Purposeful Presence: More Valuable Than Any Donation - By: Fouzia Usman

[Part 2 of Journeys with Purpose: Turkey Dairy - Originally experienced in July 2023, reflecting back in January 2024]

The True Mission Begins

"Alhamdulilah, my mission was accomplished on the first day of my trip to Turkiye. Allahu Akbar!"

This was the message I sent to friends who had supported our fundraising efforts for earthquake victims. Thanks to their generosity, we had raised enough to help over 300 families—far exceeding our initial goal. But as I stood in Adiyaman, distributing grocery vouchers to families still living in tent and container cities, I realized that the fundraising was only part of the mission.

The true purpose—the one I hadn't fully articulated even to myself—was about to unfold in unexpected ways.

First Impressions: A Reality Check

When we first arrived at the tent city, my daughter's immediate reaction spoke volumes.

"Mom, don't tell me we are going to stay in these tents for tonight," she whispered with concern.

I understood her worry. The temperature was in the upper 80s. There was no air conditioning, not even fans. The tents contained only the barest essentials for families to survive. The environment was a far cry from the comfortable hotels we normally stayed in during our travels.

For children who had never known true hardship, this was their first real glimpse into how differently people live in the aftermath of disaster.

Door to Door: From Strangers to Family

We spent that day meeting families in the tent city, inquiring about their well-being, hearing their prayers of gratitude, and distributing grocery vouchers. Then we moved to what they called "Container City," where shipping containers had been converted into small homes for around 230 families.

Our plan was to visit every door. After about 50 homes, my children and husband grew tired and paused in one of the streets to rest. What happened next was remarkable.

The residents—people who had lost everything—showed extraordinary hospitality. Many invited us into their homes, offering chai or "Airan" (buttermilk). In one home, a sister repeatedly insisted we eat the fresh bread she had just made.

Breaking Barriers: Technology Bridges Languages

As I waited for my daughter to join me for some of this freshly baked bread, I noticed something extraordinary. She was approaching with a large group of local children, all of them laughing and talking excitedly together.

How were they communicating? My daughters don't speak Turkish, and these children didn't know English.

Then I saw it—they were passing my daughter's phone back and forth, speaking into a translation app. My daughter would hear their words in English and respond, and the app would translate her reply to Turkish.

In less than an hour, they had formed such deep connections that my daughter was already asking when we could return. When it was time to leave, one girl told my daughter she wanted to call her every day. As they exchanged long goodbyes, I realized every child there had stories of loss from the earthquake. Our visit had brought them momentary joy, a chance to share their experiences with someone who cared.

Unexpected Gratitude: The Bare Minimum Becomes Enough

That night, the relief organization had arranged for us to stay in dormitories—women and men separated. When we arrived at the women's dorm, I was struck by how basic it was: no fan, no AC, no towels, common bathrooms, no soap, no toilet paper, not even power outlets (a particular challenge for me). It was the bare minimum.

I didn't voice my concerns, but internally I wondered how I would sleep without a fan in such heat.

To my surprise, my daughters didn't complain at all. As if reading my thoughts, they said: "Mom, it's actually not bad. If you shower, you wouldn't feel that hot. Just use these sheets as towels. Bathrooms are clean. And we do feel the breeze from the windows. Alhamdulilah! Staying here tonight will make us appreciate our hotel stays from now on. Not just hotel stays—but in general, it would make us appreciate everything we have in life."

Their words warmed my heart more than the summer heat ever could.

The Transformation: In Their Own Words

Later that evening, I asked my 15-year-old daughter what impact this experience had on her. Her response confirmed what I had hoped for:

"Mom, I feel sad for all those girls, and I wanted to somehow continue my friendship with them," she began, telling me about a call she had received from one of the girls as we were leaving. Though the language barrier proved too difficult over the phone, the connection remained meaningful.

Then she continued, "When I grow up, I want to make lots of money and help others. We can never replace what they lost, but we can definitely help them, which could make their lives easier.

"Also, I like the fact that you combined this with our vacation. What if we do the same thing whenever we travel? We can spend a few days with those in need, and then we can carry on with our vacation, so our vacation becomes a purposeful vacation."

In that moment, I knew my real mission had been accomplished.

Beyond Lectures: Experiential Learning

No matter how many times I might lecture my children about gratitude, make them watch documentaries about suffering, or have them listen to emotional fundraising speeches, I could never have created the transformation that occurred naturally through this direct experience.

Growing up in America, many of our children are raised with silver and gold spoons, including my own. For years, I had tried to instill gratitude in them. They would often express thanks when reminded, but I wanted them to feel it genuinely, not just when prompted.

That day in Adiyaman, watching my daughters connect with earthquake survivors, seeing them adapt without complaint to basic accommodations, and hearing them envision a future of purposeful travel and service—I witnessed the birth of authentic gratitude.

From Transaction to Transformation

What began with my daughter's casual comment about "$40" had evolved into something far more valuable. The girl who once thought $40 was "just" a small amount now understood the true worth of what we take for granted.

But even more remarkably, she had glimpsed a different way to move through the world—one where travel isn't just about seeing new places but about meaningful connection and service.

I pray to Allah that my children carry this perspective for the rest of their lives and continue to live serving those less fortunate. And I hope that in sharing this experience, other families might be inspired to create similar opportunities for their children.

Because some lessons—the most important ones—simply can't be bought. They must be lived.

In my next post, I'll share a completely different kind of shopping experience we had in Turkey. As parents, we often caution our children against excessive shopping and materialism. But there's a unique joy that comes from shopping for others in need - a joy I witnessed transforming my children's faces as they carefully selected items for earthquake survivors. Stay tuned for "The Shopping Trip That Changed Everything" - where purchasing becomes an act of service rather than consumption.