A book of memory, touching me. I came across this book on the occasion of my meeting Aydin Mehmet Ali in Famagusta. I have not yet met Ergenç but know his brother Gür Genç, the poet. They are both born in Stavrokonno.

In his introduction explains the labour pains of this book:

‘Among the reasons to publish this book is the need to confront my personal history, to try to fıll the moth-eaten spaces of memory, to attempt to get rid of the unavoidable misunderstanding we have with our past

As Stavrogonnians and Cypriots, to emphasize that Stavrogonno was once a village o the Paphos district where some of the most extraordinary Turkish Cypriots wandered in its streets, and to make an effort at slowing down the cruel influence of time and decay.

The village Stavrogonno was one of the largest and most populated settlements in the Paphos region. We need more than imagination to be able to catch a glimpse of the life style that was shaped by the laws of nature, the characters that came to life on these wild mountain slopes. During my research, helped by many, I came across such photographs that, I must confess I was afraid, afraid to realize the disconnection that had been caused between my present life and my near past due to ignorance. In this context, I can say that each photograph that came out of wooden valises and dusty albums has functioned like a little stone that has helped me once again build that long lost bridge. Alongside the enlightenment that they caused, the photographs that I found came with their ever expanding stories, transforming my fear into curiosity. This was also the time that I started to feel the labour pains.’

The book contains photographs taken during festivities and daily activities from 1900 showing us the obvious change of costumes as time passes,  right through to the moment when the villagers have to mount busses to take them to the Northern part of the island in 1974. Some villagers have burnt the contents of their homes, some, such as the grandfather of Ergenç and Gür Genç, has locked the door and has taken the key with him in the hope to return. Gür Genç tells in his little stories, that he still has the key using it as paperweight on his desk.

There are some short stories included, written by Gür Genç and Jenan Selçuk, all from the same village.

And here a poem by Gür Genç, translated by Aydin Mehmet Ali

Stavrogonno

There is no king, only the recorded details of seven tongues

Even if history could smell

as fresh as the newly skinned deer pelt

The old have been buried and boarding ships

the young have gone to rainier islands

Vine yards and orchards have taken over those abandoned places

Goose-sized hens scratch the soil

unearthing the rusty tools of memories

The Saint of the little chapel under the cross

Lie in the same valley

since the village was abandoned

crazy goats wander on rooftops overgrown with grass

The book has just come out, the print still moist; I will find out where it is obtainable.

 Copyright Heidi Trautmann 2009