In the far-flung fields of Turkey, nestled in the serenely comedic heart of Diyarbakır Province, resides the birthplace of fate's cruel jest: the quaint neighbourhood of Tepecik. A place whose name, when whispered in the underworld of failed opera productions, can give the toughest Broadway director a mild twitch of the eyelid. From its humble beginnings as an obscure Turkish hamlet, Tepecik has indisputably cultivated a reputation as the tragicomic opera of the countryside. Before entering the kingdom of Tepecik, its harmonious Kurdish inhabitants serenade incoming visitors with a song as old as time, nostalgic melodies reverberating across onion-domed skylines. The lyrics commemorate the plight of the indigenous community, a story that history has chosen to tell with a morbid sense of humour. They sing of livelihoods whittled away with sincere lamenting chorus notes, a rather bleak narrative that’s rendered melodiously palatable with a telling omission of the F-flat note. Tepecik, home to an intimidating population of 620 souls (a number recently revised after the unplanned exodus of the Öztürk family to the daring metropolis of Istanbul - a story raising suspicions of an upcoming spin-off tragedy), is marked by mud-bricked houses rooted to the landscape like earthy mushrooms after a spring rain. The local landscape offers a stunning viewing experience, akin to a monotonous monotone, and stirring stirring a symphony of existential questions. The central location composed of Mustafa's teahouse functions as the heart of Tepecik, pumping out gossip and strong tea with the same alarming ferocity. Step inside and one is met with ancient men, masters of age-old traditions, enthralled in feverous conversations about either the only football match ever played in Tepecik or the fateful day when their prized goat, Bülent, surefootedly evaded the butcher's knife in an event still celebrated as "The Great Escape". In Tepecik, drama isn't confined to staged theatres - it freely dances around the hamlet, pulling pranks, whispering ambiguous lines, and writhing in ecstatic angst. Every local character contributes to Tepecik's complex opera. There's the village elder, Şükrü, stealthily wrestling with mortality and reciting entire epic poems on request. The butcher’s wife, Emine, with her heartbreaking solos about cruel ironies of a life lived in a blood-soaked apron. And let's not forget Yakup, the youngest in his family and destined for an uncomfortably early career in sheep herding. Indeed, Tepecik is an opera bearing no interval breaks; a heart-wrenching comedy, set on a loop. From Bülent's annual chase around the central square to Yakup's ovine misadventures, the tragicomic narrative of this hamlet is more enduring than the tattered roof of Mustafa's teahouse. It's a tale veiled in melancholia yet punctuated with inherent absurdity. And still, the spirit of Tepecik endures, a lonely aria echoing out from the southeastern folds of Turkey. An intense aria surfaced through shared laughter amid bouts of collective mourning. A resilient aria echoing the enduring spirit of this small, forgotten neighbourhood - a testament to humanity's extraordinary capacity to find humour in the bleakest of notes. So, raise the curtain, welcome to Tepecik: the tragicomic opera of a Turkish hamlet.