We wondered about our baby’s gender, of the little steps our baby would take and all the wonderful things that would come from welcoming that precious little person who would be the gem of our lives. My husband and I were no different.
The happiness was indescribable but then, whether we liked it or not, there were bound to be conflicts. I am Malaysian and was brought up in Malay society with the Malay way of life. My husband, on the other hand, is a Turk, brought up in a Turkish society with the Kayseri way on his mother’s side and the Rumelian way on his father’s side. We are two people who were brought up in two different cultures; there are so many differences in our cultural backgrounds. What were we as parents supposed to do? There were so many conflicts. We had to find a common ground. But where to start? I, for one, have a rebellious soul. I hate rules and restrictions. I was happy enough to discover that my gynecologist, who also happens to be my brother-in-law’s sister, was a very open type kind of person. I was not given strict “dos” or “don’ts” which I expected to get from a doctor from my own country. Just imagine, I was allowed to drink coke, which was my favorite drink then during my pregnancy, and I was allowed to eat McDonald’s two days after giving birth. In Malaysia, that is almost unheard of! But deep down, despite my rebellious soul, did I crave to have the post-birth massage which we Malaysians traditionally have to make sure all the nerves in the body are corrected to their pre-birth state? Did I wish that my mother would be there to insist that I eat food cooked with lots of black pepper (to heat the body) as well as ginger (to decrease the gas in the body)? Did I dream of being forced into the traditional corset where meters of plain white cloth would be wrapped around my body to help me lose the fat around my tummy? Did I dream of being forced to drink “jamu,” the roots of various trees boiled in water and later drunk (which tastes extremely yucky) to repair and strengthen the inner parts of my body? Even though I would have rejected all these things were I to have given birth in Malaysia, being away from home made me crave them. But then, I was not living in Malaysia. I was and am living in İstanbul, and what İstanbul offered me as a new mother then was equally special in its own way. Parental differences from the very beginning Motherhood had introduced me to the deep level of over-protectiveness of the Turks. I had to undergo a C-section type of birth at the last minutes due to fetal distress. After the birth, at least for a week, I was not allowed to do anything. It was my mother-in-law (whom I called anne) who did everything. My job then was to rest, to recover my strength and to feed my baby. This over-protectiveness is truly evident in the way they dress their children. Take, for example, my daughter, Nur Hatice, and my son, Sabahaddin. The moment I was past the first trimester of pregnancy, the older people (my mother-in-law and my husband’s aunties) started to knit as many wool sweaters as they possibly could. Turks are very particular about keeping children warm. My daughter was a winter baby. When she was a newborn, I can remember how she was covered in layer after layer of clothing. “Keep the baby warm,” the elders kept advising me. As someone who came from a tropical country where we only see sun and rain, I naturally followed the ways of my Turkish family. When my children were older, I used to take them to a playground nearby. The over-protectiveness of the Turkish family was always evident when I saw foreign children there. The American and British kids, who used to frequent the playground, would be clothed in shorts and simple T-shirts at 14 to 20 degrees Celsius. But when I looked at my own kids and other Turkish kids, they would be covered in thick wooly sweaters with layer upon layer of clothing! It was obvious how different the upbringing of the American and British kids was from the Turkish kids. Turks simply over-clothe their children. What about food? Would my kids grow up eating Turkish food or Malaysian food? That was a question that used to play in our minds as well. My husband had no objection to me feeding our kids Malaysian food. He himself loves some of my local dishes. But we live in İstanbul. Naturally, the ingredients available promote the preparation of Turkish food. Cooking Malaysian food is quite impossible here unless I can bring certain spices to Turkey, which is difficult. I remember feeding my daughter a very hot Tom Yam dish when she was just 5 months old. Surprisingly, she ate it with no complaint. But as she and her brother have grown up on Turkish food, the preference for Malaysian food is lost to them except for certain things like curries. Whenever we visit Malaysia, I have to cook special food for them or feed them Western fast food there. Luckily, the Indian food in Malaysia has certain similarities with Turkish food so I was feeding my kids Roti Canai for breakfast or Chapati or Nasi Kandar or Nasi Ayam for lunch or dinner most of the time. I don’t blame them. Food is an acquired taste. Your taste will always be synchronized with the food you grew up eating. Just as I will always crave Malaysian food, my husband and my half-Turkish children will always crave Turkish food. The language dilemma There was also this conflict in language in rearing our children. What language will they be speaking? I wanted them to be trilingual and speak Turkish, Malay and English as their native languages. Turkish is naturally vital as they live in Turkey and it is the medium of instruction here. Malay is my own language, which would be important for them to communicate with my family in Malaysia. As for English, it is a universal language which they can use everywhere they go. I believe that a child’s brain can comprehend all three languages in one go. Such a thought sounded logical to me, though not to my husband. The possessiveness of a person, namely my husband, over their language was evident when we had to face this issue. It reminded me of how the French are overprotective of the French language. My husband is no different. He insisted that our kids be taught only Turkish for the first five years of their lives. Only later, they should learn English and Malay. He didn’t want his children’s minds to be polluted by any other language; they should only learn his mother tongue as this is where they live. After a lot of heated discussions, it was finally agreed that they would be speaking Turkish as their mother tongue and that English and Malay would come later. It was agreed upon. Be that as it may, there was also another challenge that accompanied this decision. As a bride in a new land, after our marriage, I had developed a resistance to learning Turkish. I subconsciously felt the threat of losing my own identity if I were to accept the Turkish language. I rejected the language, insisting that I would speak English forever. It was only after I got pregnant that I began to relax and somehow accepted opening up my mind and subconsciously learnt the language through the interactions of daily life. Just think, how was a mother who only has the most basic of Turkish (who refused to learn Turkish except through acquisition) and who spent 24/7 with her kids be expected to teach them Turkish properly? I mean, I practically learned Turkish together with my children. Even now, after 10 years of marriage, I still subconsciously refuse to learn the language properly. What hope do my kids have to be excellent speakers of Turkish? Fortunately, the Zaim family has a close knit relationship. When my late mother-in-law and father-in-law were alive, we used to go to their home almost every day. My kids learned their early speech there as their Uncle Kerim and their Auntie Mehveş were always there as well. The rest of the siblings and their families also often get together. It is at the times when the parents spend hours chatting and the 10 cousins play with each other that my kids improve on their communicative skills. Right now, my daughter is an excellent speaker of the language, while my son is expanding his ability particularly with the help of his teachers in school. Yes, their mother tongue is Turkish. English is their second language and Malay is in the process of being learnt. My lack of knowledge of Turkish also led us to another test; my children’s schooling. Right now, my daughter is in the third grade, while my son is in second grade. They go to one of the Coşkun private schools, which is a Turkish school. I do confess that the hardest part for me is homework time. It was when my daughter was in second grade that I realized that except for English lessons, I could not help them with their homework anymore. My Turkish is limited, and I am unable to explain or help them solve many of the problems in their homework. How am I to answer the questions on the synonyms or antonyms of Turkish words? What would I know of mathematical terminology? Furthermore, they come from a school system different from mine. It is really heartbreaking for a mother when you cannot help your child when they need help. Whether I like it or not, that is my reality. My husband helps the kids whenever he is at home. During his absence, however, I have the advantage of my kids having a year’s gap between them. My daughter, for example, can explain many things to her brother, simply because she learned the same thing a year before. On things that she cannot understand or help with, I am lucky enough to have many sisters-in-law who are more than willing to help answer any enquiries by phone that my children may have regarding their homework. Our other option is to write notes on the things my kids could not do at home, and the hardworking teachers at school will usually explain the matter to them later in class. In short, my kids are fated to depend on themselves and others to help them academically because of the inefficiency of their mother. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Only time will tell. For now, I am truly grateful for any help I can get. What I see is this; The conflicts that occur in rearing our children in the Turkish environment are no doubt hard for me as an expat mother, as we have had to make so many compromises to reach a common ground. Yet, they are what make everything exciting as well as complicated. I think my children are growing up nicely mainly because my husband and I will always be there for them. And what we lack, we have in the support of our family, relatives, teachers and friends who are willing to help guide them in developing their potential. Motherhood is a challenge as well as a blessing no matter who you marry or where you choose to live. It is how you choose to enjoy it. 11 December 2009, Friday
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