[The Old Groaner] Don’t ask me why*

“Mustafa Bey, [the mukhtar] why are you widening the road?” Now that was a long time ago so I can’t remember the actual answer and I won’t do Mustafa an injustice by inventing it. I do clearly remember though what the answer was not. It was not a simple “Well, it’s not wide enough for the amount of traffic we have” or “We are expecting the traffic to significantly increase in the near future.” I do remember trying to make a point by dramatically lying full stretch in the road for about five minutes, and I clearly remember not being hit by traffic. The road is now wide enough for Formula 1 racing, and it carries just about the same traffic as it did back then. However, in this particular piece I’m not bleating about the width of roads but in general about the undertaking of anything without any apparent reason.

Just yesterday I asked a village chap why he had a dog. Frau was on the warpath again because this beautiful animal was tied on the end of a two-meter length of rope at the same tree day and night, seven days a week (I know, I know, “24/7” in modern language). So I asked the chap why he owned a dog. No, not “It’s a guard dog of course” or “It’s for hunting,” just a lot of waffle that included his question to me “Why do you own a dog?” (Need I say that my answer that the dog is my friend somewhat puzzled him.)

“Why are you burning the grass at the roadside, Nuri?” The actual answer is, I think, “To kill off snakes and scorpions,” but he will not say that, he will say, “It’s July,” in other words he always does it because his dad always did it and his granddad before that. It’s what you do in July!

Ayşe is a nice Turkish lady who owns a hotel nearby. She told us of her plan to erect one of those hideous “monopods” at the side of one of the only two roads that give access to our valley. The thing was to carry a three by one meter photo of our beautiful valley.

“Why Ayşe?” … “It will be very beautiful.” … “Yes, but whoever drives by your beautiful photograph is going to see the actual, live view of our beautiful valley just five minutes after passing your beautiful photograph. Why give them a preview?” … “But it will be lovely...” Forgive me, once again I am unable to record exactly what she said, only that it did not by any means amount to an explanation. Hey don’t, please, get me wrong. Of course I am not always right, but given a reason I can at least argue my corner. “It will be very beautiful” is simply not a statement that I can argue with.

The lady who runs that small hotel I just mentioned came round for a chat yesterday and just by coincidence I was doing something that most sane people would think to be very silly indeed. I was varnishing a fish. We were preparing to make a photograph of a trout in order to illustrate a recipe in a friend’s cookery book. The fish was a full day old and looked most unsuitable as a delicious grilled trout so I had applied the minimum amount of poster color of what I thought were the right “rainbow” colors and was now attempting to get a decent shine on the guy. I couldn’t use water for fear of spoiling the paint-job so I had decided on a light spray of clear yacht varnish. I thought I might have a little fun with Ayşe, so when she asked what on earth I was doing I stated the obvious, “I’m varnishing this fish,” to which she naturally replied “Why?” I then told her that “it will be very beautiful.” Again she persisted with “Yes, but WHY are you doing it?” I shamelessly strung her along for several more minutes before my grin gave the game away. Perhaps a suitable ending would have her hit me across the face with my fish, but thankfully she saw the point and the funny side and just laughed along with me.

(Yes thanks, the photo came out very well; you should try to spot it in the next cookery book you buy.) I think I now qualify as what they call a “food artist.” Next time she comes round I could well be painting apples bright red.

Has anyone ever asked why they have zebra crossings across the major highways hereabouts? For sure you’ll never get an answer. Nobody would risk ridicule by answering, “So that pedestrians may safely cross the road,” would they?

Now let us move on a little and speculate why it is that Turks can’t answer these questions. Is it because they are not used to asking “Why?” to figures in authority? That certainly seems to be the case in our valley and I suppose that a person will eventually lose the ability to question the need for any action or to question anyone, even themselves, as to motive.

Ah! Frau has just leaned over my shoulder and told me that I’m wrong! (Not an unusual occurrence.)

There is one answer that you will all know. Here is a selection of questions: “Usta, why isn’t the wardrobe the size I asked for?” … “Ali, why isn’t my car ready?” … “Orhan, why does the fuse keep tripping?”