The previous day, the HADEP has warned us that it could be better to
be in the place about 7 or 8 o'clock a.m... It is amazing to see how the
Kurds are up very early when we are concerned ! But as we are ready to
bet that they won't arrive before 10 or 11 o'clock, we decide to take
time for a breakfeast in a pastanesi next to our hostel, before caring
of the way to reach the feast. Everybody seem to know where it happens
and it is enough to ask to any car or cab to lead us.
On the road, some thousands of Kurds go on by car, bus, minibus or
moto (there is even a grand-mother set on a side-car), or simply walking.
Kids run away everywhere, women are walking and try to protect their
traditionnal dresses of mud, sellers of simit, these small round cakes
with semsame, pass between vehicules, on the blocked road, a tray
balanced on their heads. And among all that friendly mess, Turkish
policemen, quite overwhelmed but stoïc, try to rule the traffic and to
open the road. In their cars, families crowd in such a way that we
wonder how they could have entered inside all together. Some teen-agers
hang as cluster on the truck trailers : their drivers don't know
probably how many passengers they carry and if they will be the same at
the end than at the start.
There are too foods for the pique-nique : each family carry its
bread, vegetables, its tea vessel. A van is laden with an enormous quantity of
eggs and a truck next to the place where we are awaiting for carrries
som sheeps, that look at walkers quietly, unawared of their black fate.
And all that people splash in the mud : for the first day of spring the
weather is awfull. The program : rain in torrents, hail, wind, coldness...
For taking pictures, it will be not easy !
After two hours of traffic jam (on about ten
kilometers), we come
near to the concert where the crowd is dense. Some thousands of people
are pressed against the barriers, controlled by police and military
services, who are numerous but could hardly face to the floods of
spectators ; everybody must pass in some check-cabines, (in reality two
curtains) where policemen control presence of arms and look at foreigned
passports. They are all polite, and show even a certain respect : indeed,
we must be obstinate for coming from so far to splash under rain, hail
and mud!
As soon as we enter in the place, the security service of the HADEP
takes care of us and lead us till the official tribune where there are
European delegations, journalists, representaives and the mayors of
other cities. Ahead of the tribune, Murat Bozlak, the Chairman of the
HADEP, Feridoun Çelik, the mayor of Diyarbakir, Osman Baydemir, the
representative of the IHD in Diyarbakir are present.
Far from about twenty meters, there is a larger platform for the
musicians and singers, and where the politicians go for their speeches.
Further, a fire burns in a enormous cup, symbolizing the zoroastrian
fire of the New Year, that Murat Bozlak has ceremoniously inflamed for
beginning the feast. The air is cold in the tribune, but at least we are
quite protected of the rain, not like the thousands of people wha are
standing up for hours, and endure the weather without ceasing to sing
and shout slogans. In our tribune, trays of tea are proposed.
Pacifical speeches and musical spectacles obtain a general
enthusiasm.
Murat Bozlak, especially aplauded, confirms that his party wishes
brotherhood between all the Turkish citizens and Feridoun Çelik states
he is confident about the Kurdish claims. Peace is the main idea of the
day : here singing in kurd "bêjî aşitî" and on
the road, before, children have given to us a hat in paper, with the
name of the HADEP, on where the word "peace" is written in
Turkish and in Kurdish "bariş, aşitî".
The Kurdish language comes out sometime from the micros and
politicians or singers' voices, for stating the same thing : "Peace
and happy Newroz for everybody ". It's raining, more and more and
the roof of the tent is near to release floods of water. Osman Baydemir
risks to be abudantly wet. Murat Bozlak and other representatives get up
for dancing with the famous singer Sezen Aksu, bravely in low-necked, in
spite of the coldness. The concert ends at 4 o'clock p.m. and a staff of
television interviews the Chairman while officials leave slowly the
stage.
Our return is epic : when we see so much people crowded in the cars,
we renounced to take one. Minibus are assaulted and it is faster to walk,
in spite of people, rain, mud, and the weight of the cameras. We find
only a bus near to the town, that let us at Selah ad Din Ayyub market,
in center. Too bad for dances, pique-nique and Newroz fires : this
night, no braves for facing the rain... We come back at our hotel
beforte searching a restaurant where we like to end that evening. This
day and some kilometers under rain and mud have exhausted us and we
deserve to rest a little ...
Dreams are nice but short. Near to Selah ed Din marckett, Roxane is
suddenly thrown to the ground by a robber who takes her bag and
diseappear in the dark. It happens for the first time, and it is very
rare in the country, but the economical situation and misery become more
and more serious.
First constatations (except : aïe !) : she is completely wet, as the
facetious god of rain made her fallen in a splendid mare of water... and
more problematic, no passport. In Diyarbakir, on Newroz evening, it is
not very prudent... Sorry people in the street order to a student to
lead us toward the police station, a small cabin under the roofed
marckett. The policemen, after they have heared a summary of our story,
don't doubt that they are going to find our robber : they explain that
they have complete files about all the thiefs in the town (did they come
to be registered) and they will find all her things too (Yuuh, her
personnal cards too?...). By waiting for it, they decide to lead us to
the nearest police office.
Irony of the situation is evident for everybody, and we spent all
that evening surrounded by Turkish policemen, half-comprehensive,
half-laughing. Indeed, to be attacked by a Kurd, in Diyarbakir, on 21th
March... "Ey, Newroz, Newroz !..." : They have a
joking mood this evening, as most of them haved passed the day under the
rain, workind hard for watching the feast. Then, when we arrive and ask
their help, against a representative of that people we support... Today,
they won't believe our explanations about our so-called touristic travel
that we narred many time, in emergency-state areas.
One of them decide to cure Roxane's small wound. His task is
evidently to spread iod everywhere (on the ground too, why to be not
generous), and to blow very fastly on the serious wounds... for it not
burnt ! Nice, isn't it ? This complexe and professional chirurgical
operation is agremented with sweet Turckish chatterings, sometime
tempered by reproachs because the "Miss" does not pay
atttention for understanding her doctor's explanations. Obviously, if
she would have a few good-will, she could understand very well what
tells Mustafa (well, at least, she has get it...).
Then, for ending, he has just to take a band of gas (so enough for
covering entirely a mummy) and to paralyze her fingers under a tonne of
sparadrap, always with floods of Turkish chatterings, and a "seni
seviyorum"... that provokes a laugh (Roxane) and a look of
black blame of Mustafa, who was sure that his patient has just
understood this, only for making him confused. If the Kurds'
protectors begin to understand the lovely talks of the Turkish police,
where goes the world ...?
Indeed, it is quite unbelievable, but they are so friendly, polite,
attentive, and even lovely for some of them. This new attitude will be
confirmed tomorrow at the préfecture : they have with us the
same behavior as we would be VIP, guessed and hoped visitors ! How the
same could be so different with other people in else circumstances ?
Leaving the police station, with warm bye bye (all the staff is
accompanying us for a last shake-hand, insisting that if we need
anything...), we go at the end in restaurant, with the student who was
our translator. Sandrine speks Kurdish with some people : they have
adopted us after we have shared their dances and they send us fruits,
drinkings, cigarettes... The youngers speak Kurmandji very badly or even
noit at all, but they can yet understand it. Here, this language
diseapppears more and more : each others, in the street, in restaurant,
and even in the tribune of the HADEP, Turkish is the most spoken and not
Kurdish... It is the last generation before total assimilation.
She shows to them the French translation of Mem and Zîn
