By Mesut Hasturk May 3, 2009, 2:08 GMT
Berlin - Gonul Argin left the songs and games of the spring festival behind her and rolled out onto the building's central courtyard in her wheelchair. She was not alone there either.
'Chatting with fellow sufferers is my favourite activity here,' said Argin, who is 65. In 1970, she arrived as a 'guest worker' in what was then West Germany and earned a living as a charwoman at first. Now she lives in Berlin - in the first and only Turkish nursing home in Germany.
Opened in December 2006 in the heavily Turkish Kreuzberg neighbourhood, Turk Bakim Evi, as the facility is named, has single or double rooms for 155 people. Fifty-five Turks live there at the moment.
All of the nursing home's personnel speak both Turkish and German. To make residents feel at home, Turkish dishes are on the menu, Turkish tea is served and backgammon competitions are held. There is also a small prayer room. Female staff attend on the women, male staff on the men.
Some 2.3 million ethnic Turks live in Germany, about 350,000 of retirement age. According to the Berlin-based Turkish Community in Germany, approximately 120,000 Turkish nationals live in the German capital, along with 60,000 ethnic Turks who have become German citizens.
Despite their large numbers, relatively few Turks can be found in German nursing homes. 'Unfortunately, Turks are generally reluctant to put their relatives in a nursing facility because they think it would go against familial traditions. They don't come to us until the elderly are very ill,' noted Melanie Klopp, the nursing home's spokesperson.
Argin came last year, when she was no longer able to get by on her own. She has suffered from high blood pressure for 20 years, and a stroke has left her without the use of her left arm. She is not unhappy, however.
'I'm spending perhaps the nicest days of my life here,' Argin remarked. 'I never knew a life like this before. I've made friends here. There's even Turkish television. We have fun. Our caregivers are Turkish. They call us 'annecim' ('mother dear'), 'ablacim' ('sister dear'), they hug and kiss us. They're like my children. May God bless them all!'
During the conversation, Argin answered each question only after long thought. 'I've got four children and two grandchildren,' she went on. 'One of my sons lives in Turkey, the other in the West. My daughter visits me every day. She couldn't come today because my grandson is travelling to Turkey for military service and she wanted to see him off.'
Argin's face was pale, she was lost in thought. She recalled that her husband left her when she was pregnant with her youngest child. 'After the age of 30, I brought up the children alone,' she said. 'I didn't have any other men in my life, and I didn't want to marry. The loneliness was hard. I didn't have it easy.'
Argin is not bitter, though. 'I was clever about it,' she added. Argin is illiterate and can write only her last name.
Meanwhile, the festivities continued in the tearoom, known as the Mediterranean Room. One corner, where a green cage with parakeets stood, was decorated in oriental fashion. There was dancing. Some of the seniors danced with each other, others danced alone. Mr Muharrem was hesitant. 'I can't dance,' he said. 'I feel ashamed.'
On a kanun, a Turkish stringed instrument similar to a zither, Mr Alladdin played well-known songs that the old people remembered. They were melancholy songs and lively songs, and he played one after another. The nursing home residents responded enthusiastically.
Argin is satisfied with her life but has a wish. 'If only my paralyzed arm got better,' she said, 'that's all I wish from God.'
(Internet: www.tuerk-huzur-evi-berlin-kreuzberg.com; www.marseille-kliniken.de)
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