At the Istanbul airport, visitors were greeted by a huge sign with the words “Geçmiş olsun” (quickly pass by), meaning that the whole country is in mourning. Turkish flags flew at half mast, as did the Greek one outside our consulate on Peran’s main street, Istiklal, which seemed noticeably less crowded. A few days after the earthquake, pain, sadness, the brutal realization that life was hanging by a thread, was in the voice of every person I spoke to: university professors, salespeople in clothing stores, taxi drivers, even an elderly man. Chalcedon, who skillfully repaired my father’s old clockwork wristwatch. Everyone grimaced at the word Deprem (earthquake). Strangers shook hands with me when I said that I was from Greece, they looked at me with gratitude.

The most impressive thing between Greeks and Turks is that they get along just fine without a language. Gestures, nods, facial expressions, posture – this is the Esperanto of the Balkans and the Eastern Mediterranean, which is “spoken” by two peoples, forged by centuries of coexistence. I watched Isik, the owner of the Istanbul Concept Gallery, which exhibited the work of her friend, artist Andreas Georgiadis, until mid-February. As soon as she saw me, she shook her head to the right and left in such a way that it could only mean: “What trouble has befallen us, my God …”. Mustafa, the confectioner, ran his fingers through his coat and hair like a Cretan or a Macedonian. Gulsin, who loves our country and is studying Greek, opened her arms to hug me. As soon as I pulled away, he said: “In Greece, they kiss on both cheeks and hug on one. In Turkey we kiss and hug twice. This is our only difference.”

To tell the truth, I didn’t know what to say to console. One had a relative killed, another had two, and a third had a large family buried under the ruins. How to soften the pain of Esin, who mourned thirteen cousins ​​and uncles? You stand mute and cannot say a word to the one who tells you that his people died alive under the rubble, because help never came. In a metropolis where the majority of residents are internal migrants, millions of Constantinopolitans grow soybeans in Antioch and Hatay. The pain has no “center”, it has spread throughout the country. The only relief is the huge mobilization of everyone to send food, essentials. Not only through organizations, but also with the youth to come and help themselves. “Geçmiş olsun”, we are also on your side.