Wandering
through the streets of some neighborhood made out of low tiny houses we noticed
a man standing on a hill overlooking the Selcuk town. When we reached his level
he was already kneeling, facing qibla in the far away city of Mecca. She stayed
behind…suddenly the sound of adhan from minarets disappeared and the man
bowed for some time with respect to whatever he believed. Almost invisible to
me, hidden between grass and rocks man stood up slowly with his stick. Looking
around over the foggy landscape of Selcuk he put a jacket - on which
he prayed - back on his shoulders. Now with this urban organism beneath his
feet he gazed at the creature. Creature of which veins are pumped with people,
it’s mind occupied with their daily tasks and stomach filled with their emotions
and feelings, the creature in which intestines he also has his place and
probably everyday works, sleeps, eats, shits, maybe fucks, loves, laughs and
laments. He stared for few minutes, turned away and sat on a rock calling in my direction "gel, gel!" After mutual exchange of gestures
and words I know that the man’s name is Ali, Kurd who left his home city Diyarbakır
16 years ago. With his flock of sheep behind him he reached to his pocket for
tobacco. While rolling a cigarette with thick fingers that looked like they
swelled through the ages affected by long and hard work experience of Ali, he showed me the box of tobacco explaining that it also comes from Diyarbakır.
Taking one of his "too dry to smoke" cigarettes I shake his hand again feeling it’s
weight and left Ali sitting on a rock, watching in silence moving scenery of Selcuk town.
