First leg of our journey to Syria deployment- beautiful Turkiye!

We have arrived in Istanbul, Türkiye; our first layover before the Forgotten Women troop continues on an onward journey to Syria. I just had to share my experience so far!

The warm welcome here is something I hadn’t felt in over 20 years. It’s returned to what I remember from my first visit, when I came with my now 25-year-old son on my very first real holiday as an adult. Back then, I remember the warmth and kindness of the people; the genuine love and excitement in welcoming you into their country as though you were their personal guest.

When I visited again 12 or 13 years later with my teenage son, something felt different. The people seemed more accustomed to tourists, and I felt that the genuine smiles and heartfelt welcome had faded.

But now, this “new” Türkiye feels like the “old” Türkiye again. It feels like the place I visited 25 years ago.

I entered the airport masjid to pray Fajr, and SubhanAllah, Allah has made it possible for me to place my head on the ground in prayer at every salah during this journey. What a blessing.

As I prayed, an older Turkish woman in a grey uniform, wearing a lanyard, walked in behind me and greeted me with salaam. I returned it. She had a slight limp; worn hips, no doubt; and carried a cup of black tea. She had come in for a break during her shift.

She spoke to me continuously in Turkish, fully aware that I wouldn’t understand a word. I smiled warmly, reminded of my own mother, who speaks Punjabi to my English husband with complete confidence that he will somehow “get the gist.” He never has; but he nods and smiles, just as I did with this beautiful soul.

Then she did something that touched me deeply. She poured half of her tea into another cup she had tucked beneath hers and handed it to me. I was so moved by her kindness that I hugged her and thanked her, placing the tea down so I could finish my prayer. She gently gestured for me to drink it first.

On the plane, I had missed my chance for a cup of tea; the hostess passed by with the trolley, and though I had been looking forward to it, I was too shy to call her back. And here I was, being gifted tea in the most unexpected and heartfelt way.

Afterwards, I sat against the wall of the prayer room, and we sipped tea together. She continued speaking in Turkish, sharing her life story. I understood just enough; she had been cleaning the airport toilets for the past three years. She proudly showed me youtube videos of her hometown, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that spoke of deep love and pride for where she came from.

In that quiet corner of the masjid, without a shared language, we shared something far greater.