TURKEY:Voters get a taste of showbiz as entertaining ladies' man sets out to woo them, writes Nicholas Birch.
"Lediz and gentlemena . . . Are you readiiiii? Van, two, tri, foru."
Like all campaign buses in the noisy run-up to Sunday's parliamentary elections, the Mercedes coach fizzing through Istanbul's western suburbs comes complete with an impressive sound system.
What distinguishes it is that the nasal voice blaring a hip-hop version of a popular folk song out of the speakers belongs to the man waving at passersby from the front seat.
Born in a cave in the southeastern city of Urfa, 55-year-old Ibrahim Tatlises is Turkey's most famous pop star, his albums topping charts throughout the Middle East. Now he's aiming for parliament and a posting as the country's new minister for women's affairs.
"I've got a bad reputation, I know," he says, referring to girlfriends who've turned up on TV sporting black eyes he gave them. "But I'm a good family man. Women like me."
He's right. Girls strolling through the suburb of Avcilar collapse into giggles as he blows kisses at them. Elderly ladies in headscarves wave furiously when he kisses his hand and puts it to his forehead in a typical Turkish gesture of respect.
But Tatlises's attraction isn't just limited to the gentler sex. Honking excitedly, one man nearly drives his car into a roundabout as the coach speeds by. A photographer in the cortege is besieged by requests for souvenir shots with the great man.
"Petrol station workers, dear policemen, enjoy your work. The emperor of the oppressed is coming," intones Ersin Gok, a former deputy who is running Tatlises's campaign.
When he does come - this time to a square in Esenyurt decked with flags from a dozen different parties - 2,000 people rush to greet him.
"I know what it's like to be hungry," bellows Tatlises, whose business empire extends from luxury shirts to a chain of kebab restaurants, from a roof.
"Vote for me and, on my honour as a man, you'll never be in need again."
Back on the ground, his shirt open to his waist and a bodyguard fanning him with a towel, Tatlises is as excited as a child. "Did you see the crowd? Parliament, here I come."
The polls suggest otherwise.
The party for which he is running, Genc Parti, was the surprise of 2002 elections, coming from nowhere to win 7.5 per cent of the vote. Since then, its fortunes have dipped with those of the Uzans, a family of Turkish tycoons who founded it. Convicted by a US court in 2003 of defrauding mobile phone giant Motorola of $2 billion (€1.45 billion), the Uzans have had the bulk of their empire confiscated by the Turkish state.
Without the television channels and newspapers Cem Uzan used to such striking effect last time, his party will be lucky to win more than 5 per cent. Some would say that's a good thing. Genc Parti's promises to slash petrol prices, raise unemployment benefits and heavily subsidise hazelnut sales would make short work of a Turkish economy recovering from a massive 2001 crisis.
The party's failure won't be the fault of Tatlises, though. He's financed his own campaign. "I think he's in it just for the kicks," says campaign logistics chief Tanju Birlik.