At a cheap restaurant in market district in Izmir, three women sat. Two were elderly, one was a youngster. They ordered the regular fare. And started chatting. The youngster had a dark skin, and very light blue eyes. And an incredible pink scarf. She wore a black top with long sleeves to cover all her visible parts per Islamic rule. She had long skirt that extended to the floor. It was 40 something degrees. And not a drop of sweat at sight.
There was something wrong in her eyes at first. Couldn’t point out what and directed my attention back to my own plate. But it was not before long her attitude attracted my attention again. It was obvious that she couldn’t focus her state on one subject. Her eyes were moving rapidly horizontally and she was pointing her gaze at different points continuously. She looked so unhappy, so dull, so disoriented, yet so beautiful in all.
She ignored all communications attempts by her party. As their plates arrive, the rest of the table attacked their food. She kept staring. No head movement, no interest in her food. Just her eyes moved as they did before and her unrecognizing gaze kept on staring in my direction.
For the next forty-five minutes this charade continued. She searched for an unknown help somewhere. She looked and looked without a single emotion or motion, save for a few touches to her nose with her fingers. Yes, she was desperate, but why and of what escapes me.
A young beautiful girl, all wrapped head to toe with heavy clothes on a fervent summer day, who knows what kind of torture she faces under the yoke of the males of her family everyday? Do I really wonder what became of her? Or she is just sharing a common fate of many Muslim women in this world?
As her party finished their food and paying and doggy-bagging her plate, she jumped to her feet. Started walking to a destination without waiting for anyone.
She had a place to rush to. Or not. Maybe she was just trying to leave herself behind.