It was Friday. It was raining madly. I saw the woman collecting fruits and vegetables from rubbish of the bazaar in the rain. Her hand and her face was full of powder. She was in rags. She wrapped her face not to look at people with her reddened eyes crying. I knew him when i got closer to her. Her house was demolished because of urban transformation. The money she got from the municipality in exchange of her house was lost gambling by his son. Then they were not able to pay rent. Houseowner removed them from house they rented. Now she is in streets.
She came closer to me, "How are you son?" she asked. "Are you okey mom?" i asked. "No son, i am in streets. My own son doesn't want me with him. She showed bazaar stands before i asked here where to live in. "Here is" she said. Youth gace make a harbour using bazaar stands there for her after sellers finished their job. There are also a ragged quilt and a dirty blanket. "Young people living here deal with me. They are helping me." She was looing at the big building in front of bazaar.
"All the city will be builded again like this. The city will be forbidden for Roma, for poor people. What will we do? Where will we go?...". She was waiting sellers to finish their job. She had already missed her harbour. It was her house although it was builded from bazaar stands. "Why did we leave our neighbourhood mom?" i asked. "It's my son who induced me. He said to buy a home. I gave all money to him. However he only rented a house. He lost all money gambling. Then he went with his wife. Now, i am living in this villa. Come again to me." "I will mom, i will come." i said. "I wish i take you with me to the neighbourhood. But there is no more place. They say they will demolish houses again. We also don't know where to go. Never mind mom, god with us. Look, there is elections." "My son, in where i will vote?" "Take it easy mom, what will they do with your vote. You will vote then they will demolish your harbour maden by bazaar stands." "Please, make an investigation. I wonder if i am still registered in your neighbourhood." "Ok, mom. I will ask mukhtar. If you are stil registered in our neighbourhood, you can vote in the same place." She stopped and asked: "They promised us to build houses for us. What happened then?"
She was a puckish woman. I answere her with same way: "They will mom. They will give you a house 2 meter length and 1 meter wide (a grave). It's ready for you." "Yes, son. All of us will go there. I hope we will be happier there." She surrendered. I wondered what she was collecting. 3 tomatoe, 1 cucumber, 2 apricot she found. "I will wash these things in the mosque. Don't go anywhere." she said. She came back ten minutes later. "God bless the imam of the mosque. I get water from him. I go to toilet there. He treats well to me. What a holy man." "Oh mom" i said. "Let's come together. Maybe we can build a slum for you on the sly. Resident will help you there". "No son" she said. "They demolished my house. I will never turn back to there. I won't stay where i am not welcome. I will die in streets. But i want you to do something for me. Give me your phone number. I will hide it. When i die, people can call you. If you come and claim my body, i will rest in peace." She took my phone number. "I feel better now" she said.
I knew her for long years. She was one of the strongest women of our neighbourhood. She was subsisting with old-age pension after her husband died. She was standing on her own legs. Her son married when he finished army mission. Alcohol and gambling stupified him. I standed up. "Mom, i am going now." I tried to kiss her hands. "Stop" she said "I will wash my hands". "No mom, i can sacrifice myself for the powder of your hands." I hug her. She started to cry "My son". I also cried. She came with me near to my truck. "Come back again. This is my adress, bazaar street, bazaar stands, no number..." She was either quipping and dashing away her tears with her pale scarf.
Yes friends. This is a real story. An endaerment softens us. When they arouse our appetite, we forget our people starving. We forget moms living in streets. We start to make plans to make money instead of sharing our problems with authorities. We try to create a career for our selves forgeting our people starving, burning to death. We feel ourselves as kings when we see a smile. We prank with a loan cravat without remembering our people who sleep hungry, who go school bare feet, whose houses are demolished! Not anymore friends. Let's come to our senses.
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