By ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΑ (GREEK) TÜRKÇE (TURKISH)
A few days ago I was in Kato Pyrgos following the route from the occupied areas. We showed our documents at the checkpoints four times and after an hour and a half we arrived in the village of Tillyria, in what is by all accounts an ideal place for a peaceful summer holiday.
As we passed through the villages, the Greek friend who was travelling with us at some point said, “it’s a shame for a tiny land to be divided up like this”, while on the way back she wanted to constantly take pictures from the window – the houses, beaches, monuments, while we, the Cypriots in the group, every so often were telling her to be careful: “don’t take many photos, be careful not to be seen, there’s an army camp here, and here, and further down…”
We, now approaching 40 years of living on this island, have become accustomed to being careful, to knowing what to photograph and what not to photograph, to knowing what to expect every time we show our ID and to always expect this strange feeling, no matter how many times we cross to the north.
On our way back, at the second checkpoint (T/C) I got out of the car to show our IDs. I handed them to the Turkish Cypriot policewoman and the moment she reached out her hand I noticed that she had a small tattoo in a spot just above her wrist. It was Cyprus, in its entirety, with only its outline, the lines joining the island as it is. It made an impression on me and I immediately pictured the thousands of people who look at the tattoo; God knows what each one thinks. Fortunately or unfortunately, it was with great effort that I kept myself from asking various questions I had in my head. And there were many.
The bigger picture with the checkpoints, the route, the scared clicks of the camera, the tattoo of the T/C policewoman and the time it took to reach Pyrgos from the occupied areas, left me with a sense of incompleteness in the end, although our two-day stay in Kato Pyrgos was enjoyable in every respect.
In Cyprus, as social beings, we have been living incomplete for five decades. And the incompleteness, the one that leaves you with a small void, we experience it every time we go back and forth to the north or every time we have this subtle worry about what we will photograph.
I’ve seen quite a few people with tattoos of Cyprus, just men who are now definitely over 70, and for some reason they all looked alike, but not in appearance.
The only one who differed was the Turkish Cypriot policewoman.
Source: THE TATTOO OF CYPRUS ON THE ARM
