After our stay in Istanbul, we spent a week in Iskenderun, a city situated on the Mediterranean Sea coast.  During this week, we hunkered down and *gasp* attended class.  We stayed in a convent, where we were served three incredible meals each day, played a great deal of volleyball out in the courtyard, and were only a block from the most delicious ice cream shop I’ve ever encountered.  We frequented this lovely shop – Mado – so often that even when we’d simply walk by it on the street, all the waiters would wave to us from the windows and doorway (undoubtably expecting to see us later that day).

The convent is run by a vibrant nun named Sister Leanora, who actually hails from Boston, Massachusetts. The bishop of all of Anatolia (he’s apparently VERY high up in the Catholic hierarchy of clergymen: he was scheduled to meet the pope (yes, the pope) in Cyprus on Friday) also lives at the convent, and he arrived a few days after we did from a trip to Germany. Sister Leanora is an avid Walker Texas Ranger fan (which the bishop likes to rag her about), and is constantly teasing Father Joseph (the jolly priest who also lives at the convent, and is as goofy and fun-loving as they come) about his weight and how he really should go on a diet, and how he really shouldn’t be eating all that cake…. Their banter is hilarious, especially because Father Joseph doesn’t speak much English, but he often gets a good sense that he’s the butt of Sister Leanora’s good natured taunting.

On the Tuesday of our stay at the convent, one of my classmates had a birthday, and so we (of course) went to Mado to select a decadent cake for the occasion.  We celebrated in the courtyard with the rich chocolate cake and wine brought out by the convent cook, and were soon joined by the bishop himself, as well as Father Joseph, Sister Leanora, and the whole gang.  It was a light-hearted, genuinely fun event: the bishop was hilarious and was enjoyable to talk to – and despite the fact he’d recently been diagnosed with diabetes, he helped himself to a sizable slice of cake (but winked and begged us “not to tell Sister Leanora”).

Two days later, during a break from class, we got the news that the bishop had been murdered.

Murdered??!!

It was absolutely surreal. His driver – a man named Mehret who had played volleyball with us in the convent courtyard, had fixed my roommate’s bed when it broke, and had eaten most meals with us – had killed him while he was at his beach house in a nearby town.  Apparently Mehret was mentally unstable, but several news articles were published that cited Christian killings that had taken place in Turkey in the not so distant past.  Not only were we in shock that such a terrible news-worthy event had occurred so close to our newfound home, but we were shocked by the fact that not only did we know the bishop, but we also knew the man that killed him.  We were devastated to witness the emotional collapse of those who lived at the convent and essentially built their lives around the bishop.  He was their boss, their religious guide, and their friend.  And he was suddenly gone, taken from them by a man they broke bread with on a regular basis.  Even now, days later, I am in complete disbelief that something this atrocious actually occurred.

There are no words to describe just how exactly I feel about this dreadful situation.  Our group was scheduled to leave Iskenderun on Friday anyway (the day after his murder), but that Thursday night was a eerie, unsettling time for everyone.  We had only known the bishop for a few days, but we mourned the loss greatly nonetheless – mostly out of sympathy for those left behind.  Sister Leanora had been the bishop’s personal assistant for over twenty years, and had followed him to the convent in Iskendern several years ago.  “I know him better than he knows himself,” she had said proudly only a few days before his death.  What was she going to do now? How would she pick up the pieces?

Obviously this event was an unexpected one, and obviously it cast a strange mood over our group.  It was difficult to leave the convent the next morning, not knowing what exactly would happen there next, yet knowing that the happy-go-lucky people that lived there and teased each other about weight and choice of TV entertainment would likely never again smile as brightly or laugh as loudly as they once did.

If you’re interested, here’s a link to one of the articles about the bishop:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/37487272/ns/world_news-mideastn_africa/

Location: Iskenderun, Turkey