A Night at the Istanbul Airport

Warm and Cold

We look at each other for a little while. We are not sure what is next and we do not know why the Mother would suggest so.

"You guys missed your flights. But it was not your fault. If we stick together, you might end up being treated like the rest of of us. They will not be agreeing to paying us a new ticket, we were eating for God's sake. But you three have a chance." she explains.

Hussein and Omar exchange looks. They look like they agree with her.

"I guess you are right." Omar says.

"But also," he turns to us, "you two should be alone as well. Because in my case, I should have checked the gate and I did not."

"Why? What happened with you?" Hussein asks.

"I was sitting around the duty free and checking the electric board, waiting until the status of the flight changes to 'gate open' and it never did. But the gate was indeed open and I got there late. I should have checked it."

For a second time tonight, Omar is acting like a gentleman. He is concerned that his case will not allow us to be compensated and he insists on separating when the time comes.

What a cute family this is.

The officer comes out of the room and walks towards us.

"Please follow me." she says and starts to walk.

She does not explain anything to us. We have no idea what we stopped to do the first time and where we are going next. When someone asks her a question, she barely answers. The other officers follow her as well. No one tries to ask them anything. It is very clear that she in charge from the way they keep silent and always stand behind her, like an army of five or six.

"Any idea where we are going next?" I ask Hussein.

He shakes his head.

At some point during the walk, Omar joins us and continues a discussion that he and Hussein were having a while ago.

I was not there at the beginning of it, so I do not say anything. I just walk along their side, silent.

We go up some electric stairs and arrive to a place that is exactly like the passport control area. I do not know if it is it, though. Because once again, the area is completely empty. From anyone and anything.

"Please wait here." the officer says.

"Ugh. Not again." It is around 3:15 am. We are all so tired. We are all walking around pulling our carry-ons behind us like dead people. Except for Short Guy, who looks like a dead person carrying a dense backpack. We all really need some sleep.

We go towards the seating area, where we separate as each one of us takes a couple of chairs or three. Except for Hussein and Omar who keep standing a bit far away. Their conversation must be important to them, they seem to have gained some energy because of it.

"The problem now," the Mother starts "is that for the Turkish government, you and I and everyone here has passed the passport control. Where their passports were stamped. For the government now, we are no longer on Turkish soil. So it takes a long time for the airport staff to change that. What they do is that they do not cancel our leaving, they stamp us a new entrance, to be allowed in the country again."

I am impressed by her knowledge. This woman is quite interesting. She speaks many languages, has very strict principles, and I just figured, is fairly knowledgeable.

"Aha." I nod, impressed.

"This woman studied law." Short Guy tells us, pointing at his mother.

You can then hear the "wows" and "reallys" and you can see the "interesting-impressive" looks on everybody's faces.

"Yeah." Short Guy nods. "She studied law. But she still cannot tell when it is her fault we missed a flight." Short Guy jokes, a little. It is partly serious. You can see it on their faces.

He then lies down on three chairs and puts his backpack on the ground next to him.

"I think I will sleep."

The rest of them is not on their phones, unlike what one would expect. They are probably all too tired to even hold it. Or their phones have turned off after so much use in the past couple of hours. I am not sure. But although we were not speaking to each other anymore, we were all silent and motionless. Staring. Waiting.

After around twenty minutes, the officer is back with her army.

"Okay. Did the Russian girl join?" She asks.

They all look around. No. She did not. They shake their heads.

The officer does not seem very worried. It is okay, people get lost in strange countries without their passports everyday.

"Please gather yourselves."

They all start getting up and preparing their carry-ons.

"Let's go."

Please, not again.

We walk a few steps, and the Mother yells.

"Wait."

We stop in our tracks. The officer turns around, still uninterested.

"My son. He's not here."

We look around. It is true. Short Guy is not here. But he was, a minute ago. And the place is huge but it is all very clear. You can see up to a kilometre ahead. Where did he go?

"Maybe there are toilets near?" Omar asks.

They start moving around, looking for him. Not the officers though. The officers stand still. The officers do not care if he is found.

"What is his name?" The head officer asks the Mother.

"Thiago." the Mother answers, obviously worried. Before this instance, the Mother was authoritative, strong and firm. Now, she is nothing but worried. You can see it in her walk, in her voice, in her face. Her son is -I would say- around 28 years old. And he has travelled a thousand times. But she is worried like she lost a child.

"Oh, but his name is also Abdul-Hamid." she continues.

At that point, part of me -an inner part, of course- was laughing. How comes his name is Thiago, but also Abdul-Hamid? And what kind of a combination is that?

So basically, Short Guy has no real country and no real name.

The officer is confused.

"I mean it depends where." the Mother tries to explain. But the officer obviously does not get it. And in any case, the officer did not move an inch. I am not sure what she needed with his name, but it was not to call after him or find him. It was probably just to put his passport aside.

"There he is." Omar says.

The group gathers again. They chitchat about where Thiago was, but I do not hear anything they say. I stand quite far away. As much as I would love to know where he was, I am too tired to listen in and engage.