As we enter the Christmas season and my time abroad comes to a close, I have become increasingly attuned to holidays, both the ones I hold dear at home, and those I knew nothing of until my Turkish teacher wished me "iyi tatillar" (happy holidays, literally "good sweet"). I arrived in Turkey at the end of Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, which was followed by Ramadan festivals, filled with fireworks and feasts and sweets. I am returning home during Advent, in which Christians prepare for Christmas. These periods of religious contemplation and preparation have bookended an incredible four months, which were filled with a blending of celebrations and tradition.
On Thanksgiving, I went straight from Turkish class to a kilim shop, where several cups of tea were shared as I learned about the incredible history of Turkey's kilim culture. Girls traditionally spent years weaving their dowry pieces, especially a prayer rug for their future husbands, so that they could step into married life literally on a new footing. Their weddings were joyous community affairs. My dinner that night was a joyous community affair itself and involved an innovative spin on traditional Thanksgiving fare—the requisite roasted turkey (let the turkey in Turkey jokes commence), candied pumpkin, white rice, and berry jam. While simple compared to the potluck feasts of my childhood, this Thanksgiving was one of my most memorable ones, because the essence of the holiday was not lost amidst frenzied preparations, and instead it involved a gathering of my new but closely-knit community. The meal was truly a collaborative effort with our dedicated cook Hussein Bey, who spent hours in a small kitchen so that we could enjoy a taste of home, infused with the Turkish culture we've absorbed in the past four months. As we said a prayer and gave thanks, everyone expressed something they were grateful for through an experience they have had here—blending a traditional American holiday with formative lessons and experiences in Turkey.
This fusion of holidays is not limited to celebrating our traditions in a new way, but extends to Turkish holidays as well. Bayram is the Turkic term for a nationally celebrated holiday, both religious and secular, thus taking into account Turkey's particularity as a 99 percent Muslim, laicist state. After traveling for a few weeks during Ramadan and picking up general codes of conduct when the majority of the country was fasting—expect many places to be closed, don't eat in public during the day, prepare for restaurants to be packed after sunset as people break fast—the month's communal aspects became apparent, and I was lucky to join in the celebrations. Sponsored iftars (break fasts) offering a free meal to anyone in need were frequent and crowded. Every night, the squares of Istanbul were filled with festivals, where musicians would play a selection of music, men would dance, vendors would line the path, and strings of lights were hung between minarets, lighting up the night sky with good wishes. Many of the same celebratory traditions were on display two months later during a secular holiday, Cumhuriyet Bayrami, which celebrates the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire and founding of the Turkish Republic, on October 29, 1923. I was in Antalya, a smaller city on the southern coast of Turkey, and again crowds flocked the streets for a speeches and a grand concert, dancing and waving flags in jubilance.
On the surface, Turkey presents a culture shock to my American upbringing, and at first glance, its concurrent religiosity and mandate secularism seem at odds—but through the universals of celebration, these differences are transcended. While the secular holidays involve waving flags, the religious involve fasting and sacrifices, and the ones I grew up with involve decorating trees and turkey on a plate rather than as nation-state, they all engender a sense of community and solidarity. When I return to the states, I will be singing Christmas carols as I find a place for my kilim (prayer rug), while I remember the sense of community, celebration, and care that I found during Turkish holidays and hope to retain in my family's holiday traditions.
Marisa Edmonds graduated from Georgetown College in 2012 with a major in American studies and a minor in justice and peace studies. From Short Beach, Connecticut, she spent the fall 2010 semester at Georgetown's McGhee Center in Alanya, Turkey, where she wrote for the Berkley Center's Junior Year Abroad Network. She was also a 2009-2010 Berkley Center Undergraduate Fellow.
