The majority of tourists visiting Cyprus are blissfully unaware of the
pain and division that has haunted the island since 1974. To most, the
image and experience of Cyprus is one of sun and sand, the snow-capped
Troodos Mountains and exquisite frescoes housed in Byzantine monasteries.
For the island's inhabitants its a different story altogether. After
gaining independence in 1960, peace between the Greek and Turkish communities
was already fragile with the Turkish minority, representing 20% of the
population, retreating into ghettos and enclaves after sporadic violence
and harassment. In their defence, the Turkish army launched an invasion
of northern Cyprus in July 1974 and occupied the northern third of the
island, leaving thousands dead or wounded and huge numbers of refugees
fleeing to their respective sides of the divide. That division of Cyprus
has remained to this day.
Whilst the south has enjoyed international recognition and a booming
economy boosted by tourism, the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus has
found life a lot tougher and depends on its sponsor Turkey for its economic
survival. Separating the two factions and running almost the length of
the country and dividing the island's capital into two is the Green
Line, also known at the Attila Line – a buffer zone maintained and patrolled
by the blue-bereted peacekeepers of the United Nations. Talks of a reconciliation
between the two sides have stuttered and stalled on many occasions and
feelings still run high, fuelled by recent incidents like the deaths of
the three Deryneia Martyrs in 1996.
This was the background to my visit to the island's capital city
Nicosia, or Lefkosia as it's called today. The holiday rep at my hotel
in Pafos had whetted my appetite when he told me that crossing the Green
Line wasn't a good idea, as I might not be allowed back. That statement
immediately sparked my thirst for adventure and my wife Sue and I set
off early one morning in our hire car to cover the 150 kilometers to see
for ourselves. Our first stop in the capital was the 11th floor of the
Woolworths department store on Lidras Street, where telescopes gave us
a bird's eye view across into the northern half of the city. At the
end of the street, an observation platform allowed us to peer into the
buffer zone to see a street with rubble-strewn buildings and rolls of
barbed wire, left as it was in July 1974.
On foot, we followed the Green Line westwards, punctuated by a series
of UN bunkers, roadblocks, a wall of sandbags and oil drums and signs
forbidding photographs and stopped at the Holy Cross RC church, isolated
inside the buffer zone and guarded by a solitary UN soldier. Nearby is
the only spot on the island where you can legally cross into the north
on a day excursion, at the site of the old Ledra Palace hotel. As we approached,
Sue's nerves became a little more frayed when we encountered up to
fifty wailing Cypriot women, dressed in black mourning clothes and holding
pictures of loved ones still missing since the 1970s.The stern-faced Greek
Cypriot border guards made little effort to disguise their disgust at
our desire to cross as they slowly copied details of our passports onto
a list and pointed at a sign that instructed our return by 5.30pm. It
was a few minutes past eleven o'clock.
Leaving the checkpoint, Sue and I walked quietly along a connecting
road, the ruined Ledra Palace hotel on our left, now used as a billet
by the UN (who have 1,500 personnel on peace-keeping duty on the island),
and desolate waste ground to our right. Two female UN soldiers nodded
their hello as we completed the 300 metre walk and checked into the Turkish
police control building. A few minutes later and the form-filling formalities
completed, we were in northern Cypriot territory and Sue began breathing
normally again. No real hassle at all but a mixed feeling of excitement
and unease nonetheless, heightened by the soulful wailing of the widowed
Cypriot women we'd left at the border post as we crossed no-mans land.
For the next four hours we walked around the old city, along narrow
passageways and empty streets, enjoying the friendliness of the people,
soaking up the atmosphere and visiting a few notable attractions including
the soaring minarets of north Nicosia's most prominent landmark, the
Cami Selimiye Mosque. Its a working church with a strong French Gothic
style but it was empty as I stepped inside and removed my shoes for my
first look inside a mosque. Next door is the sixth century Byzantine church
ruin known as the Bedesten and nearby is another ornate Gothic church,
the Cami Haydarpasa. Undergoing restoration work is the Buyuk Han, a rare
example of a Middle Age inn, known as a caravanserai. Although closed,
the foreman invited us in to look around before we finished off our tour
with a ten minute walk to the Turkish (Mevlevi Tekke) Museum, the former
home of the mystical Islamic sect known as the Whirling Dervishes. They
are famed for their spinning, trance-like dance that flourished for 700
years until they were banned in 1930.
Returning to the old city, we stopped at a sidewalk cafe in the pedestrian
zone and listened to a rock band playing an open-air concert. One unusual
aspect which gave Sue a few jitters north of the divide was the distinct
lack of female shoppers. Instead, large groups of young Turkish men were
much in evidence, either standing on street corners or wandering aimlessly
and appeared to be army conscripts in civilian clothes. With an hour to
go before the border closed, Sue and I made our way back towards the crossing
point via the quiet back streets where buildings have been left unoccupied,
others are bullet-scarred and in ruins including a church and the Roccas
Bastion, where Turkish Cypriots can look through a barbwire-topped fence
into the southern half of the city and what for them is forbidden territory.
The smiling faces of the Turkish police were in stark contrast to the
dour look on the faces of the Greek border guards as we returned to the
southern half of Nicosia via the long and eerie walk past a lone UN soldier
on sentinel duty midway between the two factions. The wailing widows were
still massed just past the guardroom and we were handed a flyer asking
if we knew of the whereabouts of Pavlos Solomi and Solon Pavlos Solomi,
missing since the morning of 15 August 1974 and the beloved husband and
17 year old son of the old woman who'd handed us the poster. Her name
was Panayiota Pavlos and she told us that 1,588 people are still missing
from that time, their fate unknown and the encounter was a poignant reminder
of the human face of the division that still separates Cyprus today.
For more information on Andy’s travels, visit his website which
has lots of travelogue stories with pictures. Andy Brouwer's
website
Amina Lawal to be stoned in
Nigeria in the 21st Century As you may recently
have read in the papers, a court in Northern Nigeria has confirmed that
30 year old Amina Lawal will be executed by stoning due to giving birth
to a child after her divorce. “The crime”, proved by Ms Lawal
becoming pregnant was made at a time when the Law of Sharia was not yet
legal in the area. Funnily enough, the father of the “crime”
could not be prosecuted because of the requirement of 4 witnesses to the
event, who, strangely have not come forward. The stoning will take place
when Ms Lawal has finished breast feeding her 8 months old daughter. What’s
more, Miss Universe are still considering scheduling their event in Nigeria,
despite this sentence.
At Amnesty International (AI) England's home page you can sign an
open letter to Nigeria’s President to protest against this cruel
sentence. AI say that more than 18.500 people have already done so. To
sign the letter, visit: Amina Open Letter
