We continued through the burning heat until we were almost too tired to continue. Finally, we reached the Turkish village of Dolan. The women there were covered in black cloaks. Even those working in the fields turned away as we passed, holding their cloaks to hide their faces, but watching us from the corner of their eyes.
Visiting the Head-Man’s Home
We were exhausted and got off our horses. The village leader, dressed in a blue vest, brown pants, a red cummerbund, and a dirty white turban, greeted me. He invited me to visit his humble home.
His house was made of unbaked bricks, with a hard earth floor. There was nothing to sit on except a mat made of rushes. For lunch, we had rice and coffee Socialist Museum.
The Village Men’s Curiosity
All the men from the village gathered around and sat down in the sun, watching us quietly. They didn’t push to crowd around the door or peek through the windows. They were curious but respectful. When I went outside, they stood up and bowed to me. The head-man made a small speech, and I shook his hand. I told him, through my dragoman, that shaking hands was the English way to show friendship. He seemed pleased. I offered him a cigarette, and he was even more pleased. I was about to offer cigarettes to the twenty men standing around, but my dragoman stopped me. He said it was important to keep the head-man’s dignity, so he would hand out the cigarettes to the others.
Journey to Sileohlu
We continued our journey through the hot, dry land. The heat was heavy and made us feel sleepy. A soldier from Kirk Kilise had shown us the way to Dolan, and there he left us, giving us a new guide to take us to Sileohlu. We rode in a single line along a weak, dusty path. The land around us was completely barren and desolate.
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