The one thing you mustn’t do in Turkey is try to understand it. This is not demeaning the country but a statement of fact. I’m talking here about everyday life, nothing above or below it.
I am every man’s Enişte and if I’m not then there is something seriously wrong. As a point of fact, I can’t be a woman’s Enişte.
It is term of endearment and responsibility, when a man says I am one, we embrace and I feel all warm and fuzzy. However, it is only given me because I’m a foreigner. If I was Turkish, I wouldn’t be one, only if I lived away from the place I was living with my wife. Btw, Enişte is only for those married. Are you following ? Because I’m not.
There is not geographical marking as to when someone becomes an Enişte. From the North Pole most defiantly, next city tricky, next village there would need to be a village meeting to decide that. So, what happens if you’re not an Enişte? Well, you become nothing, it is your wife who becomes something. (My wife says in that case she will become a Yenge, whatever that is.) But I’m an Enişte and always will be. I’m a member of the be nice to me perfect strangers who must now look after me club, to some I am even precious and all I did to be knighted was marry my Turkish wife.
My wife is repeatedly told to look after our Enişte and I remind her of this when we have a disagreement. But I am also warned to look after her. Part of my responsibility as an Enişte is like carrying the ten commandments, instead the stone is blank except for the words: “be an Enişte.”
Footnote
“My sister is your Baldiz.” “What who,” I replied my mind was turning to jelly. “And her husband’s kitten is your Bacanak.” “Whose kitten?” I stared blankly at the wall, slowly getting up in a zombie like state. I softly whispered to my wife, “I’m going out…”
Now what about the staff at Bianet are they my… urm no they can’t be, and you reading this are you my elephant’s cat yes yes that’s it. I laughed hysterically in the street.
“Are You Ok Enişte?”
“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!”
