CHAPTER 3

My initial fortnight in Çorum stands as one of the most splendid chapters of my life. There were moments when I felt I forged more friendships in those fourteen days than I had accumulated throughout my entire existence. It didn't matter if I ventured out for a leisurely stroll to inhale the invigorating Turkish air or sought nourishment in the refectory; I seemed to be a magnet for friendly encounters. Every outing resulted in a new acquaintance, usually initiated with the inquiry, "Nerelisin?" Initially baffled by this Turkish phrase, I would quirk my brow in confusion, prompting an immediate switch to English with the question, "Where are you from?" As time passed, I grew familiar with the meaning of "Nerelisin?" and would confidently reply, "Nigeria." However, a new challenge arose. In Turkish, it should be "Nijerya" instead of "Nigeria," causing some of them to become perplexed by my response. Over the course of time, I acclimated myself to using "Nijerya" rather than "Nigeria." As they grasped the country I hailed from, the conversation often veered toward footballers they believed were Nigerian but weren't necessarily part of the Nigerian national team. A group of amiable young men greeted me with names like "Drogba," "Aboubakar," and "Mane" because they mistakenly thought these players were Nigerians. I wasn't inclined to bask in praise intended for other African countries, so I resorted to Google Translate to explain that these footballers were not actually Nigerians. Curiously, they appeared unfazed by the revelation. To them, the distinction between a Nigerian, Ivorian, or Senegalese didn't seem to matter; they were all simply "Hepsi Afrikali."

During those initial weeks, my closest companion was a guy named Ismail. Ismail proved to be an invaluable friend. He visited my room more than twice a day, engaging in meaningful conversations, offering unsolicited yet crucial advice on navigating life in Turkiye, guiding me to various places, and inquiring about life in Nigeria. He possessed a satisfactory command of English, making communication effortless. Ismail confided in me about his aspiration to enhance his English skills, a goal he eventually achieved through daily conversations with me.

Ismail harboured a fascination for black girls, particularly admiring their well-defined curves. This fixation led him to request my assistance in connecting him with Nigerian girls. When he deemed my efforts insufficient, he took matters into his own hands by creating an account on a social media platform (the name of which eludes me). Through this platform, he reached out to a couple of jovial Nigerian girls and expressed his intention to date them.

My initial weeks in Çorum are incomplete without mentioning one of my roommates, Muhammet. Muhammet embodied the spirit of every party. He radiated life, had a vast circle of friends, and was extraordinarily outgoing. What made it even better was his unwavering commitment to taking me along on his adventures. Consequently, I quickly familiarized myself with all the vibrant hotspots in Çorum. However, there was one drawback – Muhammet had a penchant for tardiness. He'd lose track of time while relishing the social scene with friends, often forgetting our dormitory's 11:00 pm curfew. We'd race back just minutes before the deadline, occasionally making it on time, but most times, we'd return well past the 11:00 pm mark. It wasn't a lifestyle I was prepared to embrace, especially considering my upcoming Turkish language classes in the weeks ahead.

Regarding my Turkish language classes, I embarked on this journey in late October. The memory of my first day remains vivid, etched in my mind. It marked my inaugural experience in a class teeming with individuals of diverse nationalities and ethnic backgrounds. Among my classmates were individuals of North African heritage, a handful from Central America, a significant contingent hailing from Central Asia, and a few of us with Sub-Saharan African roots.

Even before our first day of class, I had already established friendships with two classmates, Stanley and Disthet. I recall spotting Disthet's photo on our class group chat and subsequently meeting him in person in the dormitory. Our connection was instantaneous and remarkably effortless. Perhaps it was due to our shared Sub-Saharan African background, but who's to say for certain?

My introduction to Stanley unfolded in a more intriguing manner. Stanley happened to be the only classmate I had encountered while still in Nigeria. Our paths crossed within a Telegram group for students preparing to study in Turkiye. He brimmed with excitement at the prospect of sharing the same school with another student, and, as a result, we swiftly forged a close bond. Stanley would later become an integral part of my Turkish experience. I admired Stanley not only for his impeccable hygiene but also for his profound life philosophy, his intellect, and his unwavering patriotism to his homeland, Haiti. It was through Stanley that I was introduced to Kompa, one of the most captivating music genres I had the pleasure of discovering thus far.

Language school started off as an enjoyable experience. My teacher for the first and second classes, Mrs. Irem was incredibly friendly and empathetic. She was the kind of teacher who wouldn't harm a fly, never raised her voice at any student, and was genuinely eager to encourage everyone's active participation in class—a true gem, if you ask me.

Turkish was progressing reasonably well, despite the fact that I was learning Turkish through the Turkish language itself. I recall asking my Liberian friend, Yakubu, why we weren't being taught Turkish in English. He pointed out that we had learned French in English for years without becoming fluent, which began to make sense to me. Nevertheless, learning Turkish through Turkish was no walk in the park. I often struggled to understand the teacher, but when she'd inquire, "anladınız mı?" (Did you understand?), I'd respond with a resolute "evet" (yes). It was all in good spirits until the Turkish A1 examination loomed on the horizon. I recollect meticulously dissecting every passage in my textbook and seeking guidance from Basir to decipher the aspects I found challenging.

Basir, hailing from Afghanistan, was undeniably one of the most proficient Turkish speakers in our language school. What made our study sessions more manageable was his fluency in English. He had a unique knack for effortlessly translating Turkish concepts and words into English, facilitating my comprehension. Thanks to his guidance, my Turkish proficiency made a remarkable leap forward.

The day of the examination arrived, and I distinctly recall the nervous tremors coursing through me. A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. "What if I fail the examination?"Is my Turkish proficiency sufficient?" Before I knew it, I found myself seated for the Turkish examination. Surprisingly, I wasn't as agitated as I had been earlier because the exam turned out to be much simpler than I had anticipated. In a flash, the examination concluded, and we all retreated to our dormitory to rest after the demanding A1 course.