My Turkish Love Story

I was walking home through Izmit when I met Omer. I had taught English late and was tired, glad for the fresh air beneath sycamore trees. Walking the other way, a Turkish man greeted me in English. His eyes were beautiful–big, brown, and long-lashed (like so many Turks). He smiled. I ignored him and kept walking. He turned around and started walking next to me.

“My students warned me not to have a Turkish boyfriend,” I told him. “Leave me alone.” He reluctantly walked away.

Two weeks later, I was walking on a bridge toward the Marmara Sea. I had just got off the bus from Istanbul and was nearly in tears about leaving my camera in a taxi there.

“Hello, teacher,” a voice called. I looked up. It was Omer again, walking the opposite way. “How are you?” he asked.

Instead of ignoring him, I babbled, “Terrible. I left my camera in an Istanbul taxi.”

Omer offered me a cup of tea. We walked together toward the twilight marina to find a table by the water.

So began my Turkish love story. Now, two years after our marriage, I remember those summer nights when Omer and I passed each other, walking in different directions. He is a Turk with a Muslim heritage. I am an American Christian. The union of such opposites has not been easy, and we have witnessed amazing and terrible things together. We traveled all around Turkey, taking photos of landscapes and people. Omer was tortured by the Turkish police. We were both attacked by police in Istanbul, during the time of freedom protests. A woman who attended our wedding, whom I thought was a friend, almost had me arrested over a photo I took.

Last September, Omer and I left Turkey together, just days before the police showed up to arrest me because of that photo. I am teaching English in China, and Omer escorts me like a bodyguard and cooks delicious Turkish food. We would like to go to America together, but it is difficult to get his visa. We feel like 2 people adrift, without a common country. But love can conquer all.