Two weeks ago one of my kids had their first proper ‘accident’ (I’m so proud!?) It had been a lovely sunny family day in our city. We had met one of my friends and her toddler in the park. It was around 3 pm. My 2.5 year old had taken a big stick (branch?) up to the top of a slide. I took it from him before he poked someone else’s toddler’s eye out. 30 seconds later I saw him bounce headfirst down the stairs and land on his face. You know that few seconds of silence a child gives before they scream or don’t scream? It’s a window you can intercept sometimes with a distraction or comfort to divert the shock. Well this time there was no seconds silence and immediately along with the blood from his nose, sprung a piercing cry. After scooping him before I could even sit on a bench another family was mopping my son’s blood off my shirt. The mother gently pressed one to his nose and stopped the bleeding. An older lad of maybe 8 came and offered my toddler a cookie (which he crammed in his mouth straight away amid blood and sobs).
I kid you not within 1 minute the entire park was around our bench. My husband had to literally push his way through the throng of concerned kind people around my sobbing son. ‘Excuse me, excuse me, he’s my son’ he said in Turkish as the sea of people reluctantly parted to let him through. My new friend continued to slop the blood flowing from my son’s nose. I got lots and lots of advice as to what to do next, most people advising I took him to the hospital. After a while the sobs subsided, the bleeding stopped (and my son’s right eye began to disappear!) and we gathered our stuff to leave the park and make the short journey home. My friend that I had arranged to meet, sprinted up to me panting and carrying her 18 month old toddler and unbeknown to me she had run down the street to the local pharmacist and got us an ice pack and antiseptic cream! I was overwhelmed by her generosity and kindness. Later at home my boy fell asleep from the shock of it all (and he hadn’t napped that day!) and after some sofa-time with toast and Peppa Pig was soon happy again. My phone bleeped with my friend asking how he was. If this incident had happened in England the heart would have been so much the same, everyone wanting to help but I can’t imagine the same amount of overt concern that I experienced here. By English standards it may have even been considered intrusive! A few months ago I might have found it so. But in that moment where I faced a crisis (all beit a small one) and I was a yabanci (a stranger) the people of this community drew so close. They drew me in as one of their own. The fact that we were English didn’t matter. The fact that our Turkish was broken didn’t matter. The love and kindess (and the cookie!) of the Turks last Saturday was unbelievable. I will never forget it and God please help me to learn from it.
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AuthorBHK, a wife, a mother, believer. Loves to swim, journal, create fantastic Shellac nails, shop and eat chocolate. Negotiating life, parenthood and community in Istanbul. Archives
December 2016
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