Turkish D’lights

Hello dear loyal fans

This is the sixth instalment of my royal ramblings. If you're new to the Kamikaze Crafter Cult, you can get yourself up to speed here, or go straight to my first episode, On-board Shenanigans.

Today, I'll tell you all about Queen Kami's first trip to what would become her go-to fabric paradise, the Maybachufer market (previously known as the Turkish Market). And I'll give you the scoop on the sweat-shop fam's first Berlin-basement productions. Not indie movies, ha-ha, even though I wouldn't mind someone interviewing me for a docudrama someday.

The Sweatshop Five (Nerina, Brinane, Aibren, Nabirne and I) were waiting in anticipation for the basement action to start. The Christmas and New-year glühwein glows had finally faded from the royal family's faces, and it was time to get all the rats ready for their races.

Hubby was out and about starting up some startup. Firstborn was holed up in her room applying for internships. Secondborn was away, shadowing some doctor, and Lastborn was pottering around under our noses. She had taken over Queen Kami's recently assembled trestle-and-door table. It was meant to be the queen's holy cutting, gluing, hammering and DIY-ing surface, but Lastborn felt she had first dibs on it when the Queen was out of palace, as she was at that moment.

Lastborn's project of the day entailed curating and trimming black-and-white photos of arbitrary objects. As she had not yet reached her blue period, non-colours were what went onto her bedroom walls. Lastborn was telling us about her imminent return to school. She had a strange relationship with the Sweatshop Five. Like a distant love, loyally keeping us posted on the palace goings-on, but never, ever touching us. She was convinced there was no way a sewing appliance could produce a conceptual artwork. The child was gifted, but mistaken.

“Guys, I have to warn you! Mom's gonna come back home with her new friend, Lady C, and she'll have a stash of goodness-knows-what from the Turkish Market.”

LADY D

Seconds later, a front-door-bang vibration transmitted through the studio ceiling.

“Uh-oh, I'm out of here!” cried Lastborn as she frantically scooped up her conceptual collages and sprinted up to her room.

As Queen Kami's faded brown socks and less-faded denim moved toward the studio door, I spotted two black and red polka-dotted feet behind her. The polka dots continued up two slim legs until they disappeared under a bright red skirt hem. What was above the skirt was not yet clear, as both the polka-dot lady and Queen Kami were hauling gigantic plastic bags into the studio. They deposited these on the trestle table.

The not-yet-known lady turned around and studied our sweatshop team. And I studied back. Above her skirt was a fluffy black sweater with ... wait for it ... yes, you've guessed it ... Minnie herself. Above the sweater was a long, scarf-less neck, a well-sculpted chin, and a wide, red-lipsticked smile, showing a set of remarkably non-smudged teeth. Apart from the rosy cheeks, her face was pale. Her eyes sparkled, and her blond curls bounced all over the place. An apparition of exquisite beauty.

“So, this is my studio,” said Queen Kami with obvious pride.

“Ah. Lovely, my dear. I can see you'll have an absolute ball down here.”

The Minnie Mouse apparition, aka Lady D, did not walk around the room. She floated. Where on earth had Queen Kami dug her out? Definitely not the kamikaze-crafter type. According to Lastborn, the new connection was via the school. Plus, Lady C also hailed from the Motherland. But that couldn't explain for her magnetic presence and floaty movements. Or her bold sense of fashion.

“Thank you for coming with me to the Turkish Market,” said Queen Kami. “I would have turned the wrong way coming out of the U-Bahn station. Or I might have turned back as soon as I saw the dodgy guys at Kotbusser Bridge — with their stack of bicycles.”

Lady D giggled. “Oh, Kami, you have to relax. They're dodgy but not dangerous.”

It was only a few months later that we'd fully understand the bit about the bicycles. After Firstborn bought herself a bike at a steal (pun intended) from those dodgy dealers near that market. She only found out about her bike's stolen status later. When the police arrived to repossess her wheels. Nerina's extension plate would be the recipient of a river of angry tears, exactly like it had been years and years before when the teen Queen had bawled her deeply disappointed heart out. A bit of Deja vu, I'd say. (You can read about Queen Kami's tears in this post — reminiscing in the lamplight.)

THE STASH

After Queen Kami saw off her friend, she rushed back into the studio and tipped out both bags. We beheld a mountain of multi coloured potential. Then came a volley of loud sneezes. At least I think they were loud, judging by how our sweatshop table shook.

“Darn! It's those weed fumes,” Queen Kami muttered. She picked up a random piece of fabric — orange and black with a seventies feel — and held it to her nose. “Yip. I was wondering if those sweet marijuana fumes would get to this fabric all the way from where the dozy musos were having their picnic.”

While she fidgeted with her phone, she rambled on. “Underlings, I tell you, that market is fabric heaven. Sooo much cheaper than the cool craft shop and other fancy fabric places. And you should see all the zips and buttons and elastic and stuff. If it wasn't for my own habby stash, I would've bought a ton of that too.” Her nose almost touched her screen by then. “Aha, found them!” She turned the phone towards us and scrolled through a bunch of photos.

Wow! What a mish-mash of fruit and veggies and food stalls. The breads and dips and spreads and olives tasted like heaven, according to the queen. And then there were hats and scarves and other accessories and oodles and oodles of fabric.

This was one of the photos (Note the fabric right next to the produce.)

She plonked down her phone, draped the orange and black seventies-feel cloth around herself and checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. (Hubby had been commissioned to install that the day before.) “Right. Skirt it is. With elastic in the waist. Thirty-minute project, I'd say.” She tossed the cloth to one side.

A large rectangle of blue-greenish fabric with an ethnic pattern got spread out over the multicoloured mountain. “Hmm. A tablecloth? Or maybe ...” She pulled it up and draped it around herself, from the waist down. “Long skirt?” Then she folded it over a few times. “Or cushion cover? I need to think about it. No, no! Wait! I think It can be a table-cloth-cum wrap skirt. Yes! Great idea!”

That's basically how each piece of fabric got ogled and earmarked for something or put aside onto an undecided heap. The undecideds eventually joined the Motherland stash in one of the huge plastic crates.

Queen Kami gathered the chosen cloth and disappeared into the control centre, which was also in the basement. Lastborn had told us all about that scary room, of course. An intergalactic control space, she'd said. It housed the padded water heater and padded pipes. In a cold country, many things get padded. To be energy efficient, or something. A de-calcifier sat in one corner, and half of one wall was filled with a million switches, all labelled in German. Not to be touched by the offspring or the queen — even though she was the only one who could pronounce the labels. Inside this intergalactic spacecraft engine room were two recognizable objects. A washing machine and tumble dryer. It was best to take a deep breath before entering, and once inside, turn your back on the control panel and focus on the two laundry appliances.

While the fabric was being stripped of its weed fumes (on the quick cycle), Nabirne got threaded with blue-green thread. This is where that nifty magnifying glass with its built-in LED light came in. The queen had gotten that from Lidl (a retail wonder not found in the Motherland). With this Chinese wonder, she could dispense with her two former aids (a cracked, old looking glass and a headlamp) and successfully locate all the appropriate loops and holes in Nabirne's inner works. I was getting seriously antsy with all the threading, testing, breaking thread, adjusting tension and rethreading happening next to me, but when the queen rushed back from the control centre after throwing the fabric in the dryer, Nerina, Brinane, and I got our turn. Blue-green thread for each of us. Aibren was sitting out this time. She was in hibernation mode under the table.

The dryer beeped and the drug-free fabric got fetched and folded, all except the blue-green cloth.

Brain-dead-simple project number one ...

was the table-cloth-cum-wrap-skirt. The cloth was spread out on the cutting table, and the Queen used the measuring tape and chalk (phew!) and did her hard-and-fast trimming. Nabirne overlocked like a pro. Then, because of needle breaks (they were too thin, of course) Queen Kami had to roll her chair from Brinane to Nerina to me to complete the stitching. Fifteen minutes flat. She did one victory skipping lap around the cutting table.

Project number two

was less brain-dead simple. Queen Kami, who loved a challenge, set her timer on thirty minutes this time. Orange thread got quick-routed through Nabirne. That method involved knotting new thread to old, changing tension and pulling — very carefully. Thank the Lord it worked. My threading happened without a hitch, but when Queen Kami started aiming Nerina's orange thread at her needle, she encountered a holeless stump. “Flippety flip!” Three minutes ticked by as she removed the broken needle and inserted a new, thicker one. Another two minutes of scratching around to locate the nifty magnifying glass, which she'd used less than five minutes before, mind you. But, at last, Nerina was threaded.

“Sorry, Brinane. I'll have to let you sit out for this one. Time is of the essence.”

The fabric had not yet been cut, and the clock was ticking. Drops of perspiration collected on Queen Kami's forehead.

At the cutting table, she grabbed the measuring tape and wound it around her hips. She should have known her measurements by then, but she was not good at remembering numbers (or amounts — especially when she used Hubby's credit card.) The sweat drops started making their way down her cheeks. She measured one more time and stood dead-still for a few seconds, staring into space, probably doing some maths. This, she was good at, by the way. She would soon start tutoring the neighbour's son.

The seventies-feel fabric got measured and cut into two trapeziums. By the look of things, the end-product would be an above-the-knee semi-A-line story. She rushed to the hidden metal shelves, yanked open the green curtains and located the shoe box with the wide elastic. A long piece went around her waist and got snipped at the required spot. Fifteen minutes gone. The goal was still reachable.

“Breathe, Queen Kami. Please breathe!” I really hoped her nervous system would catch some of my calming e-vibes.

She was back at our table and rolled her chair in front of Nabirne. He did his thing. One of his threads snapped towards the end of his shift, but his stitching was still acceptable. Twenty-two minutes.

It was Nerina's turn. The needle lasted for the two side seams and the hem. It was time for the elastic, which Nabirne had sort of attached (very messily). The top part merely needed a flip-over before the elasticated waist would get stitched down. Nerina managed five stitches before her needle snapped. It was all up to me now. Three minutes to go.

Queen Kami decided to use pins to get the elastic folds evenly spaced. The pinning was a rush job, of course. She punctured two fingers and added a blood-coloured seventies-feel blotch onto the seventies-feel fabric.

It was time to give it my all. My queen's honour was at stake. She rammed her foot down on my pedal, and I let loose. Pins were extracted milliseconds before my needle could collide with them, and we were on a roll. Thirty seconds to go and one pin left to extract.

Then, the you-know-what hit the fan. Queen Kami's pin-extraction timing went off. My needle went straight through her right index finger and broke off somewhere inside. Her pedal foot took its time to remove itself from the pedal, which meant two more needle-stump assaults on the injured finger.

Blood flowed. There was verbal abuse. The countdown timer beeped. Queen Kami's left hand located her small pliers to de-impale her right index finger. More blood. This time on me.

But no worries, the skirt was salvageable. All things considered, a successful hour of garment production.

I will leave you at this joyful juncture. More fun and games next time.

Toodles,

Nirbe..