“Is this a good book about Cyprus?”

The bookshop keeper tilted her head at me, drew her brows together, and asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Well, I am visiting Nicosia, and while I see Nicosia, I don’t really understand it. I don’t understand Cyprus.”

“Ancient Cyprus or modern Cyprus?”

“Modern, mostly. I wish to better understand the current division of Cyprus, understand what I see today.”

The bookshop keeper leveled sunken, brown eyes at me and said, matter-of-factly, “In 1955, people began to struggle for… we wanted Britain out and we wanted to rejoin Greece. But Britain had this idea of divide and rule…”

The keeper was interrupted by the needs of another customer while I propped my hip against a bookcase and started to fix an age on the keeper: every hair on her head was naturally white, her face was very lined, but not deeply so, her movements were stiff but retained alacrity. She had to be in her early 70s… hmm… 2011 minus 70 puts dates one at 1941. I shivered. This lady wasn’t lecturing by brainwashed wrote: 1955 and whatever else she would tell me was her history, the entirety of her life. Just as Vietnam vets can describe the walls of their POW camps, as Iraqi moms can still feel the embrace of their dead sons, like Tibetans torn from their Buddhas, and some-what like Jews that fled their Holocaust, the events that divided Cyprus impacted – no, dominated – this woman’s life.


“Divide and rule?” I prompted the bookshop keeper when she had finished.

“The Ottoman empire ruled Cyprus for hundreds of years but they were not good and both Muslim Cypriots and Christian Cypriots had… what is the word? complaints against them. After war, the Ottomans gave Cyprus to the British Empire. Cypriots were not unhappy because they hoped that Britain would help them reunite with Greece. But the British they built bases to overlook the Suez Canal and used this policy called “divide and rule” in Cyprus: the British began to call us Christian Cypriots and Muslim Cypriots, the British helped Turkey, and Turkey helped Muslim Cypriots want to break away from the Christian Cypriots. But Cypriots – Christian… Muslim – we are Cypriots first.

We fighted for Britain in World War II but many of us wanted join Greece, especially after the war. Britain loved its bases and wanted to keep Cyprus while Turkey didn’t want Greece to have more land. In 1955, the Cypriot people began to struggle for… we wanted self-determination, we wanted Britain and Turkey out. We stopped in 1959, when there was agreeing between Britain, Greece, Turkey and leaders of our Cypriot people. In 1960, Cyprus became the Republic of Cyprus, Makarios was president. They made a 10-point Constitution, very good for Muslim Cypriots. They had maybe 18% of the population but they got 15 of 50 seats in government, 3 ministers for cabinet, and to be Vice President.

But there were problems so in 1963 Makarios wanted to change the constitution to 13 points so the Muslim Cypriots stopped coming to work at the government. In 1964 Turkey bombed Cyprus – but they knew so little about Cyprus that they bombed their own people. So British pilots flew and bombed Cyprus, to help Turkey.

On the 15th of July 1974, junta from Greece helped put Makarios out of Cyprus. On 20th of July 1974, Turkey forgot all agreements it had made and illegally invaded Cyprus, to help the Muslims it said. But instead, Turkey got 36% of Cyprus – and keeps an army of 50,000 here. 200,000 people – 70%, by percentage of population (more than in World War II) – were forced from our homes.

I can’t go back to my home! A few years ago, my niece from America came to see me and she asked me to take her to my home, which was my father’s home. I refused. [physically shaking a bit] I cannot use my passport to visit my home. And a Turk lives in my home. Someone told me that the Turks cut down the olive trees that my father had planted. No, he lives there, maybe for many years, but he doesn’t own it. He lives in it. It is my home. I cannot see it. I wish to remember my home, happy, how it was.

In the invasion, many people died. 1400 people we do not know what happened to them. Women… young children… we don’t know. Turkey won’t help us know. My father, and other men, he was made to dig large holes and not properly bury bodies.”


Another customer walked in, which provided shopkeeper and careful listener with a break. Still propped on now sleepy feet, the bookshop keeper pointed me to a low couch by the shop window while she bustled and bristled at the new customer. When finished, she sat on a chair across from me and sighed.

“In 2004, we could vote to reunite. Papadopoulos [then President of Cyprus] told us we choose, he would deal with whatever we voted. But I could not vote yes. If I voted yes, I could only have 1/5th of my house back – I could have my bathroom only! That is not right.”

We were interrupted again. When she returned, I said, “What you have told me is very sad. Is there a solution?,” I asked curiously.

“No.” She answered, switching from strength to bitterness. “In 1922, the Turks made genocide against Armenians. You know?”

I nodded.

“Turks are warring people. In our village, the Turks put my father, and all parents into the church. And then, they bring daughters into the church and they… they rape… the daughters on the alter of the church. When the parents cried, and said, “No. Take me instead.” Parents were killed. Daughters cried. My father he watch.

Many Muslim Cypriots leave Cyprus because it is so bad. The Turkish government brought ignorant people from Anatolia to live on Cyprus. The Turks give them houses – nice houses. They put many families in one house, they don’t know how to live any other way. And they don’t know about electricity, or refrigerators. Some use refrigerators for shelves, putting clothes in them. The Turkish government gives them money to live on Cyprus, but they can live there for 30 years. They are not Cypriots!”

Now I was the one slightly shaking. Raised in stability, educated with words, not experience, I do not know injustice at this level, loss of home, loss of lives, rapes and mass graves. Yes, I could match words to pictures within my imagination, but I cannot truly understand. I said this, and squarely met her eyes, joined my hands at my heart and thanked her for helping me understand her Cyprus.

And yes, there were – there are – gaps in her narrative. The biggest gap, of course, was any sympathy for Muslims, or Turks on the other side. Not wanting to show any disrespect, nonetheless I felt compelled to ask, “How do Christian Cypriots feel about Muslim Cypriots?”

“Before the invasion, there were not big problems between Muslims and Christians. I will tell you a story. My father owned a farm and a mill and he had many workers to help him. One worker, he liked and respected very much, was a Muslim Cypriot. That man wanted to get married but did not have the 100 pounds – a lot of money in those days - for the [bride price]. So he asked my father to loan him the money. And my father, he agreed, he loaned him the money, without interest and then, as a wedding gift, he gave the couple 50 pounds. The couple was very happy. My father was a good man.

20 years later, my father and my uncle were locked by the Turks into the church. They were very sad, very afraid. In walked a Turkish general, it was the same Muslim Cypriot that my father had helped. My father walked up to the man and said, ‘My brother! Can you help?’ The man looked angry at my father and said to him, ‘I am the boss now.’ When my father appealed to the man again, the man knocked him down and kicked him very hard. My uncle, who was there, said, ‘What are you doing? My brother, he loved you like a son!’ The man knocked and kicked my uncle down too and repeated, ‘I am the boss now.’ My father and uncle had blood in their pee for weeks after that man kicked them.”

Her eyes were rimmed with pain. And I couldn’t help wanting to offer comfort: I reached out and hugged her, while she remained stiff and absorbed in her memories.

“I cannot forgive. I cannot forget. I cannot forgive.”


At that point, we returned to the business of finding me a book but the bookshop keeper couldn’t restrain herself from further driving her point home. She showed me an older, glossy coffee table book filled with pictures of destroyed churches and icons that the Turks have ruined or over the last decades. And then she discovered one more story to tell me, being that I am an American.

“When Sadaam Hussien invaded Kuwait, many American military people came to Cyprus. One day, a man with patches on his shoulder came into the shop and I asked him, ‘Iraq’s military attacked Kuwait. Why is the United States helping Kuwait?’

The man said, ‘It is the right thing to do.’

I said, ‘Well, Turkey’s military attacked Cyprus. What is the difference?’

The man wouldn’t answer at first. And then, quietly he said, ‘Oil.’”


I understood. I understood that the bookshop keeper’s way of extracting vengeance – her method of living with her memories, her method of seeking justice – is to impart her story to whoever will listen, to put face to injustice, to re-live crimes that have not yet faded into history in hopes that there will yet be reparation. And I must admit, I walked away from her shop wrestling her feelings, sharing little hope that she will find justice in her lifetime.

But we did find me a book! Titled Echoes from the Divide, Across the Cyprus Divide, my new book “explores attitudes and prejudices on a human level.” Despite the sadness of the history that the bookshop keeper imparted, I hold hope that if generations following our keeper are able to literally cross their divide, explore prejudices, and find ways to make amends, then future Cypriots will compel themselves into a better future, away from their bitter past.

Love,
Laura