Another amazing fact I was not aware of then was the number of other students from all over Turkey, and some like me in places around the world, who were called on to join Legato on Yahoo! Groups through e-mail, word of mouth, friends, rumors, ads in alternative Turkish media, fliers on campuses, etc.
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Little did I know then that this would be my first introduction, through the Internet, to the emergent collegiate queer movement in Turkey, despite the great distance between my homeland and my second and present home in West Lafayette, Indiana in the Midwestern United States. I had never heard of Legato prior to that time, and I decided to try it out and agreed to be subscribed to Legato mailing lists on Yahoo! Groups. In spring 1999, while at Purdue University's West Lafayette campus, I received an e-mail from a gay friend of mine in Turkey inviting me to join a Yahoo! group called “Legato Bogaziçi” named after Legato, an acronym meaning “ Lezbiyen Gay Toplulugu” (Turkish for Lesbian and Gay Association), and Bogaziçi University, my alma mater.
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As my skin adjusted to the heat I tried consciously to slow my breathing and relax my mind, taking breaks to sip from the cup of cool water placed beside me.Īs I begin to sweat-eliminating toxins, I think, satisfied-I sneak peeks at the action in the periphery, where women of all shapes and sizes are being washed.Īs I begin to sweat-eliminating toxins, I think, satisfied-I sneak peeks at the action in the periphery, where women of all shapes and sizes are being washed. After 20 minutes I was summoned to a just-squeegeed marble bench, AKA kurna.Cartographies of Rhetoric: Mapping Legato (Project) and the Turkish QueerĬollege Students’ “Coming to Rhetoric” Through the Internet I sat and slid back, gingerly lowering my body onto the hot stone. It was on that slab I was instructed to splay myself, joining two other women and a Zenned-out child. Thoroughly drenched, we are led through a door to the main event: A large room with a giant white dome lined with rows of star and hexagon cutouts and small clusters of circular portholes, each letting in a distinct beam of light.īeneath the dome is a vast heated hexagonal marble slab known as the göbektaşı, surrounded by white and gray marble benches and sinks. My mind flashes to photos I’ve seen of my first bath as a baby, in the sink. I am the last to be initiated, baptized if you will, when she dumps hammered silver bowlfuls of water over my head and body. One by one, the attendant unceremoniously removes our towels, rewrapping them around our waists, as if to put an end to any potential body shame. Then, downstairs, I follow two similarly clad women into a small white marble room, feeling a blast of heat on my face and the wetness of humidity.
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One by one, the attendant unceremoniously removes our towels, rewrapping them around our waists, as if to put an end to any potential body shame.Įquipped with a red and white Turkish towel and sandals, I head upstairs to the changing areas around the perimeter of the dome and strip down. Groups of women or men would visit the hammam together, indulging in a deep clean and lazing around over tea and a chat afterward. Later when home bathing facilities were common, it morphed into a more social ritual. Hammams were built as part of mosque complexes as a source of revenue, as well as to serve a need: cleanliness. This is a ritual that goes back to the Ottoman period, when no one in Istanbul had their own bathtub.