Nicosia Beyond Barriers by Alev Adil

Author:Alev Adil
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Saqi

A WALK THROUGH LEDRA

Kivanc Houssein

‘Nicosia? Why would you want to go to Nicosia? It’s a city – too hot, too dry, why the other side? … stay here. Eat! Go to the beach!’ All that rang in my ears, and, as my suitcase dragged over the uneven cobblestones in the early morning heat, I was starting to think they were right. But I wanted to see and feel and hear Nicosia for myself, to put my open-mindedness to the test. Who would prevail: the village bigot or the village idiot? And whilst I don’t mind being called the village idiot, being the village bigot full of hate and bile wouldn’t sit right with me.

‘Parakalo’ the checkpoint guard said to me. I thought he meant ‘just walk right through’. No. A second, sterner ‘parakalo’ aided this time by forceful hand gestures clearly indicated ‘I want to look through your case’. Nothing my polite smile and lack of contraband tobacco couldn’t fix. His hand did hover agonisingly over my bottle of absinthe … but his hand moved away, and after a sweaty repacking of my bag, I walked up Ledras Street and into my first shock. An actual McDonalds and right next to it a Star-bucks. Not a ‘Mickdonots’ or ‘Starbuds’ as I had become accustomed to on the North side. Even more surreal, a group of Philippine women on their day off from work were out taking selfies. This, along with the heat, confused me. Is this Cyprus? It could be Costa Del British Highroad. I didn’t succumb to the franchises, instead opting for a wholesome Cypriot breakfast at the hotel. Far more satisfying and a whole lot less McCholesterol.

Refreshed and re-clothed, I met my guide who was eloquent, knowledgeable and wise. Our first port of call was all air-conditioning and cocktails infused with spices and herbs for a catch-up chat. Just by being there, I felt chic. Then it was back to the bustling Ledras Street, and it struck me again how modern and up to date this main artery of Nicosia was. We ended up near the border crossing at a quaint little café for fresh homemade lemonade and just-out-the-oven cheese pies. Normality to the right, sandbags to the left. Sandbags and barbed wire and the green line; a reminder of what it means to be Nicosia: the only divided capital city in the world.

A peephole has been left in the sandbags. A bit of history, there in front of your eyes should you want to look: 1974, dishevelled, desolate, abandoned. Broken down by forty-two years of sun, covered in forty-two years of hot dust. Silent. Our leaders should negotiate there in the very palpable results of this division, not in chandelier-lit plush committee rooms wearing suits and ties. They should sit on rickety village chairs with tepid water and hash out a deal or let the dust settle on them too. I wonder if the green line runs the same course as today’s mostly dry Pedieos River, which, unlike this green line, used to run life-giving through the city.

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