Questions one wished one never asked
One of it, what happens to foreskins post circumcision?
Call it ennui or call it being eminently exposed to an ingrained religious custom in Turkey. Where one sometimes hears a tumult in the far distance accompanied by a musical apparatus that resembles a snake charmer's flute made merrier by drums and gongs. The sound encroaches nearer and nearer till it becomes so loud one has to scurry out like bees being smoked out of their hives to ensure one has not missed anything of importance. One finds out later that these individual parades are celebrations for each newly circumcised boy.
So back to the question earlier, yours truly has not obtained an answer as the better half was too polite to tell. But that was by no means an end to this tale.
One day the mother in law returned from a visit to the Yalikavak in laws. The in laws are born and bred in various villages of Bodrum and are permanently woven into the town and culture like ancient rugs that magically renew themselves through the birth of their offsprings. I devised an identification of each group of family by their locality otherwise I would get lost without this internal in law map. They have met me and I am somewhat of an enigma due to inability to converse in Turkish yet am able to comprehend and punctuate conversations with some clever phrases learnt back in Wellington, New Zealand, in the days of hosting at a Turkish restaurant.
I did not go this trip round, where the mother in law showed the Yalikavak family units of results of the photographs taken in our last trip. To give you some idea, even the brother in law has not visited these relatives for three years though he always has lived in Bodrum. So it was ok for me to skip this trip though it has been four crescents since I visited and photographed them. Being photographed can be as rare as the visits to each other, the former activity often reserved for important events where a photographer from the photo shop would come in and do an imaged record of the event.
Work tends to be the reason of lack of visits compounded by the usual organisation of around half a dozen more relatives to travel the distance on the dolmus (mini bus) outwards from central Bodrum. Yalikavak is two hours from door to door, one way, and visits to the in laws are full day events rivalling major annual bank conferences I have attended. It is not unusual for five hours to pass in a single sitting accompanied by an eight course main plus Turkish coffee or tea, sweets and fruits. This is only catch-up visit.
Now back to the story, mother in law said that the relatives were over the moon with the photographs I took of them. My photographs included the great grand aunt in law, a tiny blue eyed Turkish woman, plus three generations down to her great grand children. And then boom, I was expected back in Yalikavak, not only because they wanted to see me again but for the 'sunat' or circumcision event of her great grand son.
At first I thought sure, loved making pictures. I could find out then where the spare bit(s) went post removal from its owner. The more I thought of it however, the more apprehensive I became. For one, there is this issue of haematophobia. If I had fainted I might take the spotlight away from the boy to myself and that would not be right. Never mind trauma to the poor child, he would grow to appreciate his lack of excess in later years. But me, what good would it possibly do me having that in an attention-to-detail memory.
Restlessness settled in. The curse of taking acceptable pictures, one becomes the default designate for future jobs. I decided to consult via an s.o.s. text message to my father, whose father had a photo shop in the black-and-white-glass-plate-age of photography, who promptly told me to just capture the celebration part. I thought that was a reasonable idea. By then dinner was difficult to keep in and I no longer cared what happens to foreskins. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, why care how it is assimilated to earth.
In the meantime I am 'wikipaedia-ing' circumcision, in order to better understand the legacy of the practice without having to witness its haematic process. As to when the event actually happens, one did not think to ask. It could be interesting though, as the would be answer to the original question.
Call it ennui or call it being eminently exposed to an ingrained religious custom in Turkey. Where one sometimes hears a tumult in the far distance accompanied by a musical apparatus that resembles a snake charmer's flute made merrier by drums and gongs. The sound encroaches nearer and nearer till it becomes so loud one has to scurry out like bees being smoked out of their hives to ensure one has not missed anything of importance. One finds out later that these individual parades are celebrations for each newly circumcised boy.
So back to the question earlier, yours truly has not obtained an answer as the better half was too polite to tell. But that was by no means an end to this tale.
One day the mother in law returned from a visit to the Yalikavak in laws. The in laws are born and bred in various villages of Bodrum and are permanently woven into the town and culture like ancient rugs that magically renew themselves through the birth of their offsprings. I devised an identification of each group of family by their locality otherwise I would get lost without this internal in law map. They have met me and I am somewhat of an enigma due to inability to converse in Turkish yet am able to comprehend and punctuate conversations with some clever phrases learnt back in Wellington, New Zealand, in the days of hosting at a Turkish restaurant.
I did not go this trip round, where the mother in law showed the Yalikavak family units of results of the photographs taken in our last trip. To give you some idea, even the brother in law has not visited these relatives for three years though he always has lived in Bodrum. So it was ok for me to skip this trip though it has been four crescents since I visited and photographed them. Being photographed can be as rare as the visits to each other, the former activity often reserved for important events where a photographer from the photo shop would come in and do an imaged record of the event.
Work tends to be the reason of lack of visits compounded by the usual organisation of around half a dozen more relatives to travel the distance on the dolmus (mini bus) outwards from central Bodrum. Yalikavak is two hours from door to door, one way, and visits to the in laws are full day events rivalling major annual bank conferences I have attended. It is not unusual for five hours to pass in a single sitting accompanied by an eight course main plus Turkish coffee or tea, sweets and fruits. This is only catch-up visit.
Now back to the story, mother in law said that the relatives were over the moon with the photographs I took of them. My photographs included the great grand aunt in law, a tiny blue eyed Turkish woman, plus three generations down to her great grand children. And then boom, I was expected back in Yalikavak, not only because they wanted to see me again but for the 'sunat' or circumcision event of her great grand son.
At first I thought sure, loved making pictures. I could find out then where the spare bit(s) went post removal from its owner. The more I thought of it however, the more apprehensive I became. For one, there is this issue of haematophobia. If I had fainted I might take the spotlight away from the boy to myself and that would not be right. Never mind trauma to the poor child, he would grow to appreciate his lack of excess in later years. But me, what good would it possibly do me having that in an attention-to-detail memory.
Restlessness settled in. The curse of taking acceptable pictures, one becomes the default designate for future jobs. I decided to consult via an s.o.s. text message to my father, whose father had a photo shop in the black-and-white-glass-plate-age of photography, who promptly told me to just capture the celebration part. I thought that was a reasonable idea. By then dinner was difficult to keep in and I no longer cared what happens to foreskins. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, why care how it is assimilated to earth.
In the meantime I am 'wikipaedia-ing' circumcision, in order to better understand the legacy of the practice without having to witness its haematic process. As to when the event actually happens, one did not think to ask. It could be interesting though, as the would be answer to the original question.
posted by cherry at 2:18 AM
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