When I first arrived in Istanbul three years ago, I was practically broke. That’s not unusual for teachers.

One of the first people I got to know was Fetih. He operated a cantine on the top floor of the school. It’s a pleasant cantine, with a long balcony that provides a refreshing view of the Sea of Marmara. Inside, there are tables and chairs for students to sit and chat over tea during breaks.

Between lessons, you could go upstairs to the cantine, and Fetih would make his toasted sandwiches, or tosts, with chopped pickles, fresh tomatoes, olive paste, sausage and cheese. Or his wraps, which were equally delicious. Then there was the meatball, or köfte, sandwich.

When payday arrived, the first order of business was always to pay Fetih. He kept track of everything in his black book (in Turkish, they say verisiye defter).

Fetih was born in the city of Samsun, near the Black Sea. He was drawn to Istanbul by the prospect of work and a decent living. He started working at the school in his early twenties. He and his wife had their first child, a daughter, Melike, about a year ago.

In the time I’ve known Fetih, I can’t think how many times his sandwiches have sustained me in those lean times just before payday. There have been times when his tosts were about all that kept me going.

But it wasn’t just his sandwiches. He was one of those rare people who you liked and trusted immediately. You could depend on him. Over the past three years, I don’t recall ever once seeing him out of line, (angry, yes, but never out of line), even on the days when the cantine was flooded with pre-school children screaming and running around, raiding his stock of ice cream, candy and chewing gum.

It was Fetih who gave the cantine its personality and atmosphere. I can still see him swabbing the balcony, water the plants, and toss yesterday’s stale bread to the sea birds circling high over the buildings of Suadiye.

He was there every day, except Friday mornings, when he went to the mosque. During Ramadan, he fasted, but still kept the tosts and tea coming on demand, for the teachers and the students who weren’t observing. After sunset, for iftar, he would make himself something to eat, and sit out on the balcony. It was always satisfying to watch him light up a cigarette.

This past week, Fetih told us he was leaving. He apologized, but it was time, he said.

Fetih leaving? For all of us, it was unreal.

We realized how much we had come to rely on Fetih.

When you live faraway from home, your support network isn’t that wide. You feel very much alone sometimes. Also, the world of EFL is very transient; people come and go. You get used to people leaving. After a while, it doesn’t bother you. You don’t even notice.

Except on those very rare occasions, when someone like Fetih leaves.

For me, and for the other teachers as well, Fetih was a staple. He was someone to whom you could always turn. Not just for food, but also for a smoke, for tea, for friendship, for sympathy. Or just to relax and talk about football (he supports Trabzon).

On his last day, we talked. Business hasn’t been that great. He’s been working seven days a week (forever). He commutes three hours a day (he and his wife and child live over on the European side of the city, while the school is on the Asian side).

His new job, water delivery service, will at least be closer to home. Hopefully, that means that even if the money isn’t that great, he’ll at least be able to spend more time with his family.

Meanwhile, at the school, teachers, staff and students alike commiserated: What would we do without Fetih?

On his last day, everyone gathered in the cantine one last time. A cake was served, and everyone presented him with a framed photo of the Trabzon football team, circa 1970.

“My father’s team,” Fetih said. He seemed bewildered, but touched. I think he liked the card best of all, signed by all the teachers.

James Tressler was a reporter for the Times-Standard. His books, including “Conversations in Prague,” and “The Trumpet Fisherman and Other Istanbul Sketches,” can be found on Amazon.com. He lives in Istanbul.