I feel like I want to reach out and give Cyprus a great big hug today. Driving past ploughed fields of red soil, gazing across at parched olive groves and stony hills scattered with limestone rocks and scrubby green bushes, I’m beginning to feel connected to this barren part of the island.
There are friends here now – in the villages we pass – people we share a joke with or who subtly hand me baskets of fruit grown in their gardens and nearby orchards. We’ve been enjoying the delights of local fruits for the past week which has included succulent and sweet smelling guavas. Every time I open the fridge the scent is a reminder they need eating.
Last Sunday we came back laden from the Muktar’s house (like a village mayor), where we had joined in the special event to mark the 10th anniversary of his father-in-law’s death. His mother-in-law is a beautiful Cypriot lady. By beautiful I mean she is someone who spreads welcome, hospitality and care and it is this inner beauty that shines out. Small, with dark hair, olive skin and a smile that creases across her face right up to her twinkling brown eyes, she is often dressed in black and whenever I see her she is always bustling off to fetch food or drink. Even on this sad day remembering her husband’s death she had time for a joke, asking if I would be jealous if she sat by the Major! We were late arriving, but treated like honoured guests as dish upon dish was bought to the table from a pastry roll filled with olives to Cyprus delight (a kind of gelatine sausage made from grapes) and even a refreshing but strange dish of pomegranates and bugler wheat. The hospitality was amazing and we listened as they explained some of the Orthodox church traditions and how the different festivals and occasions were celebrated. The Muktar told us ‘name days’ are celebrated more than birthdays…people don’t know when their birthdays are, it doesn’t matter, but they all have a ‘name day’ when they celebrate the saint of their particular name. This could be a slight problem if you aren’t named after a saint! Anyone heard of Saint Rachel?
We talked about the war and the village and the struggles for local people and we laughed as different ones around the table were teased. Then we talked about Jerusalem, which his mother-in-law had visited over a number of Easter trips. There was talk of miracles, visions and strange happenings, and we listened enraptured by her obvious faith and assurance that God is very much at work, even in the midst of strife and conflict in that sacred city.
We left laden with various dishes wrapped in kitchen roll, a massive bag of grapes from her sister’s garden and as if we couldn’t carry anymore, she picked pomegranates from a tree in the front garden and these we’re bundled into our already full arms. It wasn’t just the food I was full from; it was how they had filled up our hearts, welcomed us into their home and made us feel part of something. I don’t belong here, but gradually I am feeling more connected with both the land and the people… and I’m looking forward to breaking open those pomegranates, since a knowledgeable friend told me the best way to deal with them.