IT IS not unusual to hear wailing arabesque music when in the northern part of Nicosia, especially in the old town where thousands of immigrants from southeastern Turkey have settled over the past two decades. Nor is it unusual to hear loud thumping rap music coming from passing cars driven by gel-headed youths, usually of Cypriot origin. While the old city centre wails a love-struck eastern lament, the suburbs thud to a more contemporary, Western rhythm, interspersed with lyrics about sex, drugs and violence.
But from time to time, even in the ghettoized matrix of northern Nicosia, musical borders are crossed, and East meets West, creating a new fusion of styles.
An example of this can be found emerging from the internet caf?s in the walled town, where young people, like self-styled rapper MC Mahmut, combine the music of eastern Anatolia with that of American gangster rap.
Mahmut’s style is an almost improbably accurate representation of himself: the musical backdrop is Turkish, the rhythm is western, the words are about life in Cyprus, and the singing style is rap.
Like most of his neighbours, Mahmut was not born in Cyprus but in the southeastern Turkish province of Hatay, and like many others, came to Cyprus seeking work.
“After my father died I came to Cyprus alone to work and provide for my family back in Turkey,” Mahmut tells me. He was 13 years old at the time.
Now at 20, Mahmut recalls those hard days living without close family around him for support.
“I used to work in coffee shops 14-15 hours a day and then sleep on the floor of the coffee shop,” says the softly-spoken but confident young man, who has not seen the inside of a classroom since he was 11.
Although some things have become easier for him, one cannot describe Mahmut’s life as easy. Day and night he works in the Babadolu Restaurant in old town – working for, among others, his 11-year-old brother who suffers from leukemia.
“He needs treatment and a blood transfusion every month. Without it he would die,” he says matter-of-factly.
Influenced by other Turkish-language rappers, like Ceza and Turkish-German group Kartel, Mahmut and a few friends formed the Hatay Crew, a name, which like the music it represents, portrays Mahmut’s mixed influences.
Despite his obvious talent, Mahmut makes no money from what he records.
“Some local rappers make CDs of their music and sell them, but we just put our music on the net so everyone can listen,” he says. But by airing his music on websites like youtube, Mahmut has developed a small following beyond the confines of little Hatay.
“I have two Greek Cypriot girlfriends who come and visit me regularly,” he says.
One of Mahmut’s catchiest tunes is one he wrote and produced after Turkish Cypriot rappers accused him of being “too arabesque”. It is called ‘Lefkosa Ortam’, which can be roughly translated as meaning Nicosia Scene, and in it he describes how Turkish Cypriot girls who hang out in the town’s Dereboyu district think themselves are so precious “they run the risk of getting pregnant even before anyone’s laid a hand on them”.
But Mahmut insists there is no conflict between his Hatay Crew and their Turkish Cypriot rap equivalents – although they do meet for “dissing” sessions from time to time.
“Although I am not a Cypriot, the Cypriots like me and treat me well [and]… these dissing competitions never end in violence, because all the feelings are expressed through the music and the words.”
Mahmut’s raps do not shy away from describing what he says are “all the realities of life” in Cyprus, ranging from power cuts, politics and sex.
Unfortunately, it has so far not been possible for Mahmut to make a video to promote his work on a more commercial basis.
“We don’t have the time, or the funds,” he says.
Hopefully one day he will.
