TE16 Turkish Delight

Nazli Karabiyikoglu I’moneof thosewho stays. Inavermiliondress, furred bootswhen it’s winter. In a wagon of the stinky train heading to suburbs. In pain. Veiny. Bleeding.

Men. Ana. Ake. Siz qayda bara jatırmız?

Would it count, to interrupt the cry, to cut it with tongue? What if I attributed to you only the nasal sound?

I was born here. It says Frankfurt on my birth certificate. I spoke German with my first friend. But my mother had made me say some stuff in her African language. I liked its sound. Using those had always made it easier for me to get away with lying to her and the punishment that came after. That’s why I ran from school actually. To declare. My tongue is African, I’m not one of you, I’m eccentric. Special. My light brown skin, my Turkic eyes aren’t from here. Where did we come from? Who came together to make me? I was Noah’s at my fifteen. I had to forget African - deny all of my childhood - and turn Turkic. It was hard, and I refused at first. Then I made my peace. Maybe my roots were Turkic. I began expanding in the language of my father, whom I didn’t know at all. This time I used that secret language to please them, and not to escape punishment: Turkish. I learned to say canım. Su. Bu şarkı çok güzel. Gök aydınlandı, gök karardı 4 . The more Turkish I 4. Turkish: “Successively; honey, water, this song is nice, sky is lit, sky got dark. 296