Not so fast Nuri

People ask me why I do it, and I have to admit that I tailor my reply to suit the one who asks. Most people who know me will readily agree that my liver must feel very relieved once in a while to be given a full month of light duties, when it is required to do little more that process pure drinking water ready to be carried various distances and jettisoned. However, to some I admit that there is a little more to it than that. Just one notch further up the ratcheted elevator of truth we come to the admission that it is an exercise in will power. You see, I spend an awful lot of time explaining to people that smoking cigarettes is a very foolish thing to do and that if they really try then they can give up the habit. Most will listen quietly, but far too many will gesture towards my pint, my glass of wine or my mug of Jameson’s and say the words that you too would say if you were in their shoes. Words along the lines of “So why don’t you give up drinking; you smug, boring nag?”

So, why don’t I? I have no good answer to that, but I can show off for a couple of months every year just to show a certain amount of will power and in doing so silently challenge the smokers to likewise refrain. I doubt that they think any better of me for my efforts, but I do.

Now, the third reason I only admit to a few, that I stop drinking alcohol out of respect for our neighbors who are getting through the daylight hours without even water to drink and who may be somewhat put out at the sight of us Westerners quaffing large quantities of drinks, drinks which are far more expensive than their forbidden water and drinks which are theoretically disallowed to them at any time.

Having set the scene, I will now relay to you a painful hour on the fourth day of Ramadan this year.

We had just finished lunch when Nearly Normal Nuri dropped by. He had parked his two meter diameter bundle of twigs, hard won from the forest, on our garden wall; a mistake. Sweating profusely and grinning from ear to ear, he sat himself down on our terrace under the shade of the mulberry tree.

Miraculously, I remembered that we were in the holy month and did not offer him a drink. That, I’m fairly sure, was another mistake. Now Frau and I usually drink tea and water by the gallon, but now decided not to in deference to poor Nuri. Rather awkwardly we sat and attempted small talk, my contributions being minimum but Frau’s being adequate. Now as I have said before, small talk in our village is pretty much restricted to the health of one’s family and animals and possibly to the progress of the crops. Our pets are of no interest to the villagers and our crop of useless flowers likewise, so the conversation was a little one-sided and soon virtually dried up.

After a few minutes’ silence the garden gate creaked and with a cheery “Woing” in came Normal Nuri. I don’t think Turks do eye-rolling, but something passed over Nuri’s face which was the exact equivalent. Germans certainly do do eye rolling.

Again with the awkward stilted conversation and slowly my ultra sensitive antenna picked up on what was going on. Nearly Normal had dropped in on us, the first time in months, because we infidels would be happy to serve him a liter or two of water. Then Normal had espied the bundle of goat feed on our wall and, suspecting the truth, had come to catch out his brother in breaking the fast!

Frau is smarter than me, and I later learnt that she had sussed the situation right from the start. No doubt NNN also knew exactly why his brother was there and so we four sat, all aware of the underlying tensions but not admitting to it. Sideward glances, yes; silent plotting too and sneaky enquiries as to the time in an attempt to break the deadlock, the situation went on for a full, tense 10 minutes before we were joined by the imam, who I suspect was prowling his parish on the lookout for transgressors. Well, the imam’s presence briefly livened up the conversation, but the five of us slowly reverted to the silence of before, but this time with even more suspicion, guilt and plot in the air and on the faces of us all.

Let me leave you with that scene for a moment whilst I explain Nearly Normal’s “Woing.” I hope you didn’t go to the trouble of looking up the word. It is not in any dictionary. In fact it has probably never been seen in print before, and my transcription of the word may be a little inaccurate. The word is used only in this area, and I think originated in this very valley. It is not so much a greeting as a hail, perhaps the equivalent of “Hoy!” or “Hey!” “Watcha!” or “Howdy.” Used within about 50 kilometers of here it will often raise a smile as folk recognize your place of origin or residence, and I suppose it’s even more amusing coming from a European. Hey, you should try it, even in the big city there; go on do it now, go out into the street, take a deep breath and shout “Woing!” See the reaction of passers-by.

Back to our terrace. It was certain that the imam wasn’t going to be the first to leave, so Nearly Normal eventually sighed, hitched up his pants and left, having burrowed himself into his bundle of sticks. Normal soon followed, perhaps to stalk his brother, and finally the imam excused himself and turned to leave, but as he did so he delighted us with a big wink.