From: amoojoon@ghahveh.khooneh.mash.yadollAh (Bacheh Morshed)
Subject: amoo dar Torkeeyeh!
Summary: shab bood, biAbAn bood, zemestAn bood,...
Keywords: yeki bood, yeki nabood
Organization: naghAl khooneh
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 02:44:33 GMT


 SalAmeh garmeh amoo beh hameh ahAliyeh SCI,

 Recently two new multi episode stories have gone on the air in SCI which 
makes me, for one, very happy and thankful to those who take time for 
writing them. Now, amoo himself has a real story to "peeshkesh beh ahAliyeh 
mohtaram" which is from several years ago. There is plenty of truth in what 
I'm about to tell but I had to change some names and identities to protect 
the privacy of those involved in the story. Except for that, amoo has done 
his best to practice the fidelity expected from a writer about the 
truthfulness of the events. BTW, there is a lot of references to locations 
in Turkey, particularly in Istanbul and Ankara, which I would be glad to get 
corrected if I have gotten them wrong. As you will notice I will use 
minimal amount of humor in telling the story (although occasioanlly can't 
help it) which is due to the fact that it still gives me chills when I 
remember some of those events. After all, amoo is very "del nAzok". So get 
the pop corn bucket, dim the lights, and don't change the channel!


PART 1: Vorood beh Turkeeyeh
****************************

It was about 4:00 p.m. when the plane touched down at Attaturk Hava Allani 
in Istanbul. I was rather impreseed by what I saw once we got out of the 
plane; something like a mini JFK! So I followed the crowd to the police booth
where our passports where supposed to get stamped. That stage passed easily 
(in my case) and I got cleared while a couple other Iranians were still 
talking to the police in the adjacent booth. I noticed that one of them had 
an American passport but regardless of that he was being questioned.

As soon as I got out of the baggage claim area I saw Amir waiting for me. He 
is a friend from childhood who had ended up in Turkey a year before and had 
no passport. All he carried was some identity card called "kimlik" which was 
supposed to get checked off by the police station in his residential area 
every week. We hugged each other and he asked if I was still planning to go 
to the same hotel that I had reservation at or I'd rather go somewhere else. 
I said let's go to "Kilim Otel". Apparently in Turkish there is a difference 
between the words "hotel", "otel", and "oteli", the latter being the best 
category. So my "otel" would be something in between a "mosAfer khooneh" and 
a very good "oteli".

It was a nice clean room with a view of "EsteghlAl" Ave. which was between 
the infamous "AksArAy" and historically famous "Tope Kapi". The reason that 
I said infamous is that all the passport dealers as well as other illegal 
activities were centered in AksArAy which was also populated by the 
Iranians that were stranded in Turkey. So after few minutes I suggested to 
go out and get something to eat. I noticed that Amir didn't say anything 
about where he lived, nor he offered me to go to his place. It sounded kind 
of strange but I thought he must have a good reason for not saying anything.

Shishli Ave. is a place for shopping and dining for some young Turks as well 
as tourists. We went to this restaurant called "shoomineh" (not Iranian) and 
had some quality food and dessert for a total of $8 (both)! Here is when I 
started to talk with Amir about his life and what was going on in the 
streets of Istanbul.

So where is ShahrAm? I asked. "in Karakoy," Amir said looking down at the 
table. SharAm was a mutual friend also from Tehran who had come to Turkey 
through the same procedure as Amir. "where is Karakoy?" I asked assuming 
that it was a nearby town or area. "not too far" he said,"but it's a jail."
I almost junped out of my seat. From what I had heard Turkish prisons were 
not the most civilizedly managed ones in the world. "He got busted trying to 
go to Greece last month" Amir explained, "I think his 'ghAchAghchi' set him 
up because he didn't pay him enough". 

Now I was getting the idea. He went on explaing that out of eight people 
that he had come to Turkey with, only one had actually made it to Canada. 
Others had either been deported from Greece, Denmark, and France, or were 
still in Turkey waiting for their "ghAchAghchi"s to get them out.
Then he told me that he was living with six others in a two-room house in 
AksArAy. I said: "let's go there, I wanna see these people". Here he said 
something that shocked me again; he said :"not until you've left your 
passport and your money somewhere safe, you never know what could happen at 
our place." 

Now I've changed into a pair of jeans, sneakers, and an older jacket; only 
carrying 2000 Liras in my pocket, and of course, no passport. we took a 
"dolmoosh" (some sort of public transportation which I call "taxieh 
belAtaklif" since it was neither a taxi nor a minibus). We got off right 
across from "Iran Peyma" garage in AksArAy and began our journey in these 
convoluted alleys filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces.

TO BE CONTINUED..


Next episode: ahAliyeh kArvAnsarA
*********************************

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amoojoon
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