*Disclaimer on this post: although it is (I believe) quite interesting, it's also a bit wordy. If you're not much of a reader, scroll down to see the pictures at the bottom.
As you can see, I've acquired a new piece of artwork this weekend, which means it's gonna be rather difficult to carry my Adam and Eve painting and this new one back home safely to the States (but it can be done! cardboard tube!). Yesterday I told you I had a really busy weekend, and I described my Friday and Saturday. But Sunday was also very eventful. At Jean Monnet, a great number of my students are of Turkish, Algerian, or Moroccan descent. In particular, there is a very large Turkish community that has been living in Flers since the 1970s. That's over forty years! And they all come from one area in particular: the Northeast of Turkey, a town called Posof, which is very close to the Georgian border. These are not your Turks from Istanbul, in other words. They speak a different dialect of Turkish, and, interestingly, one that has been preserved in Flers... and that is, as I've understood, being lost in its native area, as more and more people move to the cities (Istanbul, for example).
It has been so much fun for me this past year, in addition to discovering the French culture, to be immersed in this unique community. I love the diversity that is found in this small little town: I've been told that the immigrant population here is the third largest in France in terms of percentage of immigrants to percentage of "natives" (preceded only by Paris and Marseille!!). My students, for the most part, are not immigrants. The majority of them were born in France, and they proudly state their French nationality. But they also have a very healthy pride in their roots. It's not uncommon to hear them speak Turkish or Arabic amongst themselves, and since Arabic is often the common language, this creates a special bond between the arabophone students, who slip little Arabic phrases in when they're talking to each other. In my initial post about the schools I work at, I expressed a hope that my students would learn acceptance of each other. But as I have observed the students together, I've come to realize that they actually don't have many prejudices based on nationality or origins. Some do, it is true, but on the whole, the students form friendships and bonds simply based on personalities and interests. They play together in the courtyards, talk together (often during class, much to my chagrin), and every once in a while, they argue with each other over something silly, and then make up later.
In any case, I was thrilled to see a few weeks ago that the Tourism Office and the Franco-Turkish Friendship Association were offering a guided visit of the Turkish mosque in Flers. I signed up, and spoke about it to my friend Angélique, who ended up coming with her parents as well. In addition to touring the mosque, I was interested to see what the community response to the invitation would be, mainly because there have been multiple cases of tension lately between some members of the Muslim populations and some of the French. Coming from a country with the same types of issues, especially in more recent years, I have to say that I think these attitudes are unhealthy for any society. Call it cliché, but I want to live in a place where acceptance, understanding, and, at the bare minimum, tolerance are part of the social fabric. Diversity is a country's greatest strength: it makes it unique, giving it richness and depth. I never want to live in a homogenous society.
The day of the visit, on Sunday, I was happily surprised to find a decent-sized crowd of French families (about forty persons in all, I'd guess) gathered to tour the mosque. A friendly, pleasant man met us, and the tour began. I had brought a scarf in the expectation that I'd have to cover my hair, but the Turkish community welcomed everyone into their mosque, and even into the large prayer room, with no special requirements. Although the building was simple, the beautifully painted tiles on the walls elevated it and made it very handsome. Our guide told us that the community had donated on average 2,000 euros from each family to purchase the land and construct the mosque. What an impressive accomplishment!
In addition to the prayer room and mezzanine, we also toured the classrooms, where the students learn Turkish and Arabic, and saw the common areas and Turkish market that are also part of the mosque. I asked if the Maghrebian community attended the mosque as well, and was surprised to learn that there are two other mosques in Flers: a Moroccan mosque and an Algerian one. Our guide explained to us that the language difference is the main reason for multiple mosques, but also that the approach to the religion varies a bit across the different communities. He impressed and surprised me when he said that they invite everyone, from all religious (and he named them: Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, etc) and non-religious backgrounds, to come and discover their community, and even to sit in on the prayers and meetings.
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| *More than a few of the photos in this collage are the property of Alice Méker, who I met while on the tour and who graciously forwarded me the ones she was taking for a newspaper article in the Orne's local newspaper (I had forgotten my camera; my own photos of the day were taken on my cell phone!). Her photos, from left to right, are the 4th and 5th ones on the top row, the 4th one on the second row, and the first three photos on the bottom row. Mille mercis, Alice! |
I almost couldn't help myself, and shamelessly asked if I could keep the painting. Kadir was very kind to oblige, and signed his name in tiny letters along the stem of the flower.
The visit ended with a gracious spread of tea and Turkish treats (Turkish delight! Mmmm!), and more conversation. All in all, I was really impressed with how the community - on both sides! - opened their arms and hearts, and everyone participated in the questions and discussion; our guide stressed that no question was taboo. The French, curious as ever (I both love and hate this about them, but mostly I love it) did ask some delicate questions, about the separation of women from the men in the prayer room, for example (honestly, once you have been in one of these prayer rooms you can understand why... the people are literally rubbing arms with their neighbours on that mat, and each person's face is awfully close to the person in front of them's backside. This isn't a church, with a nice row of chairs or pews, and the people aren't just sitting: they're moving up and down, undoubtedly sweating, it's close quarters... briefly put, it's rather aerobic, and it's easy to see why they don't think it's a good idea for members of the opposite sex to be rubbing up against each other in the middle of it all). But the dialogue and mutual respect that I think came out of the experience was stereotype-breaking (it even broke some of my stereotypes), and the whole day was a great success. The best part, of course, was that a few of my luckiest Turkish students got to practice their "hellos" and "how are you?s" when they ran into their English teacher on a Sunday. ;o)
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