People are counted in Kahramanmarash. Cries among the rubble. Hand salute. Brother found brother. The neighbor recognized the neighbor. Someone is running around with a list in their hands. “Yüz Kırk dört” – “One Hundred and Forty-Fourth!” Bags and garbage fly through the air. For a long time the dead will be mourned here. Beneath the concrete tombs no sound is heard, and there is no sign of life… But there will always be wonderful stories of salvation, hope dies last. We mourn every loss together.
In an instant, there were so many homeless people here. But they won’t stay on the streets forever. AFAD, the Turkish analogue of our Ministry of Emergency Situations, has set up a tent camp for those who no longer have a roof over their heads, right at the football stadium. Volunteer Victoria Grobova lived in Istanbul for a long time and was born in Berdyansk in the Soviet Union. Strong, robust, she carries heavy boxes. Turkish tea is poured into a huge teapot. Rescuers from Azerbaijan and Belarus have a quick snack with us.
A bazaar has opened in Kahramanmarash, tangerines are shining in the stalls, and bright yellow bananas and red tomatoes are in the crates. Food and water are delivered without interruption. Lentil soup boils in a cauldron, cakes are fried. Already without panic, without tension of the nerves, people line up for hot lentil soup. The cafe roasts meat, brews Turkish coffee on the sand. The policeman rushed towards me, but not to stop me: he wants to give an interview to the Russian press. It tells how the money, jewelry and edged weapons found under the ruins are described.
My English was not useful: here, in the southern provinces, they don’t know it. We explain on the fingers, plus an electronic translator to help you. Although charging the phone is a whole. So many days in Khatai, there is no electricity and the equipment drains quickly. But the authorities promised – and they have already delivered fuel for the generators. What hasn’t failed yet is cellular communication. Taken everywhere, even with a four-point earthquake. Gasoline at gas stations is poured without restriction, both in the tank and in the canisters.
The Defne region has turned into ruins. No matter how hard our rescuers from the Ministry of Emergency Situations fought, they couldn’t save the Russian family from the rubble. And the greatest destruction is in the Armutlu region. In the central square, a person faints because of a spectacle of apoplexy. The doctors were there – they sat me down, brought me to my senses with ammonia.
In Kyrykhana, a small, emaciated Turkish woman with eyes filled with bottomless fatigue asks for help to carry bags with warm clothes and blankets. Resigned loaded with packages like a camel. This is for its owner, Mehmet picks up the remaining bills from the ground, checks the goods. Here he will mount the shop window with plywood and sit at the counter himself. Across the road, Turkish chickpeas and spiced bulgur are sold. Delicious fried rounds in sweet puff pastry, they will cheer you up a bit.
Gaziantep suffered less. After the first shocks, the owners of apartments in high-rise buildings were not even allowed to approach the houses, and now they are allowed to enter.But first specialists come to check the absence gas leaks. And the plumbing survived: there was water in Gaziantep all this time. The roads in the south of the country are broken by stones and cracks.
Exchangers are out of the question, now even local liras are worth their weight in gold. But the ATMs that fell from the shaking had already been lifted off the ground.
I’m looking for a way out. There are few public transport flights, all buses are crowded. There are 12 boxes at Gaziantep station, and only one, fortunately, found a ticket to Istanbul. The inside of the bus is packed, I don’t have enough space. Only women with children in their arms are seated, children cry halfway. I am standing. Ride 18 hours. One leg goes numb, then the other. I tend to sleep and from time to time I bump into a neighbor. This is Abdul, he is from Syria. He only has a small package in his hands. It’s all he has left.
There is darkness in the windows, you can see through the lights how certain cities are floating, and I am deep in thought. I remember the horror of the black bags – how many bags, so many corpses. Home and business owner Salim Kush who lost 25 people close to him in two minutes. Andrey Tumanov, “Kasper”, from the “Centrospas” detachment, before whose eyes there is one and the same image – dead people in their beds. The boy Ali, trying to warm himself with the fire of the burning sheets of his student notebook. And the terrible cry of Bengyul Autdin, trying with his bare hands to move concrete blocks so that they gave his father, still living under the rubble.
… On the way to the stop, we pick up more passengers, they sit on the ground. Food is distributed in Adana. People are hungry, but not bitter. Something is handed to me, but what is it made of and with what inside? My hands are dirty, but thank you for not offending the hostess. The cat nailed to the leg, ate in half. Among the traveling companions is the Turkish director Onur Gurzoy. As soon as he found out what had happened to his people, he left the video camera and went to help. Halfway, they gave me my place. A young Turkish girl of thirteen, who was sitting next to me, hugged me in a dream: she confused me with her mother.
Morning, dawn. How the negative shows another Turkey, the one we know and love. The sea appeared in Izmit, the children clung to the window of the bus, waving their little hands in the light. After Adana, Turkey lives a familiar life, it seems that not only shocks, but also waves of human grief did not come here. They say that tourists do not give up on purchased vouchers, there are practically no refusals of trips, and summer trips to Turkey always sell well. Moscow and Ankara are working together on an alternative to the Mir payment system.
Behind Sakarya, Gebze and finally Istanbul. And here I am sitting in the center of the ancient city, drinking delicious coffee at the table – and as if there was nothing 1000 kilometers away. I only met good people. Now I have many Turkish friends, we correspond.
It’s easier for me – I can leave. And they stay with their grief. But, of course, they will rise up, they will rebuild their lives, their homes and new cities. Only priceless lives can never be returned.
