Words, Words, Words.

Turkey Earthquake, 1999

When I joined my school’s study tour to Istanbul, Turkey in the summer of 1999 I little suspected that I would barely miss one of the worst natural disasters in history, or that I would be given the opportunity to help save a woman’s life.  I was twenty five years old, in graduate school studying theology.  Seven students from my school spent seven weeks in Turkey learning about the language, people, culture and history of the land.

While I was there I made a friend in Istanbul, a woman a couple of years younger than I named Nese.  At the end of July I traveled to Croatia for a month, but made plans to spend five days with Nese and her family when I came back through Istanbul on August 20th.  On August 17th an earthquake measuring 6.7 on the Richter scale struck north-western Turkey, its epicenter about fifty miles south east of Istanbul.  Estimates vary widely, but at least 17,000 people died in that earthquake, and tens of thousands more were injured.  Istanbul wasn’t struck as hard as cities and towns closer to the epicenter, but there was still significant damage and casualties.

I watched the news from the little seminary in Osijek where I was working and wondered if I should change my plans to return.  I decided to place my chips on a phone call to Nese: If the call went through and she and her family still wanted me to come, I would.   Miraculously she answered, and a couple of days later I found myself on a taxi from the Istanbul airport, looking at the makeshift tents that were the first sign of the tragedy.

Nese and I wanted very much to help, and the first couple of days I was there we went to spots in Istanbul where there were injured people, or where they were still digging people out of the wreckage, both alive and dead.  But there were already plenty of people to help in Istanbul.  Then Nese, though she was Muslim, heard of a church group that was going down to Golcuk, near the epicenter, to help with relief work.  She and I signed up, got our shots, and the next day piled into cars with friendly Turks, and headed down to the scene of even greater tragedy.

It was on drive to Golcuk that we witnessed a man being saved from the rubble.  Police stopped all traffic in order to hear his voice, which was weak after five days of lying under the wreckage of his apartment building.  We all jumped out of the car to watch as rescuers carefully raised the last cement block and lifted the man onto a stretcher.  The crowd let out a cheer, and I snapped a picture of the row of cars stopped in the street, and the passersby-turned-observers celebrating the triumph of this one life.

When we arrived at Golcuk we went to the camps where tents had been set up for people whose homes had been destroyed by the earthquake.  It was raining and had been for several days, and in each tent were people who had lost not only their homes but members of their families.  Shock, grief and blood met us again and again, and we did our best to not only give out the food and supplies we had picked up from the relief organizations, but to listen to people’s stories and pray for them.  Those in our group who had medical skills did what they could for the injured, and I wished again and again that I had medical training so that I could do more for the people.

In the evening Nese called me over to a tent where an elderly lady was lying on a makeshift bed.  Nese discovered that the woman’s entire family had died in the earthquake, and she was unable to eat the food that the relief workers delivered to her.  In her intense grief she hardly cared, and had not eaten in five days.  Her bed was soaked with rain and urine.  Nese and I found the leak in her tent and pulled a tarp over it, changed her clothes and made her a new, dry bed, and found some softer food for her.

The woman perked up at our attention, and was especially excited to see an American there.  There was a rumor going around that Turkey had turned down America’s offer for help, despite the fact that Turkey’s own resources were not sufficient for the rescue and relief work.  I was never able to find out if there was any truth to that, but I was embarrassed again and again at being greeted as a hero simply because I was American.  The Turks were working day and night to help each other, and I felt that my small contribution didn’t deserve the attention it was getting.

This woman was adamant in praising me, however, and a funny scene played out as Nese and I were helping her to eat.  Nese was sitting behind her, helping her to sit up and giving her bites of food, and I was in front of her.  The woman was chattering away in Turkish despite Nese’s explanation to her that I couldn’t understand Turkish, and I was nodding and smiling at her.  Suddenly I saw Nese shaking her head at me and making a sad face, so I quickly made a sad face.  Then Nese smiled and nodded, and I smiled and nodded.  We continued like that for quite a while, the woman talking, me following Nese’s cues in responding and Nese popping food into the woman’s mouth.  Later we found medical help for her, and the next day they took her to the hospital.  Nese went to visit her in the hospital after I had returned to America, and emailed me that the doctor said we had certainly saved her life.

It was an overwhelming experience for me, but two things struck me in particular.  The first was how my circumstances gave me not only privileges but responsibilities.  As an American I was given recognition I did not deserve, and it made me aware of the opportunities I did have: education, world travel and options about how to spend my life.  The second was how healing compassion and attention could be.  The people in those tents needed practical help and resources, but they also needed to tell their stories and express their grief, and they needed to know that they weren’t just faces in the crowd.  It was our attention as much as the food and dry clothes that brought the woman out of her grief and enabled her to live.


Leave a Comment »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

    "The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."

    "The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "Which is to be master? That is all."

    Polonius: What do you read, my lord?

    Hamlet: Words, words, words.

    Words are live things that may be variously employed to various ends. ~George MacDonald

    About Jessica and Proofwriting

    I am a freelance writer and editor. Ever since I can remember I've been fascinated by language: Its power, its nuance, its rules, and the exceptions to the rules. This blog is a place to share my fascination and to connect with other language lovers.

    If you are looking for an editor for your article, paper, grant proposal, novel manuscript or anything else, click here for more information about hiring me.

%d bloggers like this: