Author: Ayşe Anakız Küçük

At this late-afternoon hour, as the sun offers its final rays through the branches bearing yellow leaves, I find myself reminded of a pen I have not held in my hand for a long time. Autumn, the season of melancholy, displays a colourful spectacle as trees that were lush and green in spring reveal the colours they have acquired while completing their cycle of life. Some, seemingly unaware of the passage of time, remain green, while others, preparing to depart for distant lands, remind us of the final journey through a vibrant display of colours ranging from yellow to purple.

There was an old saying: “The soil draws you back.” Perhaps that is why people, as they grow older, begin to feel a deep longing for their homeland. This summer, too, we spent our days in the land where we were born and raised, enjoying the tranquillity that retirement has brought. Now autumn has arrived, and it is time to return. During these days, when childhood memories have come flooding back, my thoughts have often turned to my primary school teacher, Mustafa Demirel, whom I have never forgotten. My friends and I have spoken of him many times. We bade him farewell on his final journey last winter. May Allah have mercy on him.

I happened to meet some of my former primary school classmates from time to time. I bought milk from one, fertiliser from another. Since so many years had passed, our conversations would inevitably turn to the fact that we had all been pupils of Mustafa Demirel. He had taught us such virtues and such lessons about life that their fruits have continued to sustain us throughout our lives.

What made him different from other teachers? First of all, his attendance at Friday prayers had endeared him to the entire village. He had cultivated friendships with mature and decent people. He took a close interest in the families whose children he taught and encouraged us to pursue our education. He also had newspapers brought to the school, from which he would read the news and hold a morning news session with us.

Perhaps this is why one of the most enjoyable parts of my day is making a cup of tea, spreading the newspaper out in front of me and reading it while enjoying my tea and sunflower seeds. There was also a particular reading technique I learned from my teacher: as you read, let your eyes move immediately to the next word. He called it a speed-reading technique. Whenever I read the Qur’an, I remember him and hope that the reward of using this technique reaches his soul.

Even if a pupil was among the hardest-working in the class, if they could not answer a question, he would send them outside the classroom. We were a large class and received our lessons in the workshop room beside the school. Being sent outside meant risking embarrassment in front of everyone else.

On one occasion, he told us, “Tell your mothers not to peel my egg when they invite me to a meal.” I could not understand what he meant at the time. Only later did I realise how much importance he attached to cleanliness. We learned many rules of hygiene from him.

Years later, when I visited him with my children, I discovered that our teacher had kept an eye on us not only in the schoolyard but also outside school. He even spoke to my children about me and my school days. I felt a little proud when I heard this. That is how we began our journey through life, under the guidance of such a teacher.

Our family life was another kind of education. As soon as we were old enough to understand our responsibilities, at around six or seven, we would wake up and follow the upper road to take the cows to the shepherd. If we failed to fulfil that duty, it fell to us to take the cows up to the mountain ourselves. When I was in the fourth grade, I was responsible for tending the horses. My father would put me on a horse, and the adults on the mountain would help me dismount. We would look after the horses until evening.

When I look at the friends I meet, I see that everyone has become a successful person who has earned their living through hard work. Some have become engineers, others tailors, farmers, contractors or drilling specialists. Just as trees that begin spring in the same shade of green take on different colours when autumn arrives, we, too, were raised by the same teacher and under the same village conditions, yet went on to lead very different lives.

For our years have now reached the late afternoon of life, and autumn is drawing to a close. It is time to reflect: What have we spent our lives pursuing? Where are we heading? And what have we prepared for the grave?

Yeni Asya English