Bits And Pieces Of Ankara

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“Where did this move in mid-December come from?” my father grumbled along the way. The location of our new house that my mother found made neither my father nor me happy. The narrow streets, the shabby, neglected houses we passed, made my father even more angry, he was persistently trying to dissuade my mother: “Look darling, I understand you, you are trying to do your best for this place. That’s your job, okay, I agree with that, but we don’t have to live here, do we?” “How many times have we talked, Orhan... If I want to do this project right, I have to live here. I have to experience the life here with all its problems, sorrows and joys.” I’ve been listening to similar things for months. I am eleven years old. I have been living in the same city since I was born, but I had never been to this part of Ankara before. When I looked around and asked my moth¬er, “What’s the name of this village, mom?”, my mother’s strange turned first to me and then to my father. Shaking her head, she said, “You see, the child we raised thinks that the heart of the city he lives in is a distant village. Should we go like this?” My father shrugged indifferently: “He has a lot of time ahead of him, he’ll learn when he gets older.” My mother would not be convinced: “This project will only take two years, I’ve said it a thousand times. During this time, I have to live here and follow the project. When it’s over, I’m sure you’ll want to stay here. Let’s not argue anymore, the boy is also cold,” she said, tugging the scarf around my neck up to my nose once again. *** “Don’t you wonder who lived in the city we live in and what they did?” “The Hittites, Phrygians, Sumerians etc… I saw the war tools in the museum today. Then there were some household appliances, clay tablets, murals; the girls loved the jewellery. Whim-wham things.” My father giggled at my “whim-wham” word. Af¬ter the newspaper, of course. “The Anatolian Civilizations Museum only exists in Ankara, you know. Artefacts belonging...