From the notes of a village teacher, 1936
After shaking for about two hours, the truck that rode between the station and the province center dropped me off at the junction of the village I was going to. I didn’t have the strength to take even two steps. As I put my bag next to me, I sat down on a piece of rock with grass growing from its sides. I started listening to the humming inside my head.
The truck, reeking of dust mixed with sweat, had staggered everyone by bumping us together on this world’s faultiest road. All the quaking and sudden stops as if we were rolling down a pit made me forget where I even was and threw me into a dark realm of dreams. I was now sitting on the rock, trying to shake off this dream. The driver had shown me the way to the village, an ashen pile of mudbrick about half an hour from the junction. A few gray poplar trees on one side somewhat rearing their heads, were telling me that there was water, even if it was a small amount.
Finally, after resting on the rock for maybe an hour, I stood up slowly and wobbly, picked up my small bag from the ground, and started walking. Since I am a villager myself and know our villagers well, I did not feel out of place in a foreign land. I was certainly going to be successful on my first mission.
The sun was beginning to set. While I was approaching the village, the land around me became entirely filled with redness. My long shadow was resting on these dry, one-handspan tall steppe weeds that moved and glistened like a red sea. The end of my shadow was lost further between these weeds where the grasshoppers jumped around.
As I arrived in front of some houses on the edge of the village, the smell of burning manure hit my nose. The image of flatbread cooked on a sheet iron pan and barefoot children huddling around it appeared in front of my eyes.
In the streets, cows who had not yet found their home roamed with their tails striking against their hips while occasionally bellowing. It was such a bellow that it sounded like a deep, meaningful statement declared after much pondering. The pungent scent of manure was increasingly getting stronger and brought me closer to this place. The village is a breathing, working creature and this smell is its sweat. No other scent in this world has enveloped me this much or made me reminisce on so many memories.
There was no one left in front of the coffeehouse other than a few old men. When they saw me, they stared without getting up from their seats. I sat next to them and explained who I was. Apparently, one of them was the village headman. He told me that it had been six months since the teacher before me went away and that the school had been closed ever since:
“The threshing is not finished yet. The kids can’t go to school or anything. You’ll sit and lie back for five or ten days!” he said.
Gathering the children and getting the classes in order was not difficult. The villagers are quick to understand those who speak their language. For now, I have nothing to complain about. However, there is this road issue that has become my primary concern and pursuit for months. As it turns out, the road that wore me out in the truck on my first day was the biggest problem in the province. Everyone is bound to carry their crops and passengers through this path. There are no other roads and even to call this one a road is hardly possible. Oddly enough, this is the same road that connects the province center to the railroad sixty kilometers away! Reckon more pressing matters have overshadowed this issue. I referred to the province both from our village and from other villages, explaining to the best of my ability how essential it is to have the road built. Thinking that government officials would not read long petitions, I wrote each of my ideas in a separate petition and had them delivered from separate villages. This way, all of them will be read. I also included many suggestions about how the villagers would help with constructing the road.
When I went into town the other day, the Education Director of the Province treated me a bit weirdly, mocking me, as if he was angry but trying not to show his anger. I wondered why. Then in passing, he said:
“Seems like you can find the time to mess around with issues other than schoolwork. Do you not have enough students?”
“They’re not few, but isn’t that my duty too?” I replied. His mocking eyes swept over me. He did not respond. Then outside, I heard from friends at the coffeehouse that the director was angry with me. I had read and explained the Constitution of Teşkilat-ı Esasiye to the villagers before. One of them who had a situation at the Cadaster submitted a petition and after a while, requested an answer. When the officials dismissed him, saying “What answer?”, he flared and insisted: “You will simply answer! You must! The law exists!”. After the officials asked around and found out that he learned the law from me, they complained to the director of education.
Many are irritated with me especially meddling with this road business. Not because it’s related to them, but just to have something to do. There’s a terribly rich man called Rüstem Ağa in the village I teach. He runs a cartwright’s shop in the city, repairing spring carts and tumbrels. I heard him badmouthing me to the petitioning villages. Frankly, I’m not surprised. None of our attempts have resulted yet. Every so often, I feel like letting this thing go, as the officials of the government and especially those at the Ministry of Public Works are openly mocking me. Yet, my heart shatters as I see the state of the cars, the tumbrels, and the miserable animals returning from the station at night. I tell myself, “Don’t quit it now my dearest, it won’t suit you!”.
Oh, how these procedures take so long. There is no room left in the provincial hall that our application hasn’t been through. Even the villagers are astonished by my efforts. They also don’t have any hope in them that this endeavor will have an end.
Still, nothing has come out… I suppose this road won't be built. The villagers don’t help me either. Quite lifeless creatures… Or maybe even quite intelligent creatures and they don’t want to struggle for anything. I have no enthusiasm left in me. At least they could answer with one or two words, but they say neither yes nor no!... It’s as if we threw these petitions into a bottomless well.
In the evenings, I go up to the ridge near the village and watch the road stretch out into the dust in the distance. Sometimes a truck appears, covered in white dust with baskets and panniers tied to it. It moves slowly like it’s about to collapse, teetering like a human walking through quicksand with knees up and down. It’s such a bitter sight; I feel the need to close my eyes not to see the fight between this machine, the latest marvel of technology, and this most primitive road of the world. Now and then, I want to run and straighten the road with my palms, to do my part by fixing at least five or ten meters of the ground into a “road”.
Our issue suddenly rose to the surface. Recently, one of our elders came to town, and even though his car is most certainly comfortable, the road must have made itself known because he told the governor about it. The governor rushed in to say: “That's one of our main concerns, we want to get it done right this year, and the project is being prepared. We even thought of asphalting it… I wonder if you would often honor our city if the road was from asphalt?”
And that great individual replied:
“Of course, I’ll come...”
With that, the asphalt matter took on. Seems like I was asleep, the governor is already talking about projects… Looks like they aren’t as unconcerned with this issue as I thought, rather preferring to serve the public quietly and humbly.
Yet contrary to this silence, this time there is too much empty commotion. Half of the weekly newspaper of the province, which is the size of a menu, is overrun with news of the asphalt highway. I have somewhat gained a reputation in the village as well. The way our villagers treat people is like a barometer anyway, always up and down.
Personally, there was no need to asphalt this road for now. Instead of spending triple or quadruple the amount of money, it could be spent on more important matters and a simple macadam road of our own would be enough. Though maybe they have other plans. Maybe they want everything to be exceptionally perfect. Such big affairs are above my head. If we have the money, it doesn’t matter if they lay carpet on it or whatever, a road is good enough for me…
I heard the governor went to Ankara. The engineers who carried out the examination said that the road would come out to half a million, whereas the provincial budget is 350 thousand liras… They applied to banks to fund it, the banks wouldn’t give out the money without the guarantee of the Ministry of Finance, and the Ministry of Finance would not be a guarantor without the permission of the Parliament. In short, it’s all complicated business. That’s why the governor went, to straighten this all out. The poor man turned this road issue into his business. I learned from the provincial newspaper that he gave a speech to earn a subvention from the Meclis-i Umumi. A fine sample of rhetoric. He claims it is the sign from that great individual that drove him to put his heart and soul into this road issue and reminds the parliament that this individual promised to always visit the village after the road is built. Indeed, our elders see everything and wake up those who are asleep with just one sign. Although, the governor never mentions the people who have been applying for this road as well, or how much it will benefit the villagers. Maybe for him, these are things everyone knows about. Anyhow, lucky me if I had even a drop of influence on this road.
The construction of the road has already begun. I found out that the money was borrowed from banks, to be paid in due for many years. In return for the debt installments, they’ve cut a portion of the hospital budget and next year they’ll be reducing the education personnel a little. I’d never thought things would get this far, though nothing is certain yet. There's no need to be in a hurry. If finding money was the issue, so much more come to mind before cutting down on education. For example, the governor could have given up building a governor’s mansion for himself for the sake of this road, which he is oh so concerned with…
The road is advancing, and there’s a significant effort at the corner reserved for our village. Road rollers come and go, and a slew of laborer countrymen in mottled clothes work like ants. This lasts until late at night when they retreat to tents by the side to sleep. Most laborers sleep out in the open. I heard that the contractor couldn’t bring enough tents. They start working again at dawn. Some people from our village signed up to work as well. They’ll earn some pocket change and pay their tax debt. These workers return to the village after work, albeit quite worn out. Looks like the contractor hired an officer to stand over them, one who hardly allows for a ten-minute break, even to eat.
Our villagers were once very uninterested, but after the stone was laid and asphalt was starting to be poured, they all got curious. They can barely comprehend that this black thing, boiled in cauldrons and poured onto the ground, can be walked on, let alone trucks and cars passing over it. On their way back in the evening, those with fields close to the construction, crouch along the ditch by the side of the road to watch the roller go back and forth and talk to the workers they know about their daily wages.
The road has been completed. There’s going to be an opening ceremony in a couple of days. When I look at it from the hill next to the village, it shines like a dark snake in the distance. I guess they are going to plant trees on both sides as well. A marvelous thing to be honest. I feel giddy when I think about how the entire province will pass through here in crowds, how they will reach the station with ease, like gliding. There are rumors about the durability of the road… They say that the contractor laid it out properly. Though I guess it’s nothing more than a rumor. It’s surprising what horrid thoughts can come to one’s mind when facing this frightfully beautiful sight.
Today was the happiest day of my life. Decorative arches were set up around town, all the government employees showed up in their formal clothes. Even the Accounting Director donned his beige overcoat and top hat, locating himself at the front standing “1.55” tall. I too wiped and ironed my suit and got into it. The Education Director is glaring daggers at me but, whatever he says, leaving the village for a day won’t be the end of the world… I have a share in this road too… The public and the villagers were watching from afar, so I went by and talked to them; so overjoyed that I felt like hugging every single person. I thought of something after returning to my place, signaling the villagers to come closer. After all, this road is theirs before anyone else. Some of them began to advance, but the gendarmes did not let them. I didn't speak up, though my mood was spoiled from then on.
The governor gave a big speech, most of which I couldn’t hear because his voice wasn’t very loud, yet I could make out the words: “Republic, public works… Our mentors… Everything for the people…”. Some other people spoke shortly. They cut the ribbon, and a convoy of cars raced forward, with the governor’s car at the front. Then the government officials took five or ten steps after them; everyone seemed to be getting their feet accustomed to the asphalt. The villagers did not dare to step on the asphalt; perhaps because of their lack of experience or in fear of being scolded. They were walking along the dirt on both sides of the road and with big eyes, watching the fresh tire tracks shine wet on the asphalt road.
Despite everything, I returned to the village like a victorious commander.
Ten days after the opening, the Ministry of Public Works’ technicians submitted a report to the province. They stated that tumbrels, oxcarts, and even cars have highly damaged the asphalt. For some reason, they didn’t mention how the road’s lack of durability and sturdiness would influence this; as there were pits and deformities in patches, even in places where not only tumbrels but also slightly loaded trucks passed.
Panic has taken hold of the provincial officers; facing a danger that the road, which hasn’t been paid for yet, could break down back into its former state in fifteen days without that great individual visiting even once. They immediately gathered and decided to ban all means of transport without rubber wheels from crossing the asphalt road.
No one in the village wanted to believe this news. That was until some villagers were stopped by the gendarme, ordered to move their tumbrels out of the way, and forced to go back through muddy fields. Then they realized the seriousness of the matter.
This ban was too harsh. Since the road passed through a strait in between two mountains, those who wanted to go to the station would now have to travel around the mountain and waste six hours. The villagers came together to come up with a solution, but for now, it wasn’t possible to stand up to the gendarme nor to install tires on the tumbrels.
They were going to take a route that took six more hours and was several times worse than before, going around the back of the mountain…
None of them spoke to me anymore, they all looked at me with hate in their eyes. One day, toward the evening, the village headman came to speak:
“My son! We didn’t have a problem with you, but this road issue changed the situation. They blame you for this problem and they don’t listen to me. They've attempted to beat you and even go further a few times, I barely managed to stop them… Your enemies are increasing in other villages as well. Someday, something will happen to you. Better leave here peacefully. Do not be offended and forgive me!”
It's not like I wasn’t thinking about this too. There was no way to interpret the villagers’ attitude toward me in a positive light. I packed some of my stuff into my bag and made the rest into a bundle; just as I came to this village, one evening when the sun was stretching over the yellow weeds and the wind was swaying them like a red sea, I left, leaving behind the pungent smell of manure and dung fumes.
Sabahattin Ali
Translator: Özgür Onat Çinkılıç
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