Birkibrisli wrote:Istinjo(Kios on most Cyprus maps,Istinco in Turkish) was a little sleepy village of about 150 people,hanging onto the skirts of the Paphos Forest,a little to the north -east of Polis. Together with Melandra,Sarama and Zaharga they formed probably the most remote TC settlement in Paphos...
When I was born Istinjo had no electricity or running water. And the road leading to it was little more than a goat track. things have not changed much in 56 years,though the road now is much improved. But all this didn't matter to me. For us who lived there Istinjo was heaven on earth. The little corner of the world which gave us life and sustained us emotionally and physically.It became particularly important for my sense of self and belonging because,due to my father's job,we had to leave it when I was 4-years old.But we kept coming back,at least once every year,during school holidays,and stayed for 2-3 months...
Istinjo was my mother's native village. Mother came from a big,influential family. She had 8 siblings,4 boys and 4 girls. My grandpa,her father, was probably the biggest landowner in this cluster of TC villages. He was also the shopkeeper,the postman,and for most of his productive years,the Mukhtar as well. Born in the 1880s he came from a well-to-do family which fell on hard times during WW1...He was the only member of his extended family to finish high school in Paphos town and become a school teacher. His Greek was at least as good as his Turkish,and he could read and write in it as well.His teaching career was cut short after an unfortunate and tragic incident. In his second year as teacher,in the village of Erenkoy (Koccina in the Dillirga region,which was to become famous much later after the events of 63/64, as a major battleground between Cypriots of different ethnic backgrounds),he hit one of his students hard on the head. The boy died withing days. Grandpa was lucky to escape prison. The boy's parents did not press charges. Those were different times where children's lives were cheap,and teachers could get away with murder even...
So at 20-years old and newly married Grandpa found himself unemployed and unemployable. Together with his brother-in-law he started buying and selling stock like sheep,goats,cows,donkeys etc...Mother talks about a time when Grandpa and Uncle Ismail would walk barefeet to markets as far away as Paphos town to by their stock. Grandma and Uncle Ismail were from Hulu (Choulou),a village nearer to Kasaba (Paphos town) itself.
Uncle Ismail was to become rich himself and one of the TC casualties of the village of Hulu in the 1963/64 incidents. At 85 he was too old and sick to run away from the mixed village when troubles broke out. So he was killed by some opportunistic criminals who happened to be of GC background,because he refused to tell them where his money was hidden...
By the time I was born Grandpa was well and truly established as one of the most powerful individuals in his region. He was an unashamed Monarchist. I still clearly remember the portraits of a young Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip hanging prominently in his shop. Grandpa's key to success was simple.He would buy from anyone and sell to anyone anything people wanted and needed. His business assiciates included prominet GCs in the region. Like Savvas Stroudi from Liso(Lysos) and Hadji Kyriyacou from Filusa.(I am transliterating the GC names now from Mother's pronunciation!)But the man most responsible for Grandpa's rise and rise in business was Mr Pavlos Kivriyodi of Paphos town,who acted as his financier. They were apparently so close and trusted each other so much that they never had written contracts or agreements between them.
Hundreds or thousands of pounds would change hands on the strength of a handshake. Their word was their honour,and they apparently never let each other down. On his deathbed,the last person Mr Kivriyodi wanted to see was Grandpa,who risked life and limb to go and see his old friend in Paphos at the height of ethnic violence...
(to be continued...)
For someone who could not read or write Grandma was a remarkable woman. She could run the large household and Grandpa's shop with her eyes closed. She had devised her own way of keeping tracks of who bought what and how much they owed. She hardly ever made a mistake.
Feeding the multitude of workers out in the fields was also her duty which she carried out with military precision.And she had sadistic tendencies.
After raising 9 of her own children she was a bit short on patience when it came to her grandchildren. She had her own way of dealing with us if we misbehaved.Her favourite method of punishment was burning us with a match while we were least expecting it. Pinching and Chinese burns were her next preferred methods,followed by pulling our ears...
But she often suffered herself in Grandpa's hands.
I have our own William Tell story to tell you. Once upon a time a lot of things were sold by travelling salespeople who often went around on donkeys.On one such ocassion some GCs came to Istinjo to sell some oranges. They went to the coffee shop and tried to sell their goods to the menfolk. Seeing that the oranges were not of usual quality,Grandpa refused to buy any.
The men laughed saying," No worries,we'll send our wives tomorrow to sell them to your wives..."
Grandpa was most annoyed. When he got back home he warned Grandma not to buy any oranges if people came to the door the next day.
The GC men knew what they were talking about. Sure enough when the GC women arrived the next morning Grandma did not have the "face" to refuse. He bought a basket full and hid them in the kitchen where Grandpa was sure to never set foot. And she instructed her brood not to say anything to their father.All kept their mouths shut except one of the boys,Uncle Kemal,who couldnt wait to break the news when Grandpa came home for lunch...
"Anne has bought some oranges today,Baba,"he declared mischievously."Would you like one for your lunch???"
"What an excellent idea," spat Grandpa looking at an ashen Grandma.
"Make sure you bring them all!"
When Grandma appeared with the basket full of oranges,he lead her outside and lined her up against the wall.Then standing at 10 paces he proceeded to throw the oranges one by one at his hapless wife who did her best to protect herself.Most of the oranges missed their target and smashed against the wall.He was no doubt aiming more to miss than to hit. Then he stormed off without eating his usual diet of fried eggs and hellim (halloumi). Without saying a word Grandma walked into the kitchen and came back with a jar of hot chilli flakes. She sprinkled a couple of handfuls on Gradpa's now abandoned lunch and made Uncle Kemal eat it all...
Grandma's Turkish was almost non-existent. Cypriot Greek with a strong Paphian flavour flew naturally at our house in Istinjo. To the frustration of us,kids,who had little idea of what was said. Later on when the TMT forbid people to speak Greek,threatening to fine anyone 20 shillings for each word uttered,conversation still took place in Greek but this time in whispers. The sight and sound of grownups whispering to each other in Greek,a language we didnt understand was bizarre to say the least. The realisation that they were afraid of letting us know they spoke in Greek made their behaviour even more peculiar. For we,kids, had our own instructions from the TMT to dob in anyone in the family who spoke Greek at home.But we all knew the story of the flying oranges,and Uncle Kemal's hotchilli lunch. Our fear of Grandma was bigger than any enticement from the TMT. Nobody was ever fined for speaking Greek in our grandparents' house in Istinjo...
(to be continued...)
I hope Jim is reading this thread. I am coming to our day in Istinjo very soon...Cheers for now.
