To my Dede, Hüseyin Gazi Metin…

Sometimes, a loss runs so deep that it simply defies the simplicity of words. That is exactly how this loss feels to me. Even though years have passed since I last saw him or heard his voice, he held such a sacred place in my heart that I couldn’t bring myself to just share a photograph with a few brief sentences to mark his passing. Doing so left a heavy emptiness inside me. I had to do something, but what? A few days ago, my father came to visit, and we pulled out some old photo albums. As we were flipping through them, a picture of Metin Dede caught my eye. Right then, I remembered the saz he had entrusted to me when I was just fifteen… I knew then that if I didn’t write this down, a part of me would remain incomplete. I decided to write about him, and about our story.

When Metin Dede first arrived in London, we were just naive, pure-hearted young people, only beginning to taste the bitter realities of life. He stood by us like a pillar of strength—a guide who gave us courage. People like him are hard to come by. As I said, he was strong, but his strength came from his wisdom and his quiet labor. He was never silent; he always had something to say, a thoughtful answer for every situation, yet he never broke a heart or caused offense. Even to those who acted insolently toward him, he responded with humility. He was a man of deep spiritual integrity, completely above petty games and manipulation.

Back then, we believed Metin Dede would stay with us forever. He was like a light that illuminated our way, dispelling the darkness within us. He had made this foreign land feel like home. His presence represented not just a single life, but an entire era. Through his warm conversation, his deep knowledge, and his revolutionary spirit, he even won over the young people who knew nothing about Alevism, or had no desire to learn. But then, one day, in a way we couldn’t quite comprehend, he was sent back to Turkey and never returned. Although I learned at a very young age how difficult it is to understand people’s motives and actions, I never imagined I would have to witness this truth for the rest of my life. In my eyes, his departure was a devastating blow to our community and our future. After he left, things were never the same. We tried so hard to rebuild what we lost, but the void remained.

Looking back at those years, he didn’t just join us in the semah or sing folk songs with us. At a time when everyone was lining up to criticize the youth, he stubbornly championed the idea that the fire in young people was a magnificent force. He spoke with us. He tried to understand us. He was always focused on healing, not destroying. If there was a problem, he worked so tirelessly to mend it that we would watch and listen to him in absolute awe of his strength and resilience. He stayed at our house for long stretches. We shared our bread at the same table. We talked for hours. Every single day was made more beautiful just by his presence. His wisdom was unquestionable, yet his sorrow and grief were of a different kind entirely. He was a worker. A man of labour. A revolutionary.

He had lost loved ones in the Sivas massacre—his own nieces and nephews. In almost every conversation, he would speak of them; he carried that pain, that profound loss, in his chest like a quiet weight. Perhaps that is why, when he sang our folk songs and deyiş, you could feel his very heart beating, and he could never hold back his tears. Every word he spoke felt like an echo carrying the collective grief of a wounded people. Metin Dede was the voice of those sorrows, those lived experiences, and those societal scars. Yet, this sensitivity wasn’t reserved only for collective tragedies. If you looked even slightly sad or troubled in his presence, he would never ignore it. He was one of those rare souls who would walk through a crowded room just to sit by your side and make sure you were okay.

Metin Dede had a saz, and in those years, I was also playing and singing. I was very young, but I had already started performing on stage. My Dede was always there behind me, supporting me like a rock. I will never forget the days he brought flowers to the stage for me. Then one day, the saz Metin Dede played became mine; it was the most beautiful gift anyone could have ever given me. Today, that instrument is still with me, and it remains one of my most precious possessions—a companion that will never leave my side for the rest of my days.

I will never forget one particular day when I was feeling incredibly down. My Dede was staying with us. “My girl, my dear child, what is troubling you? Come, let’s talk,” he said. I couldn’t speak; I just wrapped my arms around him and cried and cried and cried. He didn’t press me for answers. He simply held me tight, wiping away my tears and sharing my grief. How could a young girl ever erase such a person from her mind? No matter how many years, roads, and miles come between us, those who leave a mark on your heart never truly die. They stay with you for eternity. That is who Metin Dede is to me—someone whom death can never erase from my mind.

The passing of Metin Dede is not a loss; his teachings, his wisdom, and his love are a light that will continue to burn brightly inside me. Perhaps, through his passing, he taught me not only about life, but that loss itself is an inseparable part of it. Hearing the news of his death took me back to those years, allowing me to see the girl I used to be and the indelible marks he left on her. I realized once again just how deeply we can be shaped by certain people, and how we carry them within us throughout our entire lives.

Simply put, there is so much more to tell, but in today’s fast-paced world, people rarely find the time to read. So, I wanted to share just a few of the countless memories etched in my mind and the footsteps he left on my soul.

My dear Metin Dede, may your spirit live on, and may your light never dim. I am so grateful that you touched my life, and that during those formative years, you taught me strength, resilience, kindness, and beauty.

I carry your light with me, always.