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That year, my mother started to work for an Armenian dressmaker in Uskudar [a district on the Asian side of Istanbul] for one lira a day –´our monthly house rent was 4 liras – in order to make a living for us. She would leave home in the mornings, and go to work on foot, in order to save money. The distance between our house and her workplace was three kilometers. She would prepare our lunch before she left. I was ten and my brother was around eight years old. We would play with the ball or marbles in the street all day long till my mother came home. We would play with the ball reluctantly, fearing that our shoes, which were already old, would wear out even more. My mother, who had become desperate once, had cut the upper parts of her boots, which were left from her teenage years, and gave me the cut boots to wear.
I often saw my mother crying, and cried as well because I couldn’t bear to see her cry. We had a lot of difficulties getting by. We bought our coal from the coal-seller Anastas [Greek name] either weekly or in kilograms. We couldn’t afford to buy good oranges, and bought from the rotten fruits called ‘tokadikas’ [meaning ‘touched’ in Ladino] because they were cheaper. Whenever my mother was hard up, she would cut a piece from her ‘kolana’ [gold chain necklace in Ladino], which my father had bought her, and sell it, in order to be able to pay the rent. The necklace was one meter long.
Later on, when she became tired of going to work, she left her job in Uskudar and started sewing ties at home. One day, a thief broke into the house and stole her sewing machine when we had gone out to take some air. My mother felt very sad. Her livelihood was gone. A few days later, she sold the chain-watch, the last memory left to us from my father, and bought a new sewing machine.
My mother didn’t lose contact with my aunt Sultana and my uncles, my father’s brothers, who had immigrated to the States. She often exchanged letters with them. They would sometimes send money, in small amounts, to help us. When my aunt Sultana once sent a check for 150 dollars, we had to go to the Ottoman Bank on Voyvoda Street in Karakoy to cash it. We settled our rent and coal debts first, and then we went shopping. We were so happy that day, as if it was a festival! I’ll never forget that day.
I often saw my mother crying, and cried as well because I couldn’t bear to see her cry. We had a lot of difficulties getting by. We bought our coal from the coal-seller Anastas [Greek name] either weekly or in kilograms. We couldn’t afford to buy good oranges, and bought from the rotten fruits called ‘tokadikas’ [meaning ‘touched’ in Ladino] because they were cheaper. Whenever my mother was hard up, she would cut a piece from her ‘kolana’ [gold chain necklace in Ladino], which my father had bought her, and sell it, in order to be able to pay the rent. The necklace was one meter long.
Later on, when she became tired of going to work, she left her job in Uskudar and started sewing ties at home. One day, a thief broke into the house and stole her sewing machine when we had gone out to take some air. My mother felt very sad. Her livelihood was gone. A few days later, she sold the chain-watch, the last memory left to us from my father, and bought a new sewing machine.
My mother didn’t lose contact with my aunt Sultana and my uncles, my father’s brothers, who had immigrated to the States. She often exchanged letters with them. They would sometimes send money, in small amounts, to help us. When my aunt Sultana once sent a check for 150 dollars, we had to go to the Ottoman Bank on Voyvoda Street in Karakoy to cash it. We settled our rent and coal debts first, and then we went shopping. We were so happy that day, as if it was a festival! I’ll never forget that day.
Period
Location
Üsküdar/İstanbul
Türkiye
Interview
Samuel Coyas