Villagers Meeting- Photos  |  Video  |  Cyprus:The Pergamos Reunion

Pergamos Villagers Reunion On July the 1st, 2000, Greek and Turkish Cypriots who used to live together in the same villages and have been separated since 1974 or even before, were met for the first time after 26 years or more.The event was organised by four bi-communal youth groups. What follows is a brief account by Adonis Florides in words, pictures and video. copyright Adonis Florides © 2000 POLLA OREO - VERY NICE There I was again. At Pergamos park. Somewhere between this side and that side of the barbed wire. On a island that I love and hate at the same time. I always thought that it was my parents generation who made a mess of this country and I always thought that they did not deserve any respect. But what I was witnessing made me change my mind once again and made me rethink all my well elaborated theories about the Cyprus problem. This day actually belonged to the people of that generation. The one I had always condemned for all the wear and tear this country went through the last decades. And there I was standing in the middle of the heat. July the 1st, year 2000. Signs bearing the names of all six districts of Cyprus. It was only four o’clock and people were already there waiting. Waiting to see those faces that memory denied to erase for more than 25 years and in some cases more than 35 years. The event was suppose to start at five when the heat is less unbearable. But this Greek Cypriot man in his sixties arrived at two o’clock. And he waited under the Larnaca sign. "I came here early" he said. "I could not wait. Last night I couldn’t sleep at all, so I slept in the car when I came here for a couple of hours". Where are they? Why does it takes them so long to come? This was the question that had only one answer. Take it easy they are supposed to be here at five and it is only half past four, was the answer. And yes, suddenly people begun to arrive in large groups. Most of them groups which consisted of three generations, granfathers and grandmothers, sons and daughters and grandsons and grandaughters. They were welcomed by some of these fantastic Greek and Turkish Cypriot youngsters who had the initiative to organise this courageous event. For months now they went from village to village talking to people about it and they managed to put everything together for this big day. "We are from Silicou and we want to see our co-villagers" someone said as the young girl was writing their names on stickers. Some could not wait. I could see their eyes staring at some face across who seemed familiar. Is it him or am I wrong?". I could read this on the faces of the older ones. And then another group of people seemed to be approaching from the opposite direction. They stared at each other for a while keeping some distance. Time had changed faces but time can not change what you went through with people. I had this impression that people did not recognise each other from their face but from some instinct uknown to anyone who has never experienced what co-existence and respect for the other, for the different, means. And then the wind blows and a cloud of red dust covers the whole place. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again I could only see the two groups of people meeting each other – exactly in the middle of the dust cloud- embracing each other kissing each other. Tears in the eyes. Tears in my eyes. "Re Andrea… we grew old re…" a TC old man cries. "You remember me?" a Greek Cypriot woman insists. "I am the wife of Yiorgos the sheferis – the bus driver"… "Yes I remember you.. How is Yiorgos?" the old Turkish Cypriot replied. "He died .. ten years ago" … the woman replied. Tears of sadness and happines. This was actually the most common phrase one could hear all afternoon. "he died years ago" The village is finished. They are almost all dead and the young people moved to town. But they were still enough of them who made it to Pergamos park that afternoon. Soon more and more groups from this side of that side were meeting groups of people who came from that side of this side and who once lived in this side of this side or vice-verca. Komi-Kepir, Dromolaxia, Silicou, Polemithkia, Maroni… just some of the villages that come in mind. They all gathered under the trees where the heat was not boiling your brain and I intruded with my camera into all kinds of conversations. People were too excited to realise that there was a camera behind their shoulders. This Turkish Cypriot man is holding a postcard from his own village and which his Greek Cypriot co-villagers gave to him. He is looking at it and poses to the camera. "This is my village" he says. But he looks too young thirty-five maybe. He must have been ten or twelve when he moved out from it. But he was so happy holding this postcard showing it to me that I did not dare to ask or to doubt anything. Further on the coal is already burning and lamb meat is already on the souvla. You can not get closed to it. The last thing one wants in that heat is to get near burning coal. The sound of a toblek in a chifteteli and the singing of a Turkish Cypriot man in broken Greek. Next to him a few meters away a deep political discussion between Greek and Turkish co- villagers. The Greeks were forced to leave their village in 1974 and they wanted to know about their properties. " Don’t worry" a Turkish Cypriot says, "I take care of your land" . "Good", the Greek Cypriot replies, joking although one could read his face stretching, "What about the rent you owe me for so many years?"The Turkish Cypriot had the answer already: " And what about the wages you own me for I was lookig after your land for so many years". A Very very loud laugh from all the people at that spot. People were already eating singing and dancing. Souvla, pattiha (watermelon) and beer. At another spot the villagers from Dromolaxia were having a group photo. They all looked so happy and especially the two muhtars. "We will organise a meeting only for our village and this time" they told me "we will bring our wives and children". I did not dare to ask why they did not bring them today but I guess that was because there was a feeling that this trip was a trip to the front line and only men go to the front line. It sees that the front line starts inside each one of us and extends to cover the whole island. "Esy ellinokyprio?" to be translated roughly "you Greek cypriot?". The two young girls turned their heads back and saw two Turkish Cypriot boys approaching them. "Yes" one of them replied. "Polla oreo" one of the boys replied to be translated roughly "very nice" . The girls laughed. I wanted to stay there and see how this would end but I heard the sounds of an ut. I rushed there. A Turkish Cypriot was playng the ut. Greek Cypriots do not play the ut and it was somehow strange to listen to traditional Cypriot tunes on this instrument. Turkish Cypriots were more keen to dance and sing. It was here I realised once again that Turkish Cypriots keep alive our tradition and still enjoy themselves nuch more in the typical Cypriot way while Greek Cypriots in general seem to be lost somewhere in the corridors of the stockexchange. The song comes to an end. "One more" someone cries "Chapu-chapu, siga-siga, slowly-slowly" someone says. The ut player puts some VO31 brandy in his glass, he drinks and he seems to enjoy every single drop of it despite the heat. And singing goes on and dancing starts again. It was getting dark. I thought I should take some more shots and then to start packing my stuff to return to Limassol. This old Turkish Cypriot woman from Vrechia approaches me. "Have you been to Vrechia recently?" she asks me in Greek. Well" I said,"the last time I was there it was a couple of years ago. " Did you see the almond trees? Are they still there?". How stupid of me. I never noticed the almond trees. How can almond trees in the middle of nowhere be important to anyone? But there I was. I had to give an answer and I lied. "Yes I saw them, they were there". I may have killed her if I told her they are not. Tears in my eyes again. Sure, they must be there the almond trees in Vrechia. Someone must be taking care of them. You don’t leave almond trees to die just because some stupid politicians decided to love another motherland than the earth they were born on, grew up and plant almond trees. Another cloud of red dust covered my eyes. When I opened them again the people were still around although it was getting dark. I though to have one just last look to the young Turkish Cypriots who were flerting with the young Greek Cypriot girls. They were there all four of them sitting, talking, joking and laughing. God knows in which language they were communicating or they will in the future. But they were there and they did not seemed like moving from that bench for many hours. It was "polla oreo". Adonis Florides 1-7-2000 Please check also for the photos and video. These wedding pictures were given to us by Turkish Cypriots and were found in Famagusta..... ..His name is Andreas and used to work at Orphanides & Murat in Famagusta. Do you know him?If yes please tell him we have his wedding pictures.