JINHA

MÊRDÎN – In the town of Nusaybin, where two local youths were killed yesterday have awakened fears that the curfew will return for a seventh time, women have flooded the bazaar to be ready for the next assault.

In the town of Nusaybin, in Mardin province, the Turkish state has declared 24-hour curfews six times over the last several months. State forces continues to maintain a blockade on the district. When the state announced that the date of the state exam TEOG would be moved up, citizens immediately feared that a new curfew was in the works and flooded the local bazaar.

Looking from afar at the Nusaybin bazaar, one might think it was the day before a major holiday from the amount of citizens filling the streets. But in fact, the bazaar has become one of Nusaybin women’s most important destinations. Whenever the curfews are lifted, they come here to stock up so that they and their families can withstand the state’s bloody 24-hour curfews.

As women from nomadic pastoralist groups rush to fill their hand-knitted traditional saddlebags with oranges, tangerines, rice, and meat, the bazaar sellers loudly announce new discounts. The curfew may not be officially declared here, but state attacks continue. With the killing of local youths Hüseyin Akyüz and Kerem Akyürek yesterday, Nusaybin residents have begun to whisper that another curfew is looming.

Bilmez Arı, a resident of the Fırat neighborhood, says that the practice of stocking up at the bazaar has become routine for Nusaybin residents.

“These curfews taught us to buy everything in large amounts,” says Bilmez. “It’s made us stubborn. If we’re not going to abandon our land, then we’ll prepare for the curfew. For months now, there’s no electricity or water, no money either, but there is humanity. If my food runs out, I have my neighbor, so we won’t die of starvation. But you can die from lack of honor, and so rather than live like that, going hungry seems like a better alternative to us.”

“This place has become a typical ghetto,” says Semira Aslan, who describes lighting the woodstoves and huddling before them as soon as the curfews begin, then heading out to meet basic needs as soon as the curfews end. “When the tanks back off, we go to the other neighborhoods, and when the tanks surround us, we can only go outside on our own street.

“We’ve gotten used to it; the barricades protect us, so those outside should think of that. As long as our children are alive, we have our morale. If we don’t have them, we have nothing,” Semira says.

“Look, these aren’t guns; these are fruits and vegetables,” says Şerife Orak from the Fırat neighborhood, raising the shopping bags in her hands. “I also got new boots for my kids, so their feet don’t get cold.

“As soon as we leave our neighborhoods, they look at us with suspicion. They hate us; and the people who hate us justify themselves,” said Şerife. “It looks like not abandoning your neighborhood or your house has become a crime. I don’t think not abandoning your home or cooking food for your children is a crime. At this point, everything women do has become a crime in this country.

“We don’t have electricity or water, but we’re happy anyway. The only thing we want is for our voices to be heard and for people to struggle for us,” said Şerife. “Let this oppression end already.”

(mht-zd/fk/cm)