10 Ekim 2026 - Cumartesi
A Drop of Olive Oil, a City Full of Pride
The streets are the same streets. The sea is still the sea we know. The columns of Apollo stand where they have stood for thousands of years. Yet a little light appears in the way people look at one another.
Yazar - Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
Okuma Süresi: 7 dk.
Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
msarisin@gmail.com - 0507 723 4769
A Drop of Olive Oil, a City Full of Pride
Written by Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
Some evenings change the face of a city.
The streets are the same streets. The sea is still the sea we know. The columns of Apollo stand where they have stood for thousands of years. Yet a little light appears in the way people look at one another.
On the evening Didim won the world record, we knew the name of that light:
Pride.
How small a tasting bottle is… It disappears in the palm of your hand. But when thousands of people pick up those little bottles for the same purpose, a shared memory for an entire city is born.
That day, some came from school; others took time away from work. Some walked to the venue; others arrived with a friend. Perhaps some were tasting olive oil with such care for the first time in their lives.
And each of them gave Didim a few minutes of their own life.
That is one of the loveliest gifts a person can give the place they call home: their time.
At Yeni Didim Haberim, we too had been calling on people to take part for days. We wrote, explained and spread the word. Together with Zekiye Sarışın, we wanted more people to hear about it. If we helped a student, a pensioner or a shopkeeper say, “I’ll go too,” then we are happy.
When the record was announced, the hope behind those appeals was fulfilled.
Perhaps, years from now, a child will have grown up and tell their own child:
“I was there when Didim won the world record.”
They will bring out a photograph. Point themselves out in the crowd. Remember what they wore that day, the friend standing beside them, their teacher…
A city’s history is written partly in this way too. Alongside official documents, there are the little memories people keep.
As I thought about this joy, an imaginary conversation I might have with Mayor Hatice Gençay came to mind.
We had met somewhere. Tea had been served. With the habit of a journalist who has lived with questions for years, I had brought the conversation around to Didim.
“Madam Mayor,” I said, “I’m going to ask you a rather unusual question.”
She looked at me with a smile:
“Go ahead, Mr Sarışın.”
“Could this record cost you an election?”
She paused for a moment. Then, as though she had caught the joke in the question, she set her tea glass down on its saucer.
Perhaps she answered like this:
“Mr Sarışın, I too am happy about a success Didim has achieved. When the election comes, we will explain the work we have done, and our fellow residents will decide. For now, let us enjoy this record.”
I laughed too.
“That, Madam Mayor,” I said, “is exactly what I wanted to hear. Let another smile be added to Didim’s joy.”
Perhaps she teased me in return:
“You journalists won’t give a person a break from questions, even over tea!”
She is right.
After more than fifty years in the profession, some habits do not change easily. Sometimes you ask a serious question with a smile. Because you want to hear the person’s answer, free of all the official language.
This conversation never took place. But if it does one day, I would like both of us to have that kind of smile on our faces.
Looking at an olive tree eases our impatience a little.
While we are busy with our everyday arguments, it holds fast to the earth with its roots. It waits for its season. It bears fruit. For years, it gathers memories of those who sit beneath it and the conversations held in its shade.
Olives gathered from its branches find their way to tables in different homes, bringing people together.
The olive oil in the hands of thousands of people in Didim that day created just such a connection. People who did not know one another made a small contribution to the same achievement. In the end, a shared story was born, one that everyone could tell.
I love that story.
I think of the child waiting for a turn to taste, the shopkeeper who stopped by before returning to work, the elderly person who arrived arm in arm with a friend. I think of how the number that grew with each person’s participation became joy that evening.
When the Mayor reads this article, I hope she smiles at my imaginary question.
“Could this record cost you an election?”
Perhaps she will think, “Mr Sarışın has found another question.”
And I will owe her a tea.
Over tea, we will talk about the record. About Didim’s olives, its growers, its children… We will talk about how many more wonderful things could be done to give us reasons to celebrate together.
Because that little tasting bottle held more than a drop of olive oil.
It held the love that the people of Didim feel for the place they call home.
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Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
Une goutte d’huile d’olive, toute une ville remplie de fierté
Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
A Drop of Olive Oil, a City Full of Pride
Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
Didim kazanırken başkanı da yanında görmek isterdik
Yusuf Mehmet Sarışın
Bir damla zeytinyağı, bir şehir dolusu gurur. Gençay'a hayali soru