[The Outsider] Ali Bey’s world

Ali Bey takes the dolmuş to work every day. He has a family who lives in Gebze; a wife and four children. Two of the children are disabled, the boy deaf and the girl multiply handicapped; in fact she has a 95 percent disability, according to the government, although we can’t tell which 5 percent is not disabled, poor thing. Things have not been easy for Ali Bey and his wife.

These days one daughter is married and doing well enough and the deaf boy is working for one of our neighbor’s brother’s factories and carries his father on his insurance. The disabled girl, who is bed-ridden, is finally getting all of her benefits from the government for her disability and the youngest son has just been accepted to a good electrical engineering school in Bursa.

Our sokak is known locally as “The Street of the Barking Dogs.” Schoolboys, never girls, dare each other to run the gauntlet of our block. They laugh and jeer at the dogs as they run past, who oblige their derring-do by snarling, slavering and throwing themselves against the bars of their luxurious, marbled, open-air enclosures. Newcomers almost wet their pants and sometimes have to back down the street before they finish, but the joy on the faces of the bolder boys, after a successful finish to their trial, is a joy to behold.

Every morning of his life, Ali Bey feeds many of these dogs, those belonging to three of the sokak families. He also cleans up their mess from the day before. He works in the gardens of two of the same families. When my husband and I are gone he feeds our cats and waters our garden and any other chores we need done while we are gone. He picks up bread, milk or cigarettes for those of us who forgot something at the store and delivers them upon his arrival at work. He calls when we are out of town to ask if he should accept a delivery. He is the keeper of everyone’s keys, including people he only works for occasionally. If Ali Bey can’t be trusted, the sun will fall into the sea.

Mornings on our street would not be the same without Ali Bey’s dire imprecation to the dogs: “I will beat you, Buddy! Arap, I will beat you!” (Ali only threatens them with the one thing.) Of course he would never beat them, but he, of all people, including the owners, is the only one who can control these pretty much monstrous dogs. None of us will go into the walled entrances of our neighbors, past the dogs, to knock on the door. We stand in the street and call out, and enter through alternative entrances or wait until the dogs are behind bars, literally.

Ali Bey’s youngest son -- besides going to school, achieving good grades and preparing to take exams -- helps his dad out with his caretaker jobs. He also works several days a week for our neighbor behind us, who is only here on the weekends, in his garden. In spite of, or because of, his busy schedule, he did very well on his exams.

The son’s gift to his father for Ramadan was to give him a little vacation before he himself has to go to begin his university career in Bursa, where he will live too far away to help much with his father’s chores. Ali Bey is so proud of his son that he scowls at any mention of him, to allay the evil eye.

Recently, on a very hot day, the boy was working in the garden behind us and we called him over to find out his school plans. As the boy answered my husband’s questions, with much courtesy and enthusiasm, I found myself getting more than a little misty. His energy, his clear-eyed virtue and his intelligence all defined this incredible time in his life, the chance to escape from the hard times of his young life, the disappointments and crushing blows of his dad’s experience. The son’s love and respect for his father is boundless.

Poverty is such a mind-killer, but in this case it produced this boy, this student, this lover of his family.

When we gave him a little money to help him get to Bursa to register next month he thanked us and immediately said he would give the money to his father. I protested to my husband that the money was for the boy -- but I had misunderstood. He was giving the money to his father to hold for him, because if you can’t trust Ali Bey, the sun will fall into the sea.

So, what has this poor, uneducated, unimaginative man -- Ali Bey -- done for the neighborhood, besides feed the dogs and water the gardens? He has given us the chance to learn, and to be part of a success story. We have all learned to love and admire a man who, for little pay, has shown the magnificence of his honor by showing up every single day of his life, on time, against all odds, and done his job. This humble man has raised four children, two of them with grave disabilities, utilizing a strength of character not found in most parents with a hundred times his advantages. We neighbors have all been a part of it, by watching his life unfold and by helping him a little along the way. We pay him his salary, we lend him a little here and there and we share our sacrifice meat with his family. One neighbor’s brother gave his son a job. Another took up a collection for physical therapy that Ali Bey believed beyond his reach, and therefore unthinkable, but which, eventually, actually made him smile. My husband helped him maneuver the bureaucracy to get his daughter’s full benefits.