Stranded in Iskenderun

We're not done yet!

2013

I coached Tarek and his brother Yssuf (names have been changed) during their secondary school years, unless they were expelled from school again. And they often are. Nevertheless, we managed to organize a place at an educational institution where they completed their secondary school qualifications. Tarek had even qualified for secondary school to complete his secondary education. Nevertheless, the entire family, except for Yssuf, was deported to Turkey in 2013. To my surprise, Tarek kept in touch with me and really wanted to go back to Germany, where he was born. He spoke almost no Turkish.

That was - in very broad strokes - the background to my trip to Iskenderun. I was curious to see how Tarek and his family were doing in Türkiye. A little over a year later, together with Yssuf, who was now an adult, we booked a flight to Iskenderun on the Mediterranean, far in the southeast of Turkey. About 251 thousand people live here.

At that time, Putin, along with Assad, bombed the city of Aleppo, just 90 miles away, into rubble. A corresponding number of Syrian refugees came to the city. Social explosive: The already tense labor market has now become even more critical due to the poorly paid Syrians.

What? Sorry, I am a foreigner!

On the way from my downtown hotel to Tarek's family, I feel like a hand-picked tourist. There is almost no tourism here. Iskenderun is a trading center for grain, tobacco and citrus fruits and has one of the most important Mediterranean ports in Turkey. What surprises me: the city used to be a port for Aleppo. An oil pipeline from Iraq also ends here.

I'm a little sensation. People stare at me sympathetically. Despite the language difficulties, the dealers invite me into their stores. Pants. Ok, just too small for me. He points his palm downwards, about half my height. Of course I understand what he wants to tell me. But I answer like his compatriots in Germany when they don't want to talk: "Almanca. Bilmiyorum. Tesekkürler." German. I do not know. Thanks. He is stubborn, persists; but not like the dealers in Istanbul who tug at you. Yussuf comes with his brothers and saves me. We go to a nearby small restaurant together. I have a weakness for Turkish cuisine.

I have a weakness for Turkish cuisine.

Everything changes

Turkey is divided into two camps: Erdogan's AKP and the rest of the political spectrum, which cannot expect fair treatment. Power is addictive. A careless comment about the government, a tiny criticism, is enough to land you in prison. Erdogan was Turkey's hope with an unprecedented political career. He brought the country far forward and ensured economic growth and prosperity. I have known Tarek, Yussufg and his family for years. The parents adore Erdogan. Tarek is unusually monosyllabic, even intimidated compared to his activism, in both positive and negative aspects.

He now attends a Turkish school. If possible, he would like to graduate with a high school diploma. However he wants to accomplish it. In Germany he often went overboard with severity, to put it mildly. "You either end up in jail or you become filthy rich!" was my prophecy for him. Now he's here and things aren't looking good for him. He wants to go back to Germany. But as hard as it may sound, there isn't the slightest chance of that happening at the moment. He'll have to come to terms with this.

An uncertain future

Iskenderun Monument Square

Yussuf is busy with his parents. Tarek waits at the war memorial for Atatürk, at Iskenderun Anit Meydani, a huge square by the sea. He sends me greetings and an invitation to dinner at his parents' house. Tarek is depressed. I feel that life here is too narrow and too controlled for him. His parents speak to his conscience, as do his older brothers. Not that it was any different in Germany. There, too, he had to visit the mosque regularly, pray, say where he was going and be home on time in the evening. But in Germany he was verbally and mentally superior to his parents and knew every excuse, no matter how absurd, to avoid the word lie. Here the control was fine-meshed: family, friends and relatives.

Seen this way, Tarek and I take different positions. In Germany he sought his place between two forms of society. At home, the parents are devout Muslims and conservative. His father once told me that he never had the feeling that he was welcome in Germany. He came to the land of his promise in his late thirties, wanted to work and build something. But the authorities didn't allow that and refused him a work permit. He lived on state benefits for over twenty years. After all, when he was over fifty, he had to work so as not to be deported. Too late for him.

About toxic men and women

Shadow creatures

In very Islamic countries, mothers expect strength and masculinity from their husbands and sons. A fact whose significance is often underestimated and ignored by radical feminists. During my active time as a social worker, I was allowed to witness such mother-son conversations several times: "You're a girl, a wimp, a cocksucker!" are even more harmless rhetorical gaffes. Women rule at home.

Anyone who grows up in such a climate for years assimilates these values, breaks down from them or rebels against them. The girls rarely fare better. Here, too, an Islamic family confronted us with brutal excesses of ailing morals: the murder of a young woman, carried out by her father and brother because she loved a Christian.

You know this when you read about honor killings in the media. Sometimes life becomes a crime novel.

Tarek was lucky. His parents are very loving. However, they have difficulty understanding the realities of life for their two sons, with whom I had to deal. The boys grew up in two cultures at the same time: Turkish and German. Tarek sought support through contact with rockers and hooligans, mostly men who like to represent strength and camaraderie in their external image.

Something is coming our way

I initially see Tarek's deportation and the associated dependence on his family and relatives as an opportunity to reposition himself. Here he cannot easily escape the reality of his life. This is about survival. Tarek doesn't like to hear that: "That's only possible with your family. Sooner or later you'll come to terms with them and find ways to earn a living."

It is not without reason that he points out the living conditions in Iskenderun. The city is flooded with Syrian refugees. They flood the job market. Turkey already has enough economic problems. Without knowing it, I am witnessing the beginning of a migration of peoples. Many of the refugees can no longer return because they have less than nothing in Aleppo. Something is brewing around the world: Syria, Afghanistan, Somalia, Eritrea. They all want a better life and not all of them escape with good intentions. Most of the refugees want to continue into the EU.

A not insignificant proportion do not have good prerequisites for life in the EU. They have a poor school education, no professional qualifications, are overwhelmed by our values or - to put it mildly - reject them for religious reasons. A 14-year-old Kurd and a Turk, whom I looked after as a social worker, confided in me. Neither of them knew each other, but they told of similar approaches taken by Islamist men in Germany: They infiltrate mosques and look for needy young Muslims who came to Germany unaccompanied or who have massive problems at home. They offer their help and give them a feeling of care, security and belonging. The leisure activities are very action-oriented. They learn how to use weapons and receive training in self-defense. Once someone came into the mosque with a box full of chicks, the Kurd told me. The young people were asked to cut the chicks' necks.

Murder is a crime in all religions.

Purpose of the exercise: emotional blunting. The motto: We are loyal to you, prove that you are also loyal to us. When I asked why they were telling me this, why they rejected the Islamists' adventurous leisure activities, they replied: "Because you and your team show us alternatives."

Alternative realities

The invitation to dinner with Yussuf and Tarek's parents comes from the heart. It is the proverbial famous Turkish hospitality at a richly laid table. They miss a little bit of Germany, the Turkish friends there and the carefree life. But here in Turkey, things are looking up thanks to their president. A real stroke of luck is her adult son, who runs an optician's shop in Side. Only Tarek still worries them a bit because he has trouble fitting in at school. The teachers here teach more consistently than in Germany. They say they are grateful for my visit. Maybe I can talk something into Tarek's conscience. He would listen to me. Tarek says nothing. For some the family is a blessing, for others it threatens to suffocate, I think. Shortly before midnight I say goodbye full and satisfied with an extreme garlic scent.

The man at the reception says: "Iyi geceler.", good night, I go to my room. I'm always startled by the ostentatious telephone on my bedside table. Communication has many facets, I think to myself and fall asleep contentedly.

When planes shit bombs

A few days later we say goodbye to each other warmly. Yussuf stays with the family he misses so much for a few more days. For me I'm heading towards Adana, where I'll stay for a few more days. That too is traveling. Iskenderun is not a typical tourist place. There are no tourist hotspots here - apart from the magnificent landscape. I like this typical non-tourist life here. Everyone is in a good mood. Except Tarek again. It's obviously difficult for him to say goodbye. Suddenly everything is so threatening for him. There is no more excuses, no more blaming teachers, friends, religion for one's own failures. Eat or die. I usually see a way, a solution, rarely just the problem. Not this time.

Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad's war against his own people is bombing the city of Aleppo with Putin's help. They shit bombs from the sky. There is no other way to say it. World politics so close. On your own doorstep, so to speak. This is a real threat for the people here too. Because they see refugees arriving every day. Scarred by the war, mentally and physically disfigured by the bombs.

Tarek and I hug as we say goodbye. And then I elicit a smile from him by saying: "We're not done yet."

A backdrop like something out of a western.

Addendum

I traveled to Tarek again a year later. He lived with relatives in Side and stalked tourists on the street to get them to his uncle's glasses shop. There are many opticians offering their services in Side. Tourists appreciate the good quality at a fraction of what they would have to pay in Germany. Tarek never let anything go wrong with women. There he met his wife. Irony of fate: a teacher. So he was able to return to Germany, trained as a naturopath, then an osteopath and now works on a large German holiday island.