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Food

The Owner of Turkey's Prison-Themed Cafe Swears It's Not Political

At Haft, the employees taking your order wear orange jumpsuits, the elevator has a height chart perfect for mugshot selfies, and there is a cell complete with bars and a prison-style urinal. (Management prefers that customers not use the urinal.)
Photo by the author

More than 50,000 people were arrested in the sweeping crackdown that followed a failed coup attempt in July 2016 in Turkey. And more than 150 journalists are currently behind bars, a figure that places Turkey at the top of the list worldwide in terms of jailed scribes. Thousands more have been fired from government jobs and have had their passports cancelled, effectively turning the country into an open-air prison for them.

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Amid a news cycle swarming with reports of arrests, sentences, and verdicts, a prison-themed coffee shop suddenly popped up in Turkey. Haft Coffee Roastery opened its doors in January in the sleepy coastal city of Yalova, on the opposite side of the Marmara Sea and a 90-minute ferry ride from Istanbul.

At Haft (Haft means 'custody or 'imprisonment' in German), the employees taking your order wear orange jumpsuits, the elevator has a height chart perfect for mugshot selfies, and there is a cell complete with bars and a prison-style urinal. (Management prefers that customers not use the urinal.)

One early afternoon, Haft already has a throng of customers in line, with many more occupying the tables throughout the four-story establishment. It’s especially popular with students at the local university, who come to try on the prison outfits and pose for pictures in the cell.

Co-owner Canhür Aktuğlu was a successful, award-winning graphic designer before deciding that he wanted to be his own boss. He insists Haft is solely a business venture, flatly rejecting the notion that he is making any sort of political statement.

“It was purely a commercial purpose, to bring to life the story of an action movie or Orange is the New Black,” Aktuğlu told MUNCHIES during an interview at his cafe.

Co-owner Canhür Aktuğlu. Photo by the author.

“The architecture of a coffee shop closely resembles that of a prison, and the orange outfits are the most memorable of all costumes,” he continued.

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Aktuğlu claims it is the world's first prison-themed coffee shop, though it appears the concept actually dates back to Paris in the 1880's. More recently, a restaurant of the sort opened in Cairo— while the proprietors of a Mumbai-based jail-inspired hookah bar were arrested last year for allowing minors to partake.

Among Haft's employees is Sana, a 23-year-old with long black hair, thin-rimmed glasses, and a goatee. Sana is a member of the Baha'i faith, which faces intense government persecution in his home country of Iran. Fearing arrest, he fled to Turkey as a refugee.

“I was going to go jail, so I just ran away,” Sana told MUNCHIES.

“Now, I came here, to a jail café,” he said with a laugh. “And of course it's ironic,” he said of the café opening at a time like this in Turkey. Sana says he enjoys his workplace environment—he seems to relish in the irony that he is getting paid to wear a prison uniform in Turkey rather than donning a similar getup behind actual bars in Iran.

Haft barista Sana. Photo by the author.

Between sips of coffee, which Aktuğlu and his crew roast themselves, local university students posed in prison orange for selfies with their friends in the cell. Their world seemed light years away from Turkey's harsh reality.

On February 16, German-Turkish journalist Deniz Yücel, who was held for a year in pre-trial detention on bogus charges of “spreading propaganda,” was released just a day after Prime Minister Binali Yıldırım met with German President Angela Merkel in Berlin. That piece of good news was overshadowed the same day as six journalists were sentenced to life in prison based on generally-regarded-as-spurious charges of being involved with the 2016 coup attempt. Many more languish in cells awaiting trial.

At Aktuğlu's suggestion, I slipped into one of the jumpsuits myself, glumly clutching the bars while my own picture was taken. Thinking about the dangerous state of my profession in the country I've called home for seven years, I took a deep breath and exhaled, hoping this was the closest I'd get to the real thing.