Kriti Mu!

ŞAHİN YALDIZ

He used to tell the stories about the house in Crete. White walls facing our lovely sea: Aegean. The orange trees were blossoming as if they were bearing the art. And the smell of the trees… He could not find the proper word to describe it and would begin singing the song beginning with his mother-tongue Greek:
κρήτη μου! (My Crete)

They suddenly got inside the house in Caterini. It was 1924 and we were forced to leave in three days. We could not get anything from our house except for some money. But they suddenly got inside the house. They killed my husband because he did not tell the whereabouts of the money. After his death we could not leave for five days more but another Greek family who were moved from Smyrna settled in our house. We lived together for these five days, we loved each other so much. I still remember her coming to my room with a smiling face and saying:

δώσε μου το τηγάνι! (Can you give me the pan?)

I was raised with the stories of the Great Population Exchange of 1924 between Greece and Turkey. Two million people were forced to leave their homelands. 700.000 Turks dwelled into Turkey, 1.300.000 moved to Greece. Some of the Turks could not speak Turkish and some of the Greeks could not speak Greek. They were in a ‘cultural purgatory’.  

I was raised with their stories told with a cute Greekish Turkish. My father’s grandfather was from Crete and my mother’s grandmother was from Thessaloniki. Full blood immigrant… As I was hearing the stories, I grew a great interest in Crete. What was there? Was it really that beautiful? And the girls? Yeap they always boast about the beauty of Cretan girls, were they beautiful? The best olive oil in the world? And the fish? People? The house. The house! The house? Was it still there waiting for its grandson?

I met with Nikos Kazancakis. The most known Cretan writer, the writer of Zorba. I got lost in the book when I woke up a morning and found my way when I finished at midnight. Zorba was calling me! I saw him. I talked with him and he was calling me. He was saying ‘I found a green jewel. Come.’. But how? How could I go there? I was poor! Because it was in Schengen Zone, that means lots of money even for the visa. Also, it was not easy to get there. That’s why my obeying to Zorba’s order just remained as a dream for years.

However, one day I saw a post in my university’s homepage. A professor felt from a high place, broke her spine and she would like to donate some money for a student who really wants to see a country. She was doing this to thank the God. Accidentally, I had the same accident, fell from 6^th floor and broke all the bones in my body.  I talked with her about our identicality and got the money! As soon as I got the money, I decided not to go for Crete. Because it is Crete of my dreams, what if this is spoiled when I see it in reality? This question seemed stupid and I got the tickets.

When I saw its shape from above, I was breathless. This was my Crete. I could not wait to land. As soon as I step on the ground, I just leant down and kissed the ground. I did not seek any hotel, any food or anything else. I just ran to the tomb of Kazancakis. It was on a high hill, but I climbed it. When I saw the tomb and the surrounding Heraklion, I began to cry hysterically while I was leaning to the tomb. “I was happy, I knew it. It is hard to feel the happiness while living it. We can only understand that happiness when we pass it and look back. However, now, in Crete, I’m living the happiness and I’m knowing that I’m happy.” I remembered that sentence of Kazancakis. I looked at the tomb and saw the writing that wiped out my panic attack disorder since I had this accident:

I HOPE FOR NOTHING

                                                         I FEAR FOR NOTHING
                                                               I AM FREE!

I could ask some fund for America, China, Japan or somewhere else which is ‘fancy’ and ‘expensive’. However, the island which is so near to Turkey has always been a dream for me.  I made it. I’d taken the book with me. I tore a page which I believe it was written for me and buried it near tomb. This journey changed my mind. By the way, I could not find ‘the house’ but I will.

κρήτη μου!

Now it is time to find out my maternal roots. However, this time the task is harder. I need a book that will change my life, first. Also, I need to be sure that I’ll be able to leave the village in Greece after finding it out, because I know even the location of the house which was dwelt by my ancestors for years. I am ready!