7. Turkey and Morocco: Sampling Secular Islam—Turkish Village Insights in Güzelyurt
Güzelyurt, an obscure-to-the-world but proud-of-itself village in central Turkey, teaches me the richness and nobility of rustic village life in the developing world. Students of the world find that, in any country, remote towns and villages can be wonderful classrooms.

Güzelyurt, Turkey

Güzelyurt was all decked out on my last visit. I happened to arrive on the day of everybody’s favorite festival: a circumcision party. Turks call it “a wedding without the in-laws.” The little boy, dressed like a prince, rode tall on his decorated donkey through a commotion of friends and relatives to the house where a doctor was sharpening his knife. Even with paper money pinned to his fancy outfit and loved ones chanting calming spiritual music, the boy looked frightened. But the ritual snipping went off without a glitch—and a good time was had at least by everyone else.

On a different trip, I learned that Turkish weddings—while not as much fun as circumcisions—are also quite a spectacle. I’ll never forget being a special guest at a wedding in Güzelyurt. The entire community gathered. Calling the party to order, the oldest couple looked happily at the young bride and groom and shared a local blessing: "May you grow old together on one pillow."

Whenever there's a family festival, village Turks turn on the music and dance. Everybody is swept onto their feet—including visiting tourists. It’s easy: Just follow the locals as they hold out their arms, snap their fingers, and shake their shoulders. During one such Güzelyurt party, the man of the house came over to me—the foreigner—and wanted to impress me. Waving me to a quiet corner, he said, "Here on my wall, the most sacred place in my home, is my Quran bag, where I keep my Quran. And in my Quran bag I also keep a copy of the Bible and a copy of the Torah—because I believe that we Muslims, Christians, and Jews are all "children of the Book"…children of the same good God."

Leaving the party, I walked down the street. The town seemed cluttered with ugly unfinished concrete buildings bristling with rusty reinforcement bars. While I love the Turks, I couldn't help but think, “Why can't these people get their act together and just finish these buildings?” That was before I learned that in Turkey, there's an ethic among parents—even poor ones—that you leave your children with a house. Historically Turks are reluctant to store money in the bank because it disappears through inflation. So instead, they invest bit by bit by constructing a building. Every time they get a hundred bucks together, they put it into that ever-growing house. They leave the rebar exposed until they have another hundred bucks, so they make another wall, put on a window, frame in another door...and add more rebar. Now, when I look at that rusty rebar, I remember that Turks say, "Rebar holds the family together”...and it becomes much prettier.

At the edge of Güzelyurt, I came upon a little boy playing a flute. Just like in biblical times, it was carved out of an eagle bone. I listened. And I heard another eagle-bone flute, out of sight, coming from over the hill, where his dad was tending the sheep. As they have for centuries, the boy stays with the mom and plays the eagle-bone flute. The dad tends the flock and plays his flute, too, so the entire family knows that all is well.

I hiked up the shepherd’s hill and sat overlooking the town. On a higher hill, just beyond the simple tin roof of its mosque, I saw the letters G Ü Z E L Y U R T spelled out in rocks. Listening to the timeless sounds of the community, I thought how there are countless Güzelyurts, scattered across every country on earth. Each is humble, yet filled with rich traditions, proud people, and its own village-centric view of our world.  Güzelyurt means "beautiful land.” While few visitors would consider it particularly beautiful, that’s how the people who call it home see it. They’d live nowhere else. And for them, it truly is a güzel yurt.