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Cultural Migration in Autobiography Grundtvig Partnerships 2009-2011

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

e-mail: kszia@komesnet.com.pl http://cma.internetdsl.pl

39

I wasn’t afraid before. The fear came later Emine Beyer

Our village consists of two camps, in the lower part of the village live the family clans who consider themselves to be somewhat better. And in the upper village, where the majority has congregated the actual village daily life takes place.

Ahmet, my mother’s cousin and the fourth of Uncle Haci Mustafa’s seven sons, my second cousin, married his cousin Hacer, the second youngest of Aunt Zeynep’s eleven daughters. Obviously, being the relatives from Germany ,“the Almanci”, we weren’t only invited as guests, but rather it was our duty to attend. Of course we were expected to bring the biggest and nicest gifts from Germany, Almanya. Of course this should be a radio, motorized saw, or at least an electric iron; but the ultimate present would be a meat grinder.

I danced the Misket outside with my cousins, the joyful dance of our reunion. We seldom danced with the bride. The wedding table was covered with a hand-crocheted tablecloth of a delicate floral pattern. In the middle was an arrangement of red plastic roses, complemen-ted with a bit of green plastic ivy. Plastic ivy! I’m on my way to the toilet. A long way.

“Psst, Kiz, Emine!” Zehra approaches out of the darkness like a “djinn”. “You’ve frightened me half to death! What is it?” Zehra puts her sturdy arms around my shoulders and with a maniacal laugh kisses my forehead. Her heavy breasts almost crush me. “Walk with me. I want to talk something over”, she whispers. My easy-going attitude and carefree nature vanished at this moment. Pictures of my betrothal flashed by, as if seen through a kaleidescope. She is, afterall, his sister-in-law flashed through my mind, his brother Ibrahim’s wife. Back when I had called off our engagement, Hassan was not in agreement and neither was his sister-in-law along with all the other kinsmen. I felt paralyzed. Something wasn’t right. I sensed it clearly.

Then one incident follows another. I see Hassan in the semi-darkness, standing by the house corner. He’s smoking. Zehra grabs me by the upper arm, pulls me in his direction.