There’s another American gal here who has been teaching English. Since she spends most of her time in English, and came after me, her language is not as developed as mine. She asked if I would assist her in finding out how to help refugees. We started at a cultural center and they directed us to a compassion tent in the middle of town. They said we could give donations to a certain people group at the tent. They said if we didn’t find the information we needed there, we could go to the governor’s office.
We checked out the tent but decided to go ahead and go to the governor’s office to see if we could learn something more. I felt a little timid as I entered the pristine building’s entrance and was met by a security guard. We talked with the security guard and told him what we wanted. He said we first needed to go to the immigration office to get permission. I explained that we only came there because the security guard at the cultural center had referred us and that we only wanted some information. He said he would take us to meet the guy in charge of refugees. He checked our bags for weapons and then escorted us to the guy’s office.
We sat down and I explained that we wondered if we could help refugees. He explained that we needed to write down what we wanted to do and get permission from the immigration office and then we could talk to him. I turned to my friend to see if she had understood. He assumed that I had not understood so he told me to wait as he called his son to translate for us. The son told us the same thing that I had understood. I explained that we didn’t have a plan in mind but just wondered what was available or already ongoing to help refugees.
After the phone call, the official explained that he couldn’t give out that information. It was secretive and forbidden to give out to anyone who didn’t have permission. He started acting suspicious. He began asking why we wanted that information, where had we come from, and why were we even in his city. I explained I was a language student. I quickly learned this guy is the interim immigration director as well as doing this other role in the governor’s office. He scoffed and said my Turkish was awful for having been here a whole year. He then asked where my residence permit was and said I needed one to live here. He insisted on seeing my card.
I started sweating at this point. I wasn’t clearly thinking that day. I had dressed more casual than I normally do donning a comfy shirt and tennis shoes. Locals rarely dress casual. So here I was in one of the highest offices in the city dressed like a bum. And with dread, I realized that my residence permit had expired just three days prior. Gulp. I slowly handed him my card and tried to explain that I had reapplied the week before. He starts making phone calls to see if I was legit. He called one place and didn’t get a reply. I showed him where I had received a message from the immigration office the previous week and how they had said my new one would come in 10 days or so. He asked if they had given a paper stating so. No, but I wish I had asked for one. I asked if there was a problem. He said there wasn’t as he wrote down my id number. He said he would be checking on me. He made one other phone call and the lady explained that I had indeed reapplied and my card was being printed in another city. He hung up and with a smile said, “No problem.” Shew.
I relaxed a bit as he ordered some tea for us. He then asked more candidly why I had come to his city. I went through the spill that I had visited and had enjoyed the culture and history here and discovered their food was amazing. He agreed about the food and said that our food was not that great. I had friends in his city so that’s why I chose here. He asked what my parents thought about me coming here. I told him my mom visited before I moved here and she saw it to be a safe place and the people helpful. I told him we like helping too and that’s why we were asking questions. He then explained that I was using the wrong word for refugees and there were no refugees in his city. He used another word which meant asylum seekers and explained this city only has asylum seekers. He then told me there was a soup kitchen type place where we could help out if we wanted. I told him that was very helpful and the kind of information we had wanted. As we were leaving, he asked if I wanted his phone number. I said if he wanted to give it I would take it. He told me to call him any time I needed help. I felt like that was an indicator that we had ended on good terms.
My friend and I met back up on another day to visit the soup kitchen type place. The director was very kind and helpful. We learned that they feed 2300 people two meals a day six days a week. They serve all the needy no matter of nationality. The folks usually pick up the already prepared meals and eat them at their homes. They have three vehicles that they use to take the meals to elderly people. The facility has a clothes closet of used things to give to the needy. They also provide scholarships to university students. It’s ran by a paid staff so they rarely use volunteers. They were mostly looking for financial and clothing donations as the place is funded through donations. Although while we were there, one man donated a lamb so apparently animals are also acceptable donations.
As people donated, the director wrote what/how much they donated on a form and gave them an official copy. He would then say, “May God accept you.” One of the pillars of their belief system is giving to the poor. Most people give in an effort to earn good points with God. If at the end of their life they have more good than bad, hopefully God will accept them. It’s a different mindset than when I give. I give because I want to help ease someone’s suffering. I don’t give in an effort to get something myself. The director offered for us to come back and observe the meal time as well as eat with the staff so we can better understand how it works.
A few days passed after my run in with the official. I told the story to another American who has lived here for 25 years. She said I should call and thank my new friend. Him giving me his phone number was a big deal and I should reciprocate by giving him a call. When my residence permit had still not arrived after two weeks, my other friend suggested I call him to check on it. It seemed so strange to my American mindset to call the director. An American official would be too busy to bother with a little foreign girl. He would be irritated that I hadn’t exhausted all other means.
I despise making phone calls. I especially despise official type phone calls. Official phone calls in my second language are just plain terrible. I rehearsed what I was going to say and even though I was pouring sweat, I got up the nerve and called. He remembered me and was super kind. I thanked him for meeting with us. I very brokenly told him we visited the soup kitchen. Then I apologized for being a nuisance and explained that my residence permit had still not arrived. I wondered aloud if there was a problem and explained that I don’t want to do something wrong. He said not to worry that sometimes these things can take up to 3 weeks. He told me he would check into it the next day and get back to me. And he did! Or at least his secretary did. My actual permit showed up about an hour later with a postal worker. So now I’m officially able to live here another year and I have a new friend!
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