The Rest of the Story about...

Geçti Bor'un pazarI, sür essegi Nigde'ye… (Lit. The bazaar at Bor is over, drive the stupid donkey to Nigde) -- Idiomatic meaning: You missed your chance, it's too late to do anything (about it)…

The story…In the old days, the bazaar at Bor lasted a shorter time than most bazaars -- closing down in the mid-afternoon. That was because there was a much larger, busier bazaar on the same day in Nigde. And, if business was slow in Bor, the bazaar's merchants often took off early for the grander opportunity of Nigde -- not waiting even to mid-afternoon. This could pose a problem for late arriving customers, who might have to follow the merchants all the way to Nigde to buy their weekly goods -- or wait a week until the next bazaar in Bor. And a derisive phrase, to portray the late-comers, came into common use. "The Bor bazaar is over, drive the stupid donkey to Nigde," is what the wags would say to those villagers who came late to the Bor bazaar. And how your ears might ring if you had to hear it yourself !

A little ways north of Nigde is the village of Andabalis (Andaval). And this emerging idiom first came to be linked closely with its villagers -- though why that happened is not exactly clear. Since Bor is to the south of Nigde -- it's extremely unlikely that the Andabalisians would have ever gone anywhere near the Bor bazaar. Thus, they could hardly be late for it…But Andabalisians were often subjected to indignities of various kinds (due to their reported naivete and slow-wittedness). So perhaps they became linked to this derisive phrase merely because they fit the "personality profile." Whatever the reason, over time, the AndavallI idiom has settled into the Turkish language from that source.

The Rest of the Story about...

Görüp görecegin rahmet bundan ibaret… (Lit. This, with God's mercy, he/she/it sees and will see...) -- Idiomatic meaning: This is all he/she/it will ever see…

The story…Nasreddin Hoca's practical-joke-loving neighbor, Süleyman, was about to set off for Karaman on a shopping expedition -- and he stopped by to see if there was something the Hoca wanted from the bazaar.

"Ah, yes please," said the Hoca, "I'll have six young sweet-smelling apricot trees if you can find them." He then gave his neighbor enough money for the purchase and Süleyman departed for Karaman -- where, among other items, he found and purchased six fine young apricot trees for the Hoca.

Upon returning from his trip, Süleyman hid the Hoca's fine young trees -- intending to hand them over once he'd had a little amusement at the Hoca's expense. And in their stead, he offered up a bag of broken twigs and dried sticks -- pretending that they were the real trees that the Hoca had ordered.

The Hoca wasn't fooled for a second by the bogus offering, but he decided to go along with the ruse -- and to turn it into a little fun of his own...

So, while Süleyman blabbed on about the extraordinary quality to the so-called trees, the Hoca led him to the vineyard carrying the bag of twigs in front of him as if it contained treasure -- and as if he believed his neighbor's every conniving word.

Once they'd reached a particulary fertile spot, the Hoca went through an elaborate planting ceremoney -- and when he was done, he stood back admiringly and feigned a little prayer of thanksgiving. With that done, he began 'washing' his hands in the sandy soil over the top of the planting as he uttered,

"Görüp göreceginiz rahmet budan ibaret. This is the only 'water' you'll ever see, my fine young trees. And if it doesn't please you sufficiently, I'll use you as kindling for my fireplace this winter."

And he turned on his heel and left the red-faced Süleyman in the dust.