A Day Off with Mohammad (4)

No one takes notice of me until I hear the creaking of stairs above me. This happens after the prayer changes course and the big group up front fans out for individual prayer, dispersing around the mosque. At this point the man in front of me takes a mike and calls something. The man next to him hangs up a set of rosary beads on a nail in the wall. Many of the men are wearing doiled white caps, while others look like everyday business men or merchants. Some men grab their shoes and leave when the prayer changes. Mohammad sits with his hands out, palms up, eyes closed.

The creaking of the stairs comes from an old woman descending from the balcony, or the women's section. A man without turning around, sensing her presence and me on the steps, gestures me to move. It is strictly forbidden to touch a woman in the mosque. I slide to the exit and stand by the door, hoping Mohammad would hurry up because a couple of the men are looking at me, taking an interest. I didn't take this as a threatening look, but Turkish men have a way of looking at you. I'm sure these guys aren't used to foreigners sitting around observing them pray. As the session ends -- "Jazz!" -- Mohammad briskly grabs me and we put on our shoes, me selecting the only blue Adidas running shoes among five long shelves of black loafers. I notice the old woman who came down the stairs, now stands asking for money while a stream of men leave the mosque. Not one man hands her a coin.

Finally we walk down the hill to Altiparmak street to one of the big kebab restaurants. Gratefully we sit down for some food. I have lamb shish kebab and he has the turd-like Urfa kebab. Over tea, again Mohammad rambles in his philosophical discourse, which ranges from him wanting to be a good man and teach his children and not be like other men who smoke, drink and don't care what their kids do. If a boy grows up and commits a crime, Mohammad blames the father because he didn't teach his son right from wrong. He says a woman without guidance from home will become pregnant by some bad man. I ask him if he would let his hypothetical 22 year-old daughter leave home unmarried to move somewhere else. He says it's OK, but it's hard for a woman in Turkey. He seems to be very aware of "bad" men in society and often compares a good way of life, that he apparently lives, to these worthless type of men out there. I ask him if he saw a lot of bad men in his life, but he mentioned only fist-fights and such.

He walks me to the train station and steals a ticket from the ticket-lady without paying. "Mohammad!" she calls out. He laughs and tells her he'll be back and escorts me to the gate, handing me the ticket. He watches me roll away. That girl was his co-worker, but I laugh to think maybe she could be his Bursa finger.