Today, I had to think of Hanife Hanım, one of our old neighbors in the apartment building I grew up in. Not only was she (and presumably her husband whose name I can't remember) childless or grand-childless, she was also the only inhabitant of the block who didn't greet us kids at all, nor did she show some kind of affection like striking our heads, pinching or kissing our cheeks, which is common practice in Turkey. So distant was she that today still I remember her not as Hanife Teyze (Auntie Hanife) which would be normal for neighbors, but she was and still is Hanife Hanım (Misses Hanife) to us.
The problem with Hanife Hanım was that she lived on the first floor, and her balcony looked over a small place we called garden, but which was in reality a small strip of concrete backyard where we kids hang out or played ball. One of those days we were playing football with a plastic ball bought from the kiosk around the corner, and as usual for places which get very hot in summer, we were happy and deliriously loud once the evening chill set in and we could romp around without getting a heat stroke.
It happened at once. As the consequence of a careless accident, our ball was kicked towards the balcony on the first floor. Not only did it hit Hanife Hanım's balcony door with a loud "bang", it also bounced twice between door and the white brass patio table and got stuck there.
Our hopes that she would just throw it back died quickly and cruelly once she came out in a fury, took the ball in her hands, and ignoring our boisterous shouts "Hanifeeeee, pleeeeaaaaasee, give us back the baaaaalll!" held her gaze upon us, maybe a second too long. The atmosphere was still joyful and relaxed to a certain degree, we didn't yet know who we were dealing with. Our calls augmented to high shrieks when she nodded her head and shaking the index finger of her free hand towards us as if to say "You just wait and see!" and took the ball inside. Sweaty, exasperated and starting to feel a little nervous, we nevertheless stretched our arms as if to reach her and called "Hanifeeee, whyyyy?", but it was in vain. Nothing could have prepared us for what she had in store for us.
Hanife Hanım came back furiously, still nodding her head. And she still had the ball in her hand. But her other hand wasn't empty anymore, she was holding a humongous serrated bread knife. As she raised both the ball and the knife and in a sudden move cut it open in front of our very eyes, we took in a collective breath and sighed in shared devastation. There may be one or two of us who gave out a little "Nooo" or who sucked in the air through their front teeth and grimaced in pain. She then threw the empty plastic husk of the ball back into the yard. I like to imagine that the resulting speechless silence of shock gave her peace of mind at least for a short while and she happily exhaled with a grin on her face as she pulled the curtains shut and returned to her crossword puzzle.
I had a Hanife Hanım moment today. After one complete night of sleepless new year's eve and one day and another night of someone walking up and down my street and backyard and randomly firing fireworks and firecrackers which sound like bombs going off I feel exhausted and I'm slowly starting running on empty. As today my eyes finally started shutting to maybe a couple of hours of sweet sweet napping, another one of these bombs went off in my backyard and pulled me out of my almost sleep. I furiously opened the window and shouted on the top of my lungs it's enough already and they killed all baby birds on new year's eve, there's none left (This isn't a lie, exactly, birds do panic fly and die because of too many fireworks on new year's eve, but I used it here for dramatic effect). Immediately after saying that I saw that I was talking to a little boy of maybe five, whose face went sour and who ran inside the neighboring building after I was mean to him. I do feel bad.
I never thought I'd be Hanife in life, but here I am telling little children they are bird killers. Life takes you places sometimes...
Hap-py new year anyway.
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