Nicosia, 25th March
I live and work in the same city, but not in the same country. The island where I live, Cyprus, is divided into two by a border which cuts through its capital, Nicosia.
I’ve been living in the southern part of Nicosia for a year and a half now. However, my job, my family, and many of my friends are still on the other side of the border. So, my life and my daily routine is split in two.
I usually wake up at 6am, have breakfast with my husband and daughter, and then drive to the border, which takes about 20 minutes. At the checkpoints, I show my ID cards- I have two of them.
I use my Republic of Cyprus ID at the checkpoint on the Greek-speaking southern side, and my Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC) ID on the northern side. The same goes for car insurance, I have one policy for the north and another for the south. Depending on traffic, after another 20-minute drive, I arrive at the school where I teach.
I’m there until 2pm, then I go to my parents’ house for lunch. So, even though my parents technically live in a different country, I see them often, without having to board a plane.
After lunch, I run errands or go grocery shopping. In a way, this is a good thing because I can pick the best from both sides. Before 4pm, I cross the two checkpoints again and head home.
Even though the checkpoints were opened in 2003, which was a big step forward, they were closed for so long that people remain divided in their minds.
Here in Nicosia, when you say, “Let’s go out for dinner with friends,” 95% of people only consider places on their own side. It’s not just about language barriers, other issues, like long queues at the checkpoint or the fact that SIM cards don’t work across the border, discourage people from crossing.
In almost every conversation between Cypriots, the topic of the border comes up at some point. We always end up talking about what will happen next, especially in the north, where due to the division you feel limited. It feels like a place where you technically have access to everything, but in reality you don’t.
The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC) isn’t internationally recognized, which makes everyday life pretty challenging. For example, I can’t deposit my salary into a bank on the southern side, because it comes from an institution of an unrecognised country. Due to the difficulties linked to the north, all in all, we decided it would be easier to move to the south, to the Republic of Cyprus.
Moving across the border is not something that happens very often, which is why, at first, I thought my friends would question it. But surprisingly, when I told them, most people understood. They said, “Good for you”, which wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Once we moved, we felt much more welcomed than I had imagined and that was something I truly loved.
On both sides, there is still a small minority who see the people across the border as enemies. But the majority of people are simply stuck in this limbo—because the checkpoints are not porous enough. You can’t just cross the border to grab a beer or go to the gym. As a result, people don’t interact enough, they can’t fully get to know one other. There are hardly any shared spaces for the two communities, just a handful of places where Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots can sit together and share experiences.
For the future, I want to hold on to hope, because without it, there’s nothing left. I used to be more hopeful a few years ago, when it seemed like we were moving towards a solution. But hope must not be lost; we must create our own hope through collaboration, and set an example.”
