Angel Obama
Setting out on the rain-soaked streets of Sultanahmet armed with an umbrella and a camera, I went to survey the barricade situation the night before Barack Obama’s short cultural visit to the heart of the Ottoman and Byzantine Empire. Tall navy blue barricades emblazoned with “polis” had been deposited alongside the main areas of the Hippodrome and along Divanyolu leading down to Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, but it was still possible for a nosy Canadian like meto slip between them with ease.
Police barriers outside Hagia Sophia, waiting for Obama's visit the next morning.
“Too much rain, ya.” The corn vendor in the Hippodrome mused. “Not good luck for Obama.”
Earlier, I had read the daily English newspaper which highlighted Obama’s visit to Turkey. The front page featured a picture of him strolling, lanky and waving with a big smile on his face. The newspaper graphic designer added ink-blot angel’s wings behind his broad manly shoulders. Yes, Obama had arrived in Turkey. He’d already visited Ataturk’s tomb in Ankara, laid a wreath for the Turkish leader who brought a strong and secular democracy to an Islamic society, and wowed the parliament with a beautifully written speech aimed at healing the rift between the USA and the Muslim world. He even gave a shout out to Turkish basketball players Hedo Turkoglu and Mehmet Okur, Who “have got some pretty good game” in the president’s opinion. The swoons of the collective Turkish population could be felt like a small earthquake rippling though the Turkish underground after Obama stepped down from the podium in Ankara.
Blue Mosque Barriers.
And now he was here in the cultural capital, staying on the other side of the bridge at the Conrad Hotel, on the other side of the water from Sultanahmet. A few tourists were out and about, snapping pictures of the main sites, Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, which would be visited by the Obama entourage around noon the next day. I stopped at a wine store, known in Turkey as a Tekal, on Divanyolu and chatted with the handsome shop boy while I bought a bottle of red Turkish wine for a friend’s birthday.
“Which wine is good?” I asked, perusing the labels.
“All Turkish wine is good.” was his answer.
“Well if Obama came here, which bottle of wine would you give him?"
“Oh this one. It is the best!” He laughed.
As I paid for the wine, the conversation shifted to the politics of past presidents.
“Turkey hates George Bush. George Bush no good. Poppa (the Pope) also not good. Poppa say bad things to Muslim people, (referring to disparaging remarks the Pope made about Islam in 2006). But we like Obama. When George Bush and Poppa come here, we pissed off with all this.” He motioned towards the barriers flanking the tramway. “But for Obama, we open 24/7.”
“Are you American?” The grey haired father behind the till asked.
“No, I’m Canadian.” I smiled, but for once in a long time I didn’t feel the need to defend my Canadian-ness in the face of being called an American. The old man smiled.
“Everybody love Obama and Obama love everybody. Obama wants peace. We are happy this man come to Turkey.”
The atmosphere among the street vendors, tourists and average Turks from all walks of life was jubilant, and it felt like New Year’s Eve Day, everyone waiting for that special time that would come and offer us a new beginning and an inspiration of hope, if only in our minds. I eavesdropped on tourists talking in several different languages, the name Obama punctuating each conversation. Smiles, high fives and fist bumps, it was a special time to be wandering the streets of Sultanahmet. It was like this small patch of real estate, that was once the seat of the Roman, the Byzantine and the Ottoman Empires was about to receive a twenty-first century blessing from the world’s most powerful but humble leader, and we were all there to catch any spare “world leader love” that might fly our way.
Scrubbed up and presentable for presidential inspection.
I cruised through the courtyard of the Blue Mosque, which was also going through a rigorous cleansing but was still open for those who wanted to pray. Cleaners had scrubbed the cobblestones with wire brushes and hoses. Plastic bags had been filled with garbage and were ready for the garbage truck. The tulips had been ordered to stand at attention and look crisp and bright despite the thrashing of raindrops that had been pummeling them for the better part of the afternoon. The numerous stray cats of Sultanahmet slipped between the flowers, barriers and tourists- even they seemed playful and rambunctious, feeling the excitement in the air.
Snipers in the Blue Mosque Minarets. They were perched in minarets and rooftops as far as we could see.
The morning of Obama’s visit to my neighbourhood, the barriers had been moved to block the streets into the Hippodrome, and around the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. Rene and I managed to squeeze between some of the riot police and police tanks and headed down the back way to get as close as we could to the park where Obama, if choosing to walk between the two historical buildings, would coolly glide along with his entourage. Small groups of locals and tourists, ladies in head scarves and back-packing international twenty-somethings gathered along the blue barricades and waited for a glimpse of the excitement.
Very relaxed Turkish police with riot gear.
We met out friend Kathy, an American expat living in Turkey at a coffee shop just down the hill from the Blue Mosque. Kathy had brought her eight-year old son to see the President. Together we speculated where to go and which direction the Obama motorcade would take. Having a small American child wearing an Obama T-shirt with us didn’t earn us any sympathy from security. We simply weren’t getting anywhere near the Obama motorcade. We decided the only other direction to go was up. Kathy led us to a nearby hotel and we took the elevator to the buffet room and joined the hotel breakfast goers, which gave us a sensational view of the park. We weren’t allowed on the roof as Turkish security was occupying it, but the Turkish restaurant staff didn’t seem to mind that we occupied a prime table and weren’t eating a thing.
Kathy and Ali Adam!
Pressed up against the window, we could make out the tiny figures of security and snipers in the minarets of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. Regular police in yellow vests dotted the tops of buildings and competed for space with satellite dishes. Here and there we could make out tourists in the nooks and crannies of the barricades straining their necks and their toes to get a look at something a little Obama-esque. Stray cats strolled around the park at their leisure, rolling on the grass, taking advantage of such a large space unnaturally devoid of tourists. Oh to be a cat in Sultanahmet today!
Turks and tourists alike waiting on rooftops for that special glimpse.
After a few minutes, official-looking black SUVs with police lights began rushing down Divanyolu and into the square in front of Hagia Sophia. We pushed towards the windows, our little digital cameras strained to the max. Then, much to our delight, the large presidential limo displaying the presidential seal and both Turkish and American flags pulled up and turned around in our corner of the parking lot. I snapped some pictures between the trees, happy that Obama came in spring so the trees hadn’t sprouted all their leaves yet. Squeals and screams pealed throughout the dining room, someone shouted “Obama!” like he could hear us.
The presidential car arrives.
We debated. Will he get back in the car and drive over to the Blue Mosque, or will he stroll through the park? Security was tight enough in this area, but was it a huge security risk? What would Obama do? Kathy spied some news cameras tucked away in the garden.
“He’s going to walk! Let's change balconies!”
On an outside balcony we saw the media run across the park to set up the next shots followed by a slower entourage making their way across the park. We snapped away. I got too excited and zoomed in instead of zooming out. From where we were, we could make out individuals in suits, hard to decipher who was a tall American president and who was a security guard or an important Turkish dignitary. Nothing separating us but air, we blew kisses in his direction and laughed. As Canadians, we drew connections between Trudeaumania and Obamania, justifying our school-girlish attempt of getting close to Obama as “part of our heritage”. Our grandmothers and mothers did it with Trudeau, and here we were continuing on the spirit, albeit at a more international level.
The money shot! Well, Sort of. I've since bought a camera with a much more powerful zoom lense!
We watched the suits enter the mosque and waited until the live coverage in another room told us Obama had left the building and was on his way to the next stop, an open discussion with the young student generation at Tophane University. We bid farewell to Kathy and son and headed down towards the barriers next to the Blue Mosque.
Snipers in Minarets and Minaretls under restoration.
If we couldn’t greet of the Obama entourage as representatives of his neighbours to the north, then we could at least suck up some post-Obamic vibes and residue. Slipping through the barriers once the police gave us the go ahead, we walked quickly towards the mosque, snapping pictures of security as they were leaving. Inside, only one reporter and camera beat us to the entrance, and since they didn’t actually go in, we pushed past them, took off our shoes and were the first to enter the Mosque. Cameras were just being packed down on the mezzanine, and a few minutes later the snipers from the minarets emerged, carrying their shoes in one hand and snapping photos of the mosque with their camera phones with the other.
“Look!” Rene laughed pointing at them, “Luckily these were be the only shots they took today.” Outside the snipers jovially dusted each other off. Since loudspeakers aid the call to prayer nowadays in Turkey, there’s no need for the imams to go up into the minarets anymore and so the towers are extremely dusty.
Sharp Shooters shooting mobile camera pics.
And Obama was gone. And the tourists were back. And in a few short moments it was like none of it ever happened except the barricades were still hanging around as evidence. We laughed as we walked, wondering if our footsteps and Obama’s had crossed paths in our post-Obama traversing of the park. We weaved ourselves through tourists reentering the tourist areas and it seemed like nothing had happened at all until we overheard some Australians chatting next to an Ottoman fountain.
“I heard Obama stopped to pet some cats. He is way too cool.”
The press arrive and it's all over.
xx Melanie