OUCH!

If you thought Turkey’s biggest export to the world was alchemy, Orhan Pamuk, belly dancing, Khaleid Hosseini, cigars, hookahs, falafel or shwarma, think again.

In the land of wieners and foreskin, the most venerable entity and the national treasure is perhaps its best-kept secret.

He has no formal training in what he does, other than his vocation was handed down to him by his ancestors, none of whom have gained the kind of local deference and international notoriety that he has. His office is a sprawling 3-storey mansion (The Circumcision Palace!!!!) that has been neatly divided into waiting rooms for the family-planning-followers-of-Islam mindful of an exploding population and hence subscribing to their unique doctrine of adding more fuel to fire.

His equipment (puns…PUNS!) comprises of implements designed on pre-historic instruments of torture used during the Inca civilisation – pulverizingly barbaric and insanely painful. His arse-anal of employees includes a clown, a soothsayer, a manny (for the hapless victims) and several assistants who’ve only ever observed the maestro, carving wurst.

Ladies and gentlemen, here’s presenting, Kemal Özkan! – The Sultan of Circumcisions! *

Yup, I ain’t shyting you on this one.

Penile circumcision is not just any rite-of-passage in Turkey. For a 200% Islamic nation, paying obeisance to The Prophet and his doctrine of yankin l’il John off the sheath is referred to as the First Joy or the First coming of (r)age. This is a ginormous occasion for the entire family and heralds the transition from boy to man. Unlike Jews where babies are circumcised at birth, young boys in Turkey are circumcised when they’re 7-12 years old. But a prosaic trip to the clinic this ain’t!

On the appointed day, the boy’s parents, friends, well wishers, classmates, sisters, cousins, neighbours, girlfriends, grandparents, prospective bride(s), God parents, members of the local club for paedophiles (…ok, so I made that up) gather lovingly to watch the bloodletting.

First, the lad is clad in a costume (for rent) resembling that of a Turkish Monarch, replete with whips and chains and (…oh bugger off!!). The child is then taken to the garden where he gets to meet other Monarch’s in waiting. Use of the jungle gym is encouraged; given that it may be a long time before they can even look in its direction, much less…erm..use it.

And like all well-oiled machinery, at the appointed moment, the child is ushered into a banquet hall where assembled for THE moment is all of Turkey. A clown reminiscent of Manson runs helter-skelter, microphone in hand, singing songs and dancing with the hapless git – cunningly paving way for the Maestro to make his entry.

And what an entry it is.

The Sultan, renowned for conducting hundreds of winnie-snips a day, is ferried to his throne. Dressed in blindingly white robes, he then smiles benevolently at the idiot child who’s wheeled into position. It’s time, and we know this because everybody in Turkey then gathers around the boy, to unzip the pants and whip out the salami. The indulgent look on the faces of those he trusts makes the boy appreciative of The Prophet. Without the use of any kind anaesthesia, crystal meth or novocaine, at the witching hour, the carving begins. Camera’s start to flash and capture moments later the look of beatific surrender…..wait a minute...

…near dementia and revulsion – Allah Ho Akbar!

Of course, a few weeks later, if he survives**, the child is ready to…oh well..sire another Jihadie nation..molest…rape…sodomise..play the organ, et al with the weapon of choice – no pain, no gain baby!

This event is also marked by a Penile Shower – a barrage of expensive tokens to commemorate the torture (usually waist bands or belts made of solid gold coins) by indulgent aunts, uncles, extremists, fundamentalists and members of the Taliban.

Of course, Jumping-Jack-Kemal is presented with the boys’ college fund or inheritance to articulate the family’s gratitude. The man makes more money than the fiscal deficit of Turkey. And his dare-devilry knows no bounds. He has performed circumcisions atop galloping horses, moving vehicles, atop mountains, valleys, the kitchen, couch…think I’m losing focus…

Of course, Guinness has yet to recognise his unique talent, which is surprising, given that his butcher farm is infamous.

So the next time you’re in Turkey and aren’t looking for more than a haircut, as Günter would say, “..don’t forget to put the mouse back in the house!”  

* Kemal is well known as the greatest circumciser in Turkey, partially thanks to his PR stunts, such as performing 2,000 procedures in one 24-hour penis-snipping marathon. He has allegedly operated on more than 100,000 children in his 37-year career and his famously outlandish publicity stunts have included performing circumcisions on horseback, on a camel, and in flight!!

** Statistics would have you believe he’s better than any surgeon in the world – his chop-shop is run by illiterate men who are allowed to get onto the bandwagon after a few sessions of observation. It is not entirely uncommon for children undergoing this mutilation to suffer irrevocable dysfunctions of the penis; official literature is filled with reports of vomit-inducing botched procedures, some of which end with severed urethras, infections, gangrene, amputation of the penis, and even death, not to mention the emotional and psychological scarring for life.  

~ by alternativefrock on November 27, 2007.