian neighborhood called Balat, the library houses all archives, books, and documents related to women’s history in Turkey and internationally. When I arrived to the library, there was a young man who literally lit up when I walked in. He was so excited that a yabanci (foreigner) had come to visit the library and quickly gave me a pen and paper and computer to write down which resources I wanted to read. Within minutes I had a pile of books and papers before me detailing the history of the women’s movement in Turkey from Ottoman times, to the establishment of the Turkish Republic, down to the modern movement for women’s rights in Turkey.
What was most striking was how many powerful women had shaped the concept of civil society in Turkey.
Particularly, a woman by the name of Fatma Aliye caught my attention. An Ottoman intellectual and writer, Fatma framed her notions of social justice and equality around the Islamic faith. She argued that Islam encompassed broad civil codes and that many solutions to injustices towards women were situated within the Islamic system of law and justice. But Fatma’s truly visionary articulation was that discrimination against women stemmed from social customs and traditions, not from Islam itself. She unapologetically confronted the Western world’s prejudice and contempt for Ottoman and Islamic culture, and conveyed her opinions as a poised Muslim woman who spoke on a subject that was otherwise completely under a male hierarchy.
I feel a deep sense of connection and appreciation for the story of Fatma Aliye. She almost reaffirmed the ultimate goals of my research: to illustrate that the roots of inequality between men and women in the Muslim world are often not because Islam is inherently an unjust religion, rather, it is the repercussions of culture and social mores that are ultimately the root causes of discrimination against women. I feel a sense of kinship with Fatma as I work on the same issues that she was passionately working on more than a century ago.
After wrapping up my literature review and all meetings with NGOs in Istanbul, with the help of my new contacts, I started contacting local leaders in South Eastern and Eastern Turkey. I quickly realized that I probably wasn’t going to have much luck with emails so I started calling offices.
Phone calls usually went like this.
Me: Merhaba! Do you speak English?
Either I would get a frazzled, confused response starting with “Uhhh…” or I would get a “Yes!” For the former, I would get my Turkish roommates to do some translating. For the latter I would tell them who I was, where I came from, and what I was researching and sincerely request that they help me.
After dozens of phone calls and emails, I’m about to leave for my trip today. I have secured contacts and translators in 8 cities: Izmir, Nevsehir, Urfa, Mardin, Diyarbakir, Van, Trabzon, and Ankara. I will spend 2 to 3 days in each city and visit local NGOs and women’s centers that have implemented literacy programs and other education initiatives.
I have to be honest. I’m kind of nervous. Eastern Turkey is a far cry from the cosmopolitan life of Istanbul, and a lot of my friends in Istanbul are bit worried about me traveling alone to those areas; especially as a foreign woman in a rural area that is politically unstable and socially conservative. Although the thought has often crossed my mind that maybe it is not such a good idea to be venturing off to Eastern Turkey, I think about why I came here in the first place: To learn. Learning is never supposed to be easy. Knowledge is never handed to you on a silver platter, right? You have to go and find it. So I have to do this.
I’m lucky because I have extremely kind friends who have been overwhelmingly helpful in my endeavors. Sinem, Merve, Betul, FZ, Melike, and Shahika…this is a shout to you! I LOVE YOU LADIES! These girls literally have helped me book my flights, figure out what I bus should take where, found individuals that have yet to meet me that are willing to host me in their homes, and most importantly, talked me through my panic attacks. Thank God for them.
To all you back in the States and even here in Istanbul: I ask you all to share some love and support with me as I am about embark on a journey that will probably be one of the most insightful and incredible of my life, but simultaneously probably one of the most challenging. I can’t wait to see a different side of the country that I love so much, and hear the stories of women that often don’t get to tell their story. It’s gonna be a crazy ride.
It is time to start, and when a Muslim starts anything in life, he or she starts in the name of God.
Bismillah.
Last weekend my roommate Sinem and I went to Esenköy to spend our Sunday at a women’s only beach.
But before I get to that story, here’s some background of why a women’s only beach has to exist.
Muslim women that wear the hijab are required to be covered in front of any man with whom they can legally have a marital relationship. In addition to the hair, women must cover everything except for the hands, face, and feet according to the Islamic faith and its codes for modesty and simplicity. Even if a Muslim woman does not wear a hijab, many women would feel immodest and uncomfortable wearing a bathing suit in front of men. In most Muslim countries in the Middle East, it is unlikely that you will find a beach that hosts both men and women, as most women would be unable to wear bathing suits in front of the male population.
But there’s a fabulous loophole to this dilemma: the women’s only beach. In my opinion, an innovative and creative invention of the 20th century, these beaches allow women to enjoy the coveted beaches and partake in a bit of popular culture from which they are otherwise completely prohibited.
From Istanbul, Sinem and I took an hour long boat ride to get to the city that was on the brim of the Marmara Sea. We arrived on the shore and followed a crowd of boisterous women on to a cramped bus packed full of women that were headed towards the kadinlar plage or “women’s beach.” I looked at the women around me. Most of them were wearing the hijab, many of them wearing abayas, and burqas; I really could not wait to see what was going to happen when we arrived at the beach.
We reached our stop and we exited the bus to be greeted by a scruffy, tan, old Turkish man that was shirtless and boasted a gigantic belly. We gave him a lira for admission to the beach, and walked down a path that was surrounded by tall trees. I already sensed the sense of seclusion and escape that this beach represented.
We reached the beach, and I could not believe what I saw. I felt like I had suddenly been transported to Los Angeles. Women of all ages, shapes, and sizes packed the beach from corner to corner. I saw grandmothers rocking bikinis! I felt so modest and conservative in my swimming trunks and tank top. It was such a spectacle; I seriously could not stop staring.
I saw a group of girls come in who looked like they were my age. They were all wearing long blouses with long skirts, dressed relatively conservatively. They came in, placed their belongings down, and started undressing to reveal blonde hair, completely tan skin, and incredibly toned bodies. I felt like a male creep as I almost reached for my camera to take a picture of the scene.
The most unforgettable scene from the beach, however, was of a woman who must have been in her sixties. She had decided not to change out of her clothes, simply wrapping her hijab up around her head, she went completely clothed into the water, trying with the utmost effort to swim. She clearly had never taken formal swimming classes, but was so ardent about trying to float in the water, which was about 3 feet high. She was wearing bright orange shoes, a red skirt, and a green shirt. She was undeniably adorable, and I just basked watching how happy she was to be in the water.
There was a huge stereo system behind us playing club music and an amazing restaurant serving fresh kebaps and hamburgers. There was a group of girls that were dancing to the music and visibly having an incredible time. It felt like any big beach in Chicago, and I suddenly realized how human we all are. Women all over the world love the beach. It was a universal commonality. Hijab, or mini skirt, or burqa, or bikini… it suddenly didn’t really matter that much.
Regardless, it was so amazing to see how Muslim women were able to enjoy an activity that most people think is completely separate from the female Muslim identity.
Who said that hijabis couldn’t rock the beach?
This past Monday, I returned to the Istanbul Policy Center, where I worked last summer, in order to meet with some key NGO leaders in woman’s education and literacy. By some stroke of luck, I was invited to attend the 9th International Society of Third Sector Research Conference. The conference hosts an international group of researchers that come together to share their work on NGOs, civil society, and social change movements across the world. I thought it was a good idea, especially since I was about to embark on my first real research experience in a foreign country.
I’m pretty sure I was the youngest person at the conference. Surrounded by PhD students, professors, experienced practitioners, I was confident that I was going to have very little to contribute to the conversation. My first session was on gender and development. A very relevant topic to my research, I was excited to hear opinions from individuals who came from a diverse set of cultures, traditions, religions, and backgrounds. We broke up into small groups, told that we each had to share an opinion on a targeted question.
My group had the immense task of defining gender inequality, and discussing the various dimensions of such inequality. I decided that I was going to probably take more notes than actually share opinions, feeling a bit younger and inexperienced in the group of women I was sitting amongst. There was a well known German women’s rights advocate, an Indian NGO leader, and a feisty academic from Australia that guided our focus group. The discussion hit on angles of power dynamics, history, the gender binary, and differences between gender and sexuality, and I felt a bit of comfort as I heard concepts that I had heard of before, and arguments that I felt well versed in.
Slowly, however, the conversation began to take on a tone that was all too familiar. I felt a discomfort at how much the discourse revolved around the ideals of the Western world. The group started throwing out examples of gender inequalities in almost an abrasive tone, without really situating the examples in a context or a history, or even really showing why those examples were anything beyond something that was just different from what the West presumes is normal. Without really thinking, I interjected in the middle of the discussion to suggest that gender equality is mistakenly not recognized in communities that look dissimilar from western societies because a lack of understanding of indigenous systems of culture and alternative systems of justice and law. The group suddenly got quiet and looked at me with a bit of confusion, but then articulated a general acceptance of what I stated.
I suddenly became extremely aware of myself. I was a 20 year old Muslim Pakistani American student from Northwestern University sitting in an international conference in Istanbul on NGOs and social change. How did this happen to me? What? Huh?
When I thought about this at the conference, there were two names that answered that question for me. The Global Engagement Summit (GES) and GlobeMed. When I arrived at NU as a freshman, I had no idea what an NGO was, what international development meant, or that I even had a role to play in such issues. After joining GES and GlobeMed, I became immersed in discussions on every topic you can think of. Poverty, sex trafficking, hunger, clean water, microfinance, global health…you name it; we discussed it at some point or another. I was introduced to a completely new world. To the misfortune of my parents, I left my pre-medical studies with the intention of going to law school to become a human rights advocate. (Sorry Mom and Dad, I promise you’ll understand one day).
Sitting in this conference this past week, I realized how much GES and GlobeMed have taught me. Being an undergraduate student, I don’t think that there is any way I would have been half as knowledgeable and well versed in social justice and development had it not been for my involvement with these two organizations at Northwestern University. So many participants told me how impressed they were that a student of my age was able to speak about global issues and challenge development ideas that were being put forth with such vigor and interest, and all I could really respond with was, “I was lucky and found the right student groups at NU.”
So, this is a shameless but IMPORTANT plug. If you’re a student at NU and have the tiniest inclination that these issues matter to you, check out GES or GlobeMed. I can now say with experience, that my involvement in these organizations taught me and is still teaching me things that are simply not taught in a classroom. Honestly, I probably would never have even ended up in Istanbul last summer had it not been for GES and GlobeMed.
GES and GlobeMed are fostering the development of a powerful generation that is going to make unbelievable breakthroughs and implement pragmatic, sustainable, and responsible change. But most importantly, GES and GlobeMed are preparing NU students to become global citizens, something that everyone should be.
Check it out now:
When I left Istanbul last summer, I knew I would be back sooner than I thought. I never thought it would be this soon.
In June of 2009, I left for Istanbul not knowing what to expect. I was going to take two classes at Bilgi University and was a summer intern at the Istanbul Policy Center and Bilgi Law School. Totally anxious and intimidated by my summer plans, I remember getting on the plane with absolutely no idea as to what the next three months would bring.
If you ran into me at all this year, you know now that those three months were the three most beautiful months of my life. I met incredible people, had challenging conversations, overate to the point of gluttony, and underwent spiritual rejuvenation.
I came back to Northwestern this year with a new perspective on life. As cheesy as it sounds, I came back different. I had learned experientially that the world extends so far beyond Northwestern, beyond Chicago, beyond the United States. Walking down Sheridan Road, I would find myself daydreaming about the busy roads of Eminonu’s Spice Bazaar or the soft breeze I would feel while praying at night in Ortakoy Cami.
Reminiscing about Istanbul became a hobby, as I became notorious for bringing up Turkey in every conversation. My friends, unfortunately, did not have much of a desire to listen to these stories. You know who you are.
It must have been fate when I was reminiscing about Istanbul with Rita Koryan, who runs the study abroad program in Istanbul. She asked me why I didn’t apply for a research grant to go back this summer through the Keyman Modern Turkish Studies Grant.
I had no answer to her question. So I applied.
Initially, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to research. Istanbul is an immense cosmopolitan city that is a hotbed of every issue you can think of, and of course, every single issue interested me.
After much deliberation, I realized that the one issue that had always struck my heart more than anything else, was that of women’s rights in the Muslim world. Undoubtedly, the status of women is Islam is one of the most hotly contested issues in the media today. Being a Muslim woman in the West, I often feel a sense of urgency towards the challenges that women are facing in countries like Turkey. However, I also felt a deep sense of responsibility to re-tell the narrative that is so ardently told in the mass media. Oppression, injustice, and inequity are often used as generalized terms to describe the state of women in the Eastern world. But more often than not, the story is much more complicated. That complication is what I want to decipher, and ultimately address in my future work.
The most powerful agent of female empowerment is education. So, aptly, I’m studying women’s access to education. There are two main objectives to my research this summer. The first objective of my research is to understand the non-governmental and governmental programming that is already in existence to advocate for women’s education and combat female illiteracy. These organizations will provide an understanding of what kinds of approaches are being utilized to implement education laws and advocate for women’s rights. Additionally, the organizations will shed light on what populations are being reached to increase women’s literacy and facilitate their access to education. Understanding the methods and practices that organizations are using to facilitate women’s access to education will provide the basis for the second objective.
The second objective of my research is to engage the perspective of the Turkish women themselves to understand their socioeconomic, religious, and political background to examine the factors that propelled or prohibited them from accessing an education. The perspective of these women will elucidate their needs and the factors that should ideally be addressed by the various organizations in existence. The women will serve as the necessary perspective in evaluating how effective organizations have been in implementing education laws.
This summer will be very different as compared to last summer. I will be living with a group of Turkish girls in a student apartment rather than a dorm with American students, I will be conducting independent research, and will probably traveling throughout Turkey for interviews and visits to NGOs and government agencies.
In a way, I feel like I know what to expect. I’m going to reconnect with incredible friends that changed my life, I’m going to eat ice cream at Mado, I’m going to pray at the Mosque that houses the grave of one of the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) closest companions, Eyup RA. But I also know that this will be going back to finish something I started last summer. I’m going to learn this summer, and come back with something to share with Northwestern University.
I hope that I’m able to share my journey with you every step of the way. I can’t wait to engage in conversation with you as I begin to try to answer questions that probably don’t have clear answers.
When I arrived in Istanbul, I stayed at a student apartment until I could move into the dorm. One of my roommates, Melike, became a close friend almost immediately. She graduated from Bosphorous University this year, and her mother came to stay with us for a week to attend the ceremony. Melike’s mother speaks no English, but somehow, she and I developed a special connection without even having to speak a language to one another.
Every morning before I left for my internship, she would send me off with a hug and kiss, and when I would return home she would greet me just like a mother greets her child after a day at school. I felt totally comfortable with her, as if I had known her forever. My adjustment to my new life here felt so natural with her around, and I always felt cared for; her warmth and kindness made me feel right at home thousands of miles away from my family.
One morning, she and I were at the apartment alone. She made breakfast for the both of us, and we sat at the table together in the balcony. We tried to converse with the few words that I had in my vocabulary, and we gestured at each other with facial expressions and hand movements. Desperately trying to make the conversation work, I grabbed my laptop and pulled up a Turkish-English translator. We talked to each to each other word by word, and slowly I learned about her family, marriage, and even about religious beliefs. It was amazing that we were able to communicate with one another in such a strange way, but still understood one another and got to know each other on a deep level. When Melike came home she excitedly told her about her conversation, and kept hugging me out of happiness.
Within a day or two of meeting her, I started calling her anne, or mother in Turkish. There was no better word that I could use for her. She became my resident mother in Turkey, and she gave herself the responsibility of taking care of me while I was here. She told me that there would be no way that my parents would think that Turkey hadn’t taken good care of me. When she left to return to her hometown, she insisted that I come and stay with her in Sivas, and after promising her that I would with constant InshAllah’s, meaning God willing, I knew I had to make it happen somehow.
On Monday, after a four hour bus ride, I arrived in Sivas at 10:15 pm absolutely exhausted. I got out of the bus expecting to see only Melike because of how late I was arriving, but was taken aback to see the whole family waiting for me. My anne came and embraced me as if she had not seen me for years, and cheesy as it sounds, my heart was overwhelmed with joy. I still can’t describe what that felt like. She loved me so much; she took care of me not just as a young girl living in a country far away from my family, but as her daughter. She called her relatives on the ride home and told them, “My daughter from Pakistan has arrived to Sivas!” She was so caring and warm, so giving and kind, without even knowing me at all, she took me in as one of her own.
Beyond her immense love, Melike’s mother is one of the most amazing cooks that I have ever met. Every meal here leaves me absolutely in awe. Everything is homemade, fresh, and absolutely delicious. After eating at numerous touristy restaurants in Istanbul, the food that I’ve enjoyed here the past couple days has been mind blowing. I’m going to miss her and her cooking so much. I’ve been trying to convince her to come to America and stay with me, and she always smiles and nods. She has promised that she will try her best to make it to my marriage.
The past couple days, we’ve been visiting Melike’s relatives and friends. Last night, we went to Melike’s uncle’s home for dinner. Just like every other family I have visited, they had prepared a feast for me, and I spent the majority of my evening attempting to finish all of the amazing food placed before me. We spent the whole evening laughing and talking, sharing stories and jokes, talking about history and love stories. Before I left, her uncle gave me a handmade knife that is made by a master who is almost 70 years old, and incredibly well known in Sivas. Her uncle told me that it was a gift for my father. Once again, I was overwhelmed, and did not know how to thank these people for their kindness. I felt like I had gained a second family.
I’m leaving for Istanbul on Saturday, and will have to say goodbye to my new family. The toughest goodbye will be to my anne, but I have promised her countless times that I will never forget her and that I will come back one day, InshAllah. I really do hope that God brings me back here one day.
