Gündüz Vassaf | An Ottoman Town in Rumelia

     I was born in the beginning of the 20th century. I can remember the street in front of my hadji father’s house, in Ustrumca, now within the borders of Macedonia. It was covered with paving stones. I first walked there.  There were only a few houses on the street, all with high walls and doors with handles to knock. Behind the doors stood more houses, with large gardens. The doors were always kept closed. When there was a knock, we would go to the door and ask, “Who is it?”

     There was a path from the house to the almond fields, the vineyards, the walnut fields, and the graveyard, all within walking distance. We often went there, picked grapes and cherries and ate food. A little out of the town, there was a dark blue stream, named after its color, Lacivert Dere, which flowed through some rocks like a small waterfall. I would really like to see them all again.

     When goats, oxen and cows were taken out of the town in the morning, they passed our street. A shepherd took them to the nearby fields and brought them back in the evenings. Our men would put them back in the stables; and in the morning, after the maids milked them, take them back to the herd.

     One end of the street where we lived went to the source of a stream called the Poroy, the other end, to town. There was no bridge over the stream. One crossed by   stepping on stones. I remember boys, not girls, sliding when it froze over.

     The houses were lined up on both banks of the stream. From the street next to the mosque, we could get to my sister Zehra’s father-in-law’s house, where she went as a bride. After passing the Poroy, the market square began. There were four or five shops at the market square. The son of my siblings’ wet nurse ran the barbershop. I can remember that we, as children, bought sugar candy and biscuits called “biskot” from one of the shops. Most of the shops were rented out to Bulgarians. According to what I was told, all of the shops belonged to my mother.  Half a century later, when I went to Land and Deeds Registry in Ankara, I saw how diligently the Ottomans had kept records of our property in Ustrumca.  In front of these shops were sugar, beans, barley, and rice in sacks. Because sugar, sold in the open in sacks was dirty, they would throw out the foam when making syrup. A street from the market square went to the hamam (Turkish bath of the tomb,) and to the school. There was a tomb where the street began. Passers by stopped in front, prayed and tied pieces of cloth to the railing. I have a big reason for remembering that tomb. Once, when my mother and I were returning from the hamam accompanied by an evlatlık (adopted child) who lived in the household, my mother was abducted. This will come later.

     There was also a bakery on this street. As there was no oven in the houses, everybody had their pitta and bread made here. We would split the warm bread we bought from the bakery and put halwa and nougat in it. But what we really longed for was the Ramadan pitta bread. Everybody took the ingredients from home to the bakery and had pitta bread with cheese made there. This was like a special feast. Even today whenever I remember it, I long for it and my mouth waters.

     From the market square, one reached the street with coffee houses. The men sat on stools in front, chatting away, most likely talking about politics and business, while drinking coffee.

From My Mother Belkis