Not unlike the character Tim Taylor from the popular American TV series “Home Improvement,” almost every project my father started ended either humorously or disastrously. Small jobs that needed to be done for the house in the end became major, lengthy projects that have become the stuff of family legend. I benefited greatly from observing, and many times even helping dad in his endeavors. My sisters and I early on learned to love the hardware store, with its smell of wood, grease and metal. While most of the projects my dad undertook were necessary, many things were also done to “keep up with the Joneses.” “I didn’t really need a new fireplace,” my mom said after wading through inches of sandstone dust, which covered our house for weeks after dad installed a new fireplace as a surprise. Since moving to Turkey, I have also felt the pressure to keep up with the latest decorating trend and can easily understand my dad’s pressure to keep our house looking nice. I was not, however, prepared for the unique difficulties such projects require in Turkey.Now that our move to a new flat was complete and Can returned once again to his job training in Antalya, I was left to decorate our new abode. In our previous house, I had painted our living room myself, as a surprise for Can when he was away for the weekend. In America it is quite the norm for someone to paint their own house. I was not a professional, but I was not an idiot, either. I went out and bought paint and brushes. Then I taped the edges of the salon and covered everything with old sheets. With some good music blaring and the windows open, I finished the job in 12 hours with several breaks and two coats. I enjoyed it and felt a deep sense of satisfaction that I would not have had if I hired someone else to do the job. Our new flat, however, had recently been painted, so we were spared that job, which was a good thing given my pregnant condition. Instead there were small projects that needed doing, and Can insisted that we hire a handyman, or usta in Turkish, to carry them out.
The word usta means master in Turkish and is the general title for a jack of all trades. Plumbing problem? Call your nearest usta. Need some pictures hung? They can do that, too. Or, at least they say that they can. My experience with the ustalar in İstanbul has been rather mixed, and I don’t believe things are entirely lost in translation. Our new flat, which needed a little work when we moved in, gave me headache after headache because of the incompetent “masters” I was forced to deal with. Can, from Antalya, tried to organize all of the repairmen from a distance, but he neglected to inform me first. Since I was over six months pregnant, he thought he was helping me out. Our first challenge was with our LCD television. At our old house we had it mounted on the wall, but the wall in our new house was not as stable. So, we bought a large stand from IKEA instead. However, the television was a bit too heavy for the design, so we called an usta to add two panels and provide better support. What should have been a quick and easy job turned into a five-week project. I felt like every time I opened the door to another repairman, they assessed the fact that I was a woman alone, and they started playing games. First, the panels that the master ordered were too big. Next, they were the wrong color. Finally, the right ones came, but the usta looked at me helplessly, still not understanding what I wanted him to do with them. He asked to use the restroom and while he went, I “borrowed” his hammer and nails and fixed the panels to our television stand before he left the restroom. He was shocked and a bit mortified that the weak and pregnant woman he took me for had done what he pretended he could not, but after five weeks of game playing I had had enough.
Can called yet another master to hang our pictures. He came and told me that the walls would not support my pictures, either. The wall was too sensitive to hold my two-pound pictures, at least according to the master. To prove his point, he took a drill to the wall, and the plaster around the hole fell away leaving a gaping mess. I simmered, knowing from watching my dad that a hole and screw that big were not necessary for my small pictures. Can agreed with the usta and promised to help me find a solution the next time he was home. Like most man promises, he found every excuse during his time home to not hang my pictures. For me, hanging those pictures would help the house feel less empty and more like a home. Trying to get this point across to both the master and Can was nearly impossible. I finally gave up and took a hammer and some long, thin nails and did it myself. I cringed at the amount of money Can had wasted on the ustalar on projects that we could have undertaken ourselves.
Whether renting or owning a home in Turkey, almost every expat will have to deal with an usta at one time or another. While my most recent experiences with the ustalar were pretty bad, several of my friends have found quite competent repairmen and have been happy with their results. The key is to be straightforward about what work you want done, watch everything that they do carefully, and get second, third and fourth opinions. Since the projects on our new flat were pretty minor, I could just be marginally irritated with the work done. It also didn’t help that Can was blindly organizing matters from Antalya. Left to my own devices I am sure I would have been able to hire a very competent handyman if I had been allowed to explore my options. I instead deferred to Can and didn’t want to make him feel bad when things went awry. If you happen to be a single woman expat, try and find a Turkish male friend to be with you when you are dealing with a handyman. It sounds sexist but really is the truth that my only successful experiences with an usta have been when he was bossed around by Can personally. Then, jobs that the usta swore could not be accomplished miraculously were completed. I also have since taken several recommendations from other expat friends of handymen that they used and were happy with. Finding the right kind of repairman is difficult, but something that I still believe is possible. If not, I still have the lessons learned from my childhood that can assist me when in a pinch.
