Copy this and post it whenever some T*rk talks to you about how we wuz khanz 'n shieet. Show them what this misbegotten place was like before Kamal beat some sense into the Anatolians. This is a letter a guy who was born in Baghdad, and was sent to Central Anatolia as an Ottoman state official, sent to one of his friends:

"Dear Refik,

Perhaps I write to you too often. But I am content with this. I want to keep myself connected to you with a material and spiritual tie, made of paper, that extends through all these distances, with these letters I am flying to you from where I am standing. Is where the direction our communication is going boring you? The last time I had written to you from Niğde, and went to inspect all of the province's accidents. I am writing this second letter again from Niğde, at the end of that session that lasted twenty days, and despite many breaks in vines and gardens, left no memories of genuine joy. What to write you about the Anatolian folk I have seen, I do not know.

First of all, who are living in this region? What type of a creature is the maker of the ancient ruins that are seen? Understanding this by looking at the colorless piles of wrecks we see as villages and towns, has never been possible. I hold the opinion that one must use the genus of ants as a referance when classifying the Anatolian villager. Had one crossed this country, that burned under an awesome sun due to treelessness at day and stretched with the noises of all bugs under the most beautiful stars at night, at any hour, they would have wandered upon the tough working conditions of a people busy only with producing their food, numbed with the constant idea of "nourishment", joyless and tired. All these people, whose faces are red as if they have just left the fronts of hellish ovens, lips cracked, hands blackening, are seen busy with either reaping foodstuffs, carrying them, flinging them, or dragging them away to their storages. Just like ants, just like ants...

However, it is not possible to not feel deeply pained by the pointless lives, wasted rigorous works of these mindless brethren after realizing that, these men who have rejected and terminated all dexterity of the mind for the gains of their bellies, are very far away from satisfying their bellies too, by waking up with the gas and cramps caused by the dire water-cooked beans that were brought to the table as a delicious meal, the morning after a night spent in the house of their richest.

Refik; in Ankara, I met with the high ranking seniors of a medical committe the German Empire sent to research the diseases of Anatolia. These ones have concluded, by examining every patient free of charge since a year, and making their examinations on healthy people as much as possible(like students), that the bellies of the Turks of Anatolia are loaded with worms and their bloods are filled with parasites secreted by these worms. Do you know the cause of this situation, that is threatening the genus with an imminent extinction? Malnutrition.

As queer as this seems, the Turks of Anatolia do not yet know of even the making of bread. What they eat is an unleavened doug that, one should ask of to the stomachs of those who eat it. Without exceptions, their vehicle of transportation is the kağnı. This tool, which even the cruelest of thoughts about oxen and animals of such kind held captive by them can not hope to match the invention of—that is also cumbersome, crampy, and unfit for its intended purpose—is without a doubt a discovery and tool of the Stone Age. The kağnı is not a cart, but a monster that sticks its pipes to the animal's vital parts and by that means drains the blood and life of the animal. As I saw the misery the innocent animals went through under the yoke of these kağnıs that, with their overall appearance, looked more like huge and horrible cockroaches than carts from afar, resembling the primative carts drawn with their rods and standing wagoners on the stones belonging to the ages of tare weights and great padishahs, I doubted whether if the calm peasants driving them had souls like men did, or not.

The skillfulness of the Anatolians are seen only in the usage of ox dung and in the diversity of the ways they find of putting it in a state ready for use. The value of dung among these people is astonishing. When the herds leave for the grasslands or when they enter the town, women and children dive on the ground with their arms smeared up to the elbow and their pupils protruding with greed, in order to gather the smallest pieces of shit dropping from ox asses, by not diverting their attentions away from ox buttocks as if their eyes are drawn on attractive things and running with rapid steps with the fear of getting left behind by hundreds of rivals. These turds are gathered, filled in baskets, taken to houses, and finally kneaded like doughs of gold; golden necklaced young women knead them with their white arms, shape them to neat circles, and stick them on the walls to let them dry. The walls of Anatolia are coated with these ox excrements. That pleasant smell is inhaled in all of its weathers. Its meals, milks, breads are all unhandleable with the smell of dung smoke. Instead of the ancient Egyptians, the Anatolians should have venerated the ox Apis. The ox, is the source of life in general here.

When it comes to their houses, they too are like so: The walls are made of unsculpted stones, grass and twigs placed randomly; the way they are in stork's nests. Do you know what a chimney is? A jug with a broken bottom. Around Kızılırmak, outright resigning of house building, they live like birds in caves they carve out to existance by making use of soil's material properties. Half an hour down from Nevşehir there is such a village named Güvercinlik[pigeon loft] that is made of caverns, it is indeed fit only for being a pigeon loft. Anatolia, is completely devoid of cleanliness. Like Celal the Bearded has said, even yogurt that is a most delicious invention of theirs, is nothing but a product of filth. You too know that, if a dirty piece of iron or an old silver coin is dropped in boiled milk, it will immediately turn to yogurt.

Anatolia, is poxy from one end to the other. The Anatolians' beauty as well is spoiled. If a look was taken at the crowd of a village, a town, or a city, so many lames, so various types of lames, so many dwarfs, haunchbacks, blind, and crippled-armed ones would be seen, one would think that they were looking around through a looking-glass that distorted the shape of material. With this, one should confess that their beauties are unmatched when they are beautiful. Well proportioned, baggy trouser wearing Anatolian women who look at people with black, deep, and [causing]trembling eyes; how will I forget you? Their youths sometimes represent the most perfect examples of mankind. However, these ones are rare, Refik.

While there are many more things to write about Anatolians I am ending this subject here to not give the letter the appearance of a humorous article. It seems the journey of Anatolia is ending for me. And I am not saddened by this. The inspection of Niğde has ended. The amount I have earned since the day I joined İâşe Heyet-i Teftişiyesi(probably a committe of inspectors) has reached two thousand liras. I lost a lot of money. First my health detoriated. I ate a lot of goat meat. I also spent a lot of my money on unnecessary things, and got displaced after losing so much of my comfort. Soon, maybe in three days, I am coming to Istanbul."