It’s an old notion that learning a person’s name gives you
power over them. You’ll find it in many Nordic and Indian tales. I wonder if
this is one of the reasons why I’m so nervous when I know I will be called to
introduce someone. I really don’t want the responsibility that comes with that
power.
I hardly
ever bulk when someone asks my name, unless it’s someone calling me on the
phone. Shouldn’t they know it’s me they called? And, unless it’s a taxi driver
in Istanbul.
The other
day it took me six tries to get a taxi to take me to the neighborhood where I’m
staying. There wasn’t a queue and people (men) kept jumping in front of me just
as I walked up to the car. When I finally got the attention of a driver I’d
lean into the passenger window with my map and point to the intersection. They’d
shake their head no. They didn’t want to deal with the traffic. Does this make
sense to you? They’re taxi drivers, for god sake! And I knew there would be plenty
of folks at the other end.
When one
finally agreed and I climbed into the back seat, he fell into conversation.
(long pause) “What is your name?” (long pause) “Are you married?” Oh my. But
it’s not what you think. This was not actually a flirtation of any kind. That
would be out of the question. It was, well, just conversation; a chance to
practice English, maybe, but even more, an opportunity just to be kind. “How
are you today?” might become too involved. “What do you think of this weather?”
doesn’t work either. My name is just one word, and it sounds different. So does
theirs because I always ask the same. A simple yes or no is sufficient for the
next question. For the record, I reply yes.
Today took
a tram to an area that I like since it’s my last day here. No purpose in mind
other then to get a coffee or a tea and a bit of something to eat. It was
pretty hot, so I just wanted to sit and people watch. There was a gentleman who
commented on my picture taking; his English was pretty good. Later he asked if
he could offer me a cup of tea and sit down with me.
I was done
with my snack and it was paid for. It would do no harm if he sat. He had a kind
face and sure enough, he started a conversation that went beyond my name,
though he did ask. We talked of Istanbul and why so few Americans are visiting
it now. We talked a bit of politics and economics and his love of Turkey. He
told me he spoke five languages so-so. I told him I speak only one, with much embarrassment.
Then he told me he managed the carpet selling business next door. I was so let
down. I was really hoping that our conversation was not about selling me
something. It seemed where ever I went shopkeepers were trying to pull me in.
But I had told this man my name and now he had power.
“Are you
interested in Kilmer carpet? May I show you?” Darn. But since we’d just had a
nice conversation I said, with kindness in my voice, “No. I mean no disrespect
but I’m really not interested in carpet and I hope you don’t try to convince
me. I’ve enjoyed talking to you about other things.” Just like that.
“Yes. A
nice conversation. Thank you. I will say nothing more about carpets,” and he
released the power and set me free. Thank you Omar.
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