deep river

She’s our new intern; fun loving, sincere, and eager to learn. I love hearing her observations of this urban jungle and comparisons with her village life. “Vai!” she exclaims, “they throw that away here? At home we dry even the caps of our peppers and eggplants to save for winter fuel.” or, “What a joke. Here it takes me an hour to get from my bedroom to work. At home I haven’t even gone as far as the next village in my entire life. And it’s only fifteen minutes walk away! I’d like to though,” she goes on, “but I can’t. Even though it’s historic and archeological, I dare not go unless my father were to go with me.” Fikret has good reason. Her sister had to be spirited away and hidden last year because an uncle created a false rumor about her. He was jealous that none of the girls in his sister’s family had been punished for honor crimes, so he lied and said that Hatice had been out with a boy, and when he challenged her, she slapped him. In their village her father can not question the word of another man, or believe his daughter against that of her uncle. For all intents and purposes he was duty bound to kill her in the time honored way of disposing of those females that smirch the family name.

Fikret’s good natured laugh dies as she talks about the river that goes past their village. It’s deep and cold, and moves with great currents. Dark and menacing, it is never entered upon freewill even in the cooking heat of summer. It is the river of the dead, for this is where girls are thrown to kill them when they spoil family honor. Swept away they drown in their guilt and shame, and the river cleanses the all important family name. Once again the family man can sit in the city gates and receive the honor due him for taking such care to rid his family of evil.

Thankfully, Fikret’s father is a Christian. The only one in his village. Instead of killing Hatice, he brought her to our city and she has become the surrogate daughter of another Christian family.  Since the village elders have already declared him insane for his faith choices, he doesn’t sit in the city gate anyhow. In fact, they took away his inheritance and humble him weekly by making him come and ask for his allotment of grocery money, just to shame him. He takes it in his stride, rising each morning to pray before the local imam warbles out the call to come pray at the mosque. Father goes up on his flat roof and worships the Lord of heaven and earth in plain sight of all. So he wasn’t about to throw his daughter in the brink for the sake of family honor, shamed man that he already is. Besides, he knows how much the true God loves and honors his daughters. Sacrificing them to some river upon an altar of false honor isn't on his radar screen.

But Fikret has other friends and siblings that she’s worried for. “It’s strange,” she puzzled the other day, “some girls don’t take the threat seriously. It’s like the river is too far away to be real. It’s not part of our reality because we don’t go there. We don’t like what’s done there, so we pretend it isn’t real. Perhaps that’s cause we can’t change the time worn ways?” But then she straightens up and looks me in the eye. “That’s why I’m here.” she declares. “The Lord has a plan for my life and I’m going to flesh that out, on behalf of the women who don’t know that they have an Advocate in Heaven. There is a way to help them. His Way.”

At first it took an extra step of courage for her to get on the ferry, when we cross our local river to get home. I have a new respect for her fear. Water means death where she comes from. The first few trips over she clutched her seat and was apologetic. Today she looks to the hills with a certain confidence, taking the rocking boat in stride.