written by sana sayyid
In the summer of 2015, my family and I took a trip to Turkey. We had originally planned on performing Umrah in Saudi Arabia, after which we would head over to Pakistan to visit our relatives. However, having taken a Turkish airline, we stayed in Turkey for a week during our layover, intrepidly exploring all Istanbul and Konya had to offer.
Upon arrival to Turkey, my sister and I took a step outside of the airport and then immediately went back inside as part of a travel tradition we always engage in. While this might seem silly to some, we do this because in the past, when we had visited countries in South Asia and the Middle East, we noticed how much our glasses fogged up upon stepping outside of the airport. Because the climate in this region is so arid and warm, and the humid air outside so distinct from the cool air-conditioned interior of the airport, it is always fun to experience the contrast in weather this way.
I remember much more from this trip than I do others because Ramadan began during our stay in Istanbul and we were all fasting. Something about the hunger I experienced sharpened my focus and allowed me to be more conscious of and enamored with my surroundings. As material distractions eluded me, I centered my focus on my Iman and travel experience.
Istanbul was a dream. Luminous, blue skies filled with fluffy white clouds made the atmosphere seem almost cheerful during our stay there. Having been the capital of the Ottoman Empire for centuries, and the capital of the Byzantine Empire for centuries before that (under the name Constantinople), Istanbul was a technological hub with dazzling skyscrapers and modern infrastructure. Like many other bustling cities, there were towering buildings, newly constructed roadways, and people everywhere. Even in the middle of a pleasant summer, there were thousands of tourists swarming around the place, desperate to uncover the city’s rich history and culture.
I felt more at home in Istanbul than I had in any other city I’d visited because of the sheer amount of diversity I witnessed, especially among the city’s tourists. As I walked along the cobbled streets in the city, I was reminded of the Bay Area where I had grown up in, and I felt more free to express myself there. Like my hometown, Istanbul was an interesting mesh of nature and modernization--while there were sleek, multi-storied malls, there was also the Grand Bazaar, with its sprawling tents selling homemade wares. Perhaps what I will remember most fondly about the city is the sheer number of seagulls that had taken over the place, particularly around the waterfront of the Bosphorus River. My hometown has its own smattering of geese, crows, and pigeons, as well as it’s many natural parks, quarries, and lakes, so the cool sea breeze brought with it a fresh sense of home. Additionally, the Soroptimist International Convention, a convention supporting world peace and women’s empowerment in education, was being held in Istanbul during our stay there. As a result, there were hordes of women from all over the world sightseeing and experiencing Turkey alongside us, which made it less frightening to explore the city on our own.
Two memories will remain forever ingrained in my mind from my visit in Istanbul. Like so many other predominantly Muslim countries, the azaan is ever-present, constantly ringing out the melodic call to prayer throughout the day. When we visited Sultan Ahmed Mosque (or as it is more commonly known, the Blue Mosque), we discovered that the Turks were known for the beautifully adorned blue tiles inside. They would export them to other countries as a source of their wealth and foreigners would refer to the stones as ‘Turk Quartz’ which later in fact became known as the color ‘turquoise.’ It was amazing that the origin of the word had such a deeper hidden meaning.
I also so clearly remember the soothing night boat ride on the Bosphorus River—the river in Istanbul that acts as the continental border between Asia and Europe— it was startling to see the stark contrast between the two sides of the river. On the one hand, there were glowing lights and people milling about as the azaan rang out for Isha prayer--and later, taraweeh--and on the other side, there was complete darkness as the Christian and Jewish communities of the city headed off to sleep. When our boat tour guide was pointing out the differences between the two sides, I felt in awe of how two distinct communities could coexist so openly with one another. Even in my own hometown, where I have experienced so much tolerance and freedom to practice my religion, I could not have imagined non-Muslims walking the streets, saying Salams to any Muslim they meet and appreciating the melodic call to prayer.
There were so many places to visit in Istanbul, so much history and culture to unearth and immerse myself in, and so little time. Still, I will always remember my time there extremely fondly. From the boy who gave my brother a free Turkish Delight confection so that he could play with him, to the vending machines interspersed throughout the city that gave out dog food to stray dogs (if one recycled water bottles) I will forever cherish the memories I created.
I cannot forget the palpable joy that Istanbul’s ambience, many attractions, and people provided me. I remember being awestruck by the grandeur of the Hagia Sophia as I learned of its transformation from an ancient church to a mosque and then a museum, and I was even more amazed by the four courtyards of the Topkapi Palace and the tall series of 4 walls enclosing them. Since it was Ramadan, the Turkish government had opened up the viewing of several religious items from the past--including Musa (AS)’s staff, Fatima (RA)’s shirt, and Uthman (RA)’s Quran (Turkey was the seat of the Caliphate of the Ottoman Empire for several centuries and so, accumulated most of the Islamic relics of the past at that time). Imagining Musa (AS) lifting the staff on display in front of me and parting the tremendous mass of the sea through the grace of Allah (SWT) made me tremble in awe. These objects were imbued with so much history, painting pictures of the lives of our role models. Seeing the objects from stories that I had been told since I was a child--stories that I had always felt a certain distance from, as if they were from a displaced part of history--I felt a strong sense of connection with the lives of our noble prophets, sahaba, and wise people of the past.
Another distinct memory I have is of the Quran reading room in the Topkapi Palace. This was a room where several huffaz were on a 24/7 hour rotation of Quranic recitation so that the Quran could be read and broadcast throughout the palace constantly, day and night, during the entire month of Ramadan. Hearing the words of Allah (SWT) being recited in a place where tourists of different faiths and cultural backgrounds came to visit was such a blessing; I felt an immense sense of peace and relief at being in a place where I could listen to the Quran freely.
If I felt deeply connected to Islam in facing the relics of the past, my faith was even more rejuvenated by the many adventures I embarked on in Turkey. For instance, one day my family and I had decided to venture through the vast expanse of the Grand Bazaar. Covering over 61 streets, with more than 4,000 shops, this huge outdoor shopping market was not for the faint of heart. Equipped with water bottles, light clothes, and plenty of energy, we visited the many shops, exploring every corner of the marketplace. Exquisitely crafted glasswares, sparkling lamps, and intricately handcrafted rugs were among some of the many items we fawned over. Once, in a shop filled with rolled-up rugs, a group of kids dashed past me as they played a riveting game of tag, knowing the intricacies of the surrounding markets like the backs of their hands. I remember thinking, wow, this must be the biggest and most fun childhood playground.
It was in one of the hijab shops of the Grand Bazaar that a man stopped us, hawking his wares. My parents, having experience with bargaining, took the lead in setting a low price. While they were haggling, my sister and I saw this gorgeous, shimmering cloth--a black and white hijab with sparkling silver thread embedded in its pattern. Immediately, we begged our mother to buy it for us. She tried her best to bargain but the man, with a knowing smile, kept insisting on a higher price. I leaned in to tell my mother to give up; I didn’t want to waste too much of our money or time. But then the man’s demeanor changed.
“Your daughters wear hijab?” He had noticed my sister and me, lingering in the periphery. My mother told him that we were the ones that had been so taken by the scarf.
He was silent for a moment before he gave a resigned sigh and said,
“Because it is my opening day and I am happy they wear hijab, I give you two scarves for 20 lira, in the name of Allah.” Lira, the Turkish currency. My mother, sister, and I beamed at the owner, happily paid the cost and we left the shop with wide grins on our faces.
It was only when we were browsing through other hijab shops and a shop owner refused to lower his prices for us, that my mom pulled out the scarves we had just bought and told him we had paid only 20 lira for them. The man, bewildered, said to us,
“I would not have given you these scarves unless it was for 50 lira.”
The kindness of the new shop owner has not left my heart since. I wear that scarf in public with pride and a strong sense of joy. It is often in Muslim countries that I feel the greatest sense of belonging--is it something in the air, I wonder? The halal food experience wherever I go? The ability to immediately drop everything, pray in any masjid on the street and not have to explain myself? The freedom that I have in expressing my religion--whether that is in the way that I dress or behave without it having to be a topic of contention or cause for any concern or any weird looks? Ultimately, I believe that it is because of the kindness of strangers and how they express that kindness always for the sake of Allah (SWT).
Konya was an altogether different experience. When we arrived at Konya, I was pleasantly surprised by the ambience of the city. Although the city boasted lofty skyscrapers it was much quieter. The people there were content with going with the flow, and the city paradoxically felt like being in the country. Imagine a small section of a busy city like Istanbul and take out most of the people: that was Konya. Sincere, approachable, open. As we were checking into our hotel, my dad told the receptionist that we were very interested in Mevlana Rumi’s work. After hearing this, the receptionist gave us a free copy of the Mathnawi--a long poem that Mevlana Rumi wrote which is considered the most influential piece of Sufi literature. Once again, I was deeply touched by the kindness of strangers. As we toured around the city in a taxi, my parents used the Google Translate function in their phones to speak to the driver (who spoke very limited English). I can still remember the driver laughing at a mistranslated phrase but attempting to communicate with us anyway by giving us advice about the city’s most visited sites.
My family visited Mevlana Rumi’s grave and The Mevlana Museum that had been constructed around it, which told the history of the Mevlana Whirling Dervishes and Rumi’s life. It was very inspiring to read the plaques in the museum and consider life from a Sufi perspective--where love for God is greater than anything. It was during this trip that I learned a lot more about Sufi figures such as Shams e Tabriz, Mevlana Rumi, and Rabia Basri. I had often heard of these role models growing up as my parents have always impressed upon me the utter devotion that one requires to follow the core tenets of Sufism. However, it’s an entirely different experience to be at the site where everything began for the Sufi branch of thought. When we were in the mausoleum, I remember looking around, taking a big, deep breath, and closing my eyes to really feel my surroundings, as if I could inhale the intense spirituality that originated in that very same spot. Hearing the stories of Mevlana Rumi’s life and the wisdom behind them was one thing, and experiencing the places in the stories was another. I stood in the center of the museum and imagined my footsteps matching those of a great scholar from the past. How hard must their life have been? What difficulties must they have faced when it came to their religion? And still, despite all of the struggles they faced, how strong was their love for Almighty God that they were able to persevere? Persevere and thrive to the point that their lives were told almost 750 years later, in whispers of amazement.
Some of the most important elements of my faith now--such as a strong love for Allah (SWT) as opposed to only fear spurring my actions as a Muslim--come from exploring more about Sufism during my trip to Konya. I was able to read a fourth of the Mathnawi on our plane trip to Saudi Arabia and while I was in Konya, and was stunned by the beautiful prose with which Rumi declared his love for Allah (SWT). It suddenly brought into sharp perspective my own relationship with God. God is Great. He is the Most Kind and the Most Merciful. God is Loving. Gone were the harsh restrictions on my past self; I shook them off and emerged with a new perspective. One that I believe is fundamental for me to have in the society that I live in today. Yes, we are all slaves of Allah (SWT), but that does not imply a lack of love. Allah (SWT) loves us and that is why we are imposed with certain laws we must follow. With that distinct idea in mind, I was able to leave Turkey realizing that I sincerely felt happy following the actions dictated to me by my Ruler because they were borne out of love.
cover photo credit: https://line.17qq.com/articles/oeodgjfdz.html