With the exception of cleaning ladies, most people in the States don’t hire household help. But that’s not the case in many other countries. In Costa Rica, where we lived for several years, it was common to have a full-time, live-in maid. The idea of having a stranger living in my home made me uncomfortable, and so instead I hired friends’ maids for occasional dusting and sweeping. We missed out on one benefit, however: a live-in, native-Spanish-speaker would have provided superb language exposure for Angela and Greg.

Even before I moved to Turkey, I was warned, “You can drive in Istanbul, but you can’t park.” Emphasis on the you; a professional driver would be able to find parking spaces. Soon after arriving, however, I met a gregarious expatriate from the Dominican Republic. “Don’t hire a driver,” she advised. “It will make you feel stupid.” She went on to say that such a person would know where we shopped and what we bought, and we wouldn’t have any privacy. For her, navigating Istanbul’s streets was merely something to get used to. “Every day for the first month, I got lost. But after that, it was fine.”

Getting around on my own appealed to me. In both Sana’a and in San Jose, I drove hilly, congested urban terrain, navigating without the benefit of street signs. But my husband had already hired Umit, a dapper Turk in his mid-thirties, to take him to work and back. Umit would have ample free time in the middle of the day, so I decided to accept his services. I could perhaps change my mind later and buy my own vehicle. And perhaps the experience would have some hidden benefits.

Photo Karen Smith

At first it was strange to get into a car and settle myself in the back seat, driver in front. Unaccustomed to being the boss, my directions to Umit came out like questions. That made me feel childish, but his constant darting around the car to open and close my door made me feel like an old lady. The Turkish term for driver: șofer (chauffeur) and my realization that when talking to others, Umit referred to me as “Miss Susan,” added a formality that bordered on absurd.

I began to think of the whole thing as some kind of strange, expatriate drama. My role? The wife of a well-paid businessman, living in a posh apartment and tooling around town in a new BMW. How to gain the audience’s sympathy? That quickly became clear: by avoiding grumpiness and any expressions of irritation or petulance. And here I will confess: I can be moody, even when I’m not trying to adjust to a different culture.

So each day I tried to act cheerful. I put on an enthusiastic smile even when I felt lonely, homesick, or deep in culture shock. I tried to speak only in positive terms about what I was experiencing  (Turks love this because they still don’t think their country measures up in the West.) And I asked Umit questions about himself. After doing this for a few weeks, I realized that during none of those days had I actually remained in a bad mood

Umit began to suggest places to visit, and recommend restaurants he thought we’d like. He went out of his way to help us navigate on weekends, when we explored the city and countryside on our own. Despite our initial language barrier, he offered a great deal of advice and wisdom about the Turkish culture. And on occasion he even asked me for motherly advice.

Before long, Umit and I discovered some similarities. We are both word people, who try to speak precisely and enjoy learning other languages. Umit was intent on improving his English, but I didn’t initially realize that our conversations were having any effect on him. I almost wept when, after weeks of being ferried around to various shops and feeling quite useless, he commented, “You have helped me so much.”

I also had language goals, and Umit was the most obvious person to turn to with Turkish questions. I can’t count the number of times we spent looking up various Turkish and English words, me paging through a pocket dictionary and he punching keys on his smart phone.

Umit took me to a traditional Boza bar to enjoy a fermented Turkish drink along with leblebi, roasted chickpeas.

Daniel Goleman, author of Emotional Intelligence, writes that when we focus on ourselves, our problems loom large. But when we turn our attention to others, we increase our capacity for connection. Was it possible that having someone wait on me—and for me—was actually increasing my empathy?

While I have met some wonderful people here, both Turkish and expatriate, I count Umit as one of my best friends in Turkey. It will be hard to say goodbye, but I’m sure that gmail and Facebook will help us keep in touch. And fine-tune our language skills.

Although I won’t need someone to drive me around, or help me park in Minneapolis, I remain prone to worry and impatience. I need to find some kind of mental trick or role I can slip into that will help keep my spirits aloft and make my days in the Upper Midwest as pleasant as they have been in Asia Minor. Ideas welcome!