Healing, Old Country Style

There's a story that the old folks used to tell about a boy in Marash who had a terrible eye infection.  No salve the local healer suggested would heal the boy's eyes.  Finally it was suggested that the family take their son to Istanbul to the most famous doctor of all.  The family did so at great expense both in time and money.  Finally arriving in Istanbul, the boy's father asked where to find this most famous of all doctors.  

Arriving at the door of this famous hekim, the family was ushered into his office with great dispatch. When the doctor learned of the boy's plight and examined the boy's eyes, he asked the boy to hold out his hands.  The doctor then tied the boy's hands behind the boy's back and told the family that the boy's eyes would be fine, that the eyes would heal very soon.

How Do Babies Get Here?

Here in the USA?  The stork brings them, of course!  But not in Uganda.  According to baby Mark's mother Irene, in Uganda, mothers tell their children that they (the children) came from the mouths of the mothers, and if they (the children) don't behave themselves, the mothers will swallow them (the children) right back down again!

THE GIVING TREE, Armenian Style

Family Day at Camp Haiastan brought Marash Girl and Marash Boy to Franklin, Massachusetts, to visit with their two grandchildren.  The visit began with one of the campers retelling an Armenian folk tale that Marash Girl had never heard.  

THE GIVING TREE, an ancient Armenian folk tale

Once there was a poor man who went into the forest looking for a tree to cut down so that he could chop it into pieces and sell the wood in the marketplace in order to feed his family.

Finding the largest tree he had ever seen, he began to chop it down.  The tree cried out, why are you hurting me?  The poor man answered, because I must sell your wood in the market place in order to feed my family.  The tree answered, I will give you a magic table so that you will always have food to feed your family.  Just do not chop me down.

The tree gave the poor woodsman a table that would always have food on it, and the woodsman went away happy.  But one day the woodsman was telling a rich neighbor about his table, and the rich neighbor offered the woodsman many pieces of gold for the table.  The woodsman looked at the gold, looked at the table, looked at the gold, and agreed to sell the table to his neighbor.  But after a year, there was no gold left, and the woodsman had to return to chopping wood in order to feed his family. He found the the largest tree he had ever seen, the same tree that had given him the table, and he started to chop it down.  The tree cried out, why are you hurting me?  The poor man answered, because I must sell your wood in the market place in order to feed my family. The tree asked, what happened to the magic table I gave you? The poor man answered, I sold it for gold, and now I have no more gold.

The tree said to the poor man, I will give you a donkey.  How will that donkey help me feed my family? asked the poor man.   Just tell the donkey to bray, and when he does, he will bray gold coins. You will never want again.  But one day the woodsman was telling another rich neighbor about his donkey, and that rich neighbor offered to buy the donkey for more pieces of gold than the woodsman had ever seen.  The woodsman looked at the gold, looked at the donkey, looked at the gold, and agreed to sell the donkey to his neighbor.  But after a year,  there was no gold left, and the woodsman had to return to chopping wood in order to feed his family. He found the the largest tree he had ever seen, the same tree that had given him the donkey, and he started to chop it down.  The tree cried out, why are you hurting me?  The poor man answered, because I have no money left to feed my family.  The tree asked, what happened to the donkey that I gave you? The poor man answered, I sold it for gold, and now I have no gold left.  The tree answered,  See this stick?  and the tree told the stick to beat the man.  Stop, stop, shouted the man.  The tree told the stick to stop, and told the man, I will give you this stick, and every time you tell it to beat someone, it will do so until you tell it to stop.  The poor man thanked the tree, took the stick and went to his rich neighbor.  Do you see this stick, he asked his neighbor.  It is a magic stick.  And he told the stick to beat his rich neighbor.  The neighbor cried out, please tell your stick to stop beating me!  I will tell the stick to stop beating you if you return my table to me, and so the rich neighbor returned the magic table to the poor man, and the poor man told the stick to stop beating his neighbor.  Then  the poor woodsman went to the rich neighbor that had bought the donkey from him, and said to the rich neighbor,  Do you see this stick?   It is a magic stick.  And he told the stick to beat the rich neighbor who had purchased the magic donkey.  The rich neighbor cried out, please tell your stick to stop beating me!  I will tell the stick to stop beating you if you return my donkey to me, and so the rich neighbor returned the magic donkey to the poor man, the poor man told the stick to stop beating his neighbor, and the poor man was never poor again.

The Bench in Cairo

Two weeks ago, Marash Girl was at her warehouse on a Saturday around lunchtime and saw several police cars in the parking lot, parked near the picnic tables which were in the shade under the trees on the hillside.  Inquiring if there was a problem Marash Girl soon learned that the police were simply enjoying lunch; no problem at all.  That was a relief!  When Marash Girl asked the landlord about it, he just smiled and answered, "Isn't it good to have them here?"

Relating this story to Marash Boy today elicited a telling of one of the first stories that he had ever read in Arabic, a story recorded by a well known 19th Century Egyptian novelist, and published in one of Marash Boy's early Arabic readers.  The story goes like this.

A boy was watching his father build a bench outside of their house.  The boy asked his father, "Why are you building the bench outside of the house?"  The father answered, "Wait and see."  The father completed the construction of the bench and set it outside of the house.

Every night after that, the boy noticed the night watchman for that quarter of Cairo, after making his rounds, sitting outside of their house on the new bench his father had built.

Marash Cautionary Tale: The Duduk

And speaking of duduks (see yesterday's blog post), Marash Girl's dad used to love to tell this ancient cautionary tale from Marash.   Way back when, a fellow was planning a business trip from Marash to Istanbul -- "Bring me back a duduk," asks his friend.  The fellow returns with no duduk.  "The next time you go, bring me back a duduk," presses his friend.  The fellow goes to Istanbul and returns to Marash with no duduk.  The third time the fellow goes to Istanbul,  he returns with a duduk for another fellow.  ". . . (expletives) how is it that you brought back a duduk for that fellow, and although I've asked you many times, you've never brought back a duduk for me?"  Answers the business traveller,  "That fellow gave me money to buy the duduk.  You pay your money, you get your duduk."  That line became a refrain that would always bring laughter to the gathering, when quoted at the appropriate moment!  When Marash Girl asked Marash Boy (after yesterday's concert) if he remembered the story, Marash Boy said, "No, but I remember the line, "Pay the money, and you get the duduk!"

Cingirdakli Hoca : "I know hypocrisy when I see it."

Marash Girl's Hayastantsi friend was telling her about his classmate who searched for years for the perfect wife; his classmate wanted a woman who was devout, who was holy.  He finally found her and married her.

"And then what happened?" Marash Girl asked.

Nonplussed by the question, her guest answered, "My friends had two children and lived happily ever after."

Marash girl was relieved, because she had grown up with the story of Cingirdakli Hoca (Jungur Dakla Hodja),  a story from the depths of her childhood.  Late at night, from the darkness of her bedroom, she would hear the old folks talking in their multiple languages, laughing at the jokes from the old country, and crying at the loss they had experienced in that country.

A story that was a favorite, repeated often enough so that to this day, Marash Girl remembers, was the fable of Jungur Dakla Hodja.  It goes like this.

A faithful young Muslim man, wanting to marry, looked for years for a devout woman to be his wife.  He finally found her.  She was so holy that she would veil herself whenever she was anywhere that a man might see her face, even in her own home.  She was so holy that when she went out on the back balcony, she would veil herself so that male birds would not chance to see her face.  The young man was joyous; he had found the perfect wife.

One day he had to travel to a distant land for business.  He was so in love with his wife that he wanted to return to her as soon as possible, and so he shortened his trip by a day.  Arriving home late at night, filled with happiness to be reunited with his wife, he entered his boudoir only to find his wife in bed with another man.  He could not bear it.  He quietly left the house, saddled his horse, and kept traveling until he reached Istanbul, two days distant.

As he rode into the city, he noticed a holy man, a Hodja, who was walking barefoot with bells on his ankles and toes.  Curious, he asked a passerby why the Hodja was wearing bells on his ankles and toes.  Oh, said the local, that is our holiest of holies, Cingirdakli Hoca (Jungur Dakla Hodja).  He is so holy that he wears bells on his ankles and toes to alert the little bugs and ants to his foot fall so that they will have time to scurry out of his path before he might step on them and hurt or kill them.  He is so holy that he doesn't even want to harm an ant.  Registering this information, the sad young man traveled on, and soon was surrounded by the gendarmes of the town.  "You are under arrest," they announced, grabbing him from his horse.  "But why?" he asked.  "A wealthy home in this town has been robbed of its gold and jewels and you are the only person who could have done it; no one else in this town would steal from their neighbor," replied the gendarmes.  They dragged him to the jailhouse in preparation to imprison him, and began questioning him as to where he had hidden the jewels. 

When the young man replied, "The jewels are in the home of Cingirdakli Hoca (Jungur Dakla Hodja)," the angered gendarmes cried out, "But that could not be," the gendarmes. "He is the Holiest of Holies.  The Sultan will hang you for hsuch blasphemy!"

The gendarmes hastened the young man to the Sultan. 

"You will be put to death for your blasphemy, young man," commanded the Sultan.

"Wait," the young man insisted.   "Just go to the Hoca's (Hodja's) home and you will find the jewels."

The Sultan agreed, and ordered the gendarmes to return the young man to prison while the gendarmes searched the home of Jungur Dakla Hodja.  Indeed, as the reader may have guessed by now, the gendarmes found the gold and jewels hidden in the home of Cingirdakli Hoca (Jungur Dakla Hodja).  Amazed and horrified, the gendarmes returned the prisoner to the Sultan who asked the young man,  "But how did you know?"

The young man answered with sorrow, "Hah Avratum, Hah Cingirdakli Hoca (Jungur Dakla Hodja)."

(Roughly translated: My wife, Jungur Dakla Hodja, it's the same thing.)