A Trip by Truck from Belgium to Turkey; (Day 1)

Life on Trucks

I see Cagdaş at the truck station at our meeting point in Belgium. The last time I saw him, he was a child. He used to come to our grocery to buy some candies. Now, he is a big man. From a distance, I speak to him loudly; ‘’ Now, you look like your grandpa, Devud il Karkuta’’ He smiles and says; “I’ve been driving between Turkey and the UK for 8 years”. He wants to hit the road immediately. It’s a reflex of truck drivers. They have to be on the way. They shouldn’t waste any time and they should plan the next break time after some hours. Cagdas starts to explain things enthusiastically; ‘’My time is running out, I cannot drive more than 9 hours in a day. My tachograph doesn’t let me to do it.’’ I understand that tachograph is the machine that records all the moves of drivers. I have always wanted to know the lives of truck drivers. Is it like the way that looks from the outside?; Difficult and adventurous? What do those owner of the roads that spend their years out of their homes as modern nomads eat and

drink? How do they feel? What do they think while driving? What does being on roads mean to them? What is it like to live a life far from home and family? I can’t wait to have the answers...

Çağdaş starts to tell me everything with his soft Arabic and Turkish in two languages. ‘’ I had always wanted to be a truck driver. As a result of this, I never wanted to go to school. When I was 14, I stole my dad’s truck to travel with my friend. We had beers and zbib (raisins) among our legs and enjoying the huge truck. Ya Allah le hel iyyem (Strange days they were). I couldn’t go home for 3 days because of the fear of my dad. Fortunately, I got over the situation with two slaps on my face.’’ I am starting to observe the truck. Inside of the latest model truck is more comfortable than a car and it has wonderful

technological equipments. Bunks are really comfortable to sleep. I dream nice things during my sleep but when I wake up in the morning, I can’t remember easily where I am. Çağdaş has three different countries’ cell phones; Turkey, Germany and UK. I ask him the reason. He answers; “The most hated driver is the one who isn’t reachable.’’ I get what he means. I ask; “Do you love your job? He answers: Iywalla (Of course). This is my hobby and my job. I love it so much. The only thing that breaks my heart is missing my family. If I had started this job before I got married I would have never married or I would have married to someone from a European country. You know I don’t discriminate among people according to their religion or race.

I have a curious look at his mobile kitchen mounted outside of the truck. It is like a food box. I notice

some parsley, mint, surki and a lot of food and ingredients. He says ‘’ I cook every kind of meal here. You’ll see when we cook and eat soon.’’ He puts on different songs on after another and starts singing

loudly together. He says; ‘I have every type of music; Turkish, Arabic, English. After Ahmet Kaya, starts Azerbaijani song and then Beyonce. Songs change his mood. Sometimes he feels like a rebel. Sometimes (when he listens to Arabic songs) he remembers his hometown Antakya, our village and Syria. He feels sad. After then, he tells a funny and sometimes erotic stories about truck drivers.

We take a break in Koblenz. We meet friends from our village that I haven’t seen for a long time.  Tunç, Temin and Taylan are the guys who migrate to Germany after university education. Everyone tells their life story briefly. They all have a common point. Tunc contious; “We all have had poverty in our childhood and we have better life standards now. Homever, we miss our old days”. Is this a sign of getting old? Temin smiles and says;

“I make a lot of money here. I get used to life in Germany and I feel integrated. I do my best to make my children learn at least five languages. I want them to be World citizens. I miss my childhood, teenage years, our pure times and of course the old people of the village. We tell the stories of the interesting characters Yeves Yyeves, iL Sakra, Ahmet Suphi,ç Nayef Srayser how have already passed away. The laughs stop after a while and we feel the deep sadness. Temin says; ‘’Stakt ktir’’ (I miss a lot). I say; “You didn’t change. He smiles with his athletic body and says; ‘’ If you want to stay young, you have to be funny; you have to do sports and much sex. We all laugh loudly. We realize that our friendship continues like it has never ended. We take a photo in front of Wilhem Statue as we did the same one 16 years ago. Night time. He says; I call it; Ataturk Statue. That moment, I remember my father. He was working in an iron and steel factory near here 57

years ago. He didn’t stay so long in Germany. He came back soon. However, he took German technique, science and philosophy from here and he used that when he was raising us up. I learnt my first German words from him before I learnt Turkish. Strange, isn’t it? His spirit and memories took me here to study for master degree after long years. He must have guessed this moment. I hope, he is smiling at me now from somewhere.

Translated from Turkish By: Berdan Sönmez