Istanbul: Just a boy in the street

Istanbul: Just a boy in the street

It was over 12 months ago back in November 2008 when I was making a visit to Istanbul ,just a short four day visit to see my partner who I’m now married too. One evening I decided to meet her from work at the top of the street near home, standing there looking I guess suspicious in the empty street .I could see heads peeking out of the curtains from nearby apartment blocks, a stranger in the street with fair skin and fair hair receding .Trying to look relaxed has the peeking eyebrows were beginning to agitate me, I began smoking vigorously has a young lad suddenly approached me from nowhere.

The young lad dressed poorly with holes in his trainers and knees poking out of the torn tracksuit bottoms, for five minutes he stood some 5 yards away from me yet he was smiling and gesturing. At first I was taken back not sure what to make of the approach, one hand behind my back with a clenched fist the other ready to follow through, how wrong and stupid I was on that day. Suddenly he was trying to talk in language I didn’t recognize, his arms wavering has he attempted to speak, his face smiling and laughing without the sound of joy. Pointing to my full sleeved tattooed arm then pointing to his arm obviously he would like one or liked it, I pointed back to his arm as he shook his head up and down.

I realized neither could he speak or hear and for the first time I had been confronted or been in the company on a one to one basis with someone with this disability and I felt less adequate than he did not being able to communicate by any means other than pointing and facial expressions, I now think back he understood me better than I understood him. Walking home I explained to Figen who I had met in the street, she knew of him not by name but by sight, the boy with a smile.

It wasn’t until early February 2009 when I again returned for a short visit again I took a walk up the street to meet Figen from work and the boy again appears in the street, recognizing me instantly he runs towards with a football. Well no need for a clenched fist this time around just a decent pair of legs and good left foot. For the next 15 minutes we played football, heading the ball, taking on each other I noticed he had some skill never taking his eye of the ball. We kicked the ball around the street then other younger lads joined in looking somewhat younger than him but amused by it all .Not amused by me but his skill he really was naturally skilful yet he had a disability that I did not fully take into consideration until I actually moved here in early June 2009.

Throughout the summer of 2009 I frequently bumped into him in the street each time he had his football with him, wearing worn out trainers, either kicking the ball against the wall or playing with the older lads at the top of the street .I often stand there and watch him play for 5 or 10 minutes each time I pass, sometimes he stops and passes the ball the to me I always flick it back and he volleys home for a goal against the wall. A goal painted on the wall on a wide part of the street, there is no green park or football field for these lads the street is there pitch. But I come to one conclusion and unfortunately it is so sad, here is a young boy growing fast and his teen life will fly by, a boy with a talent that he cannot pursue. This lad has talent and its natural talent but he lacks the ability to communicate with the speed required of the game on the football pitch, though I suspect through his eye focus he has a more accurate ability to create in the game of football has his eyes are his ears!

Somehow I have this awful vision in years to come this grown lad will still be at the top of the street doing the same ,I hope I am wrong .He has heart also has I found out recently, my neighbour is very old in her late eighties and become very unwell in recent months and confined to her bed. An ambulance turned up one morning creating a small curtain peeking session in the neighbourhood, my doorbell rang her daughter asking if I could help her carry her mother down the stairs. I look down the stairs and I see this familiar looking face of the boy in the street looking up, not smiling but looking concerned and helping the ambulance medics get the stretcher up the stairs, no one asked him, how could they.

I pat him on the back; he is looking unsure whether to enter the woman’s apartment with his shoes on! I husher him in, he doesn’t interfere he waits and then her daughter does the unthinkable, waves her arms at him to get out and mutters he is deaf and continues to wave her arms like she was scaring a cat away .I am left fuming but it is neither the place or the time to confront her, but I am sad for him he looks to me for some response I politely take him outside. What does he do, he proves her wrong he runs down the stairs and clears the doorways for the medics to carry her mother out; he gets the back doors open on the ambulance ready, again no one asked him too how could they!

This is my sad thought of the future for this young boy and I pray I am so wrong in my thoughts; he now sports a Galatasaray shirt albeit I am not a fan ,I still watch him when I pass by taking on the lads in his Galatasaray  shirt which I have a feeling he is proud of it  . He makes me think how lucky we are the ones that have no disability apart from someday we will all grow old and dependant on our younger sibling’s .We live life to the best of our ability and to some degree with control of our outcome if we are good at something. This boy happy when the ball is at his feet, enjoying his youth but what does the future hold when coming of age in an adult environment.

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