IT MUST have been around ten years ago that I first wandered into the Arabahmet neighbourhood of Nicosia. Yalcin, a Turkish Cypriot writer and friend of mine, had recently opened a bar and restaurant in the Writer’s Association’s building in Tanzimat Street. Trade was slow and Yalcin soon tired of cooking, so we began taking our own meat to throw on the grill, and our own booze as well, seeing as he would always have to send his assistant out to buy some when ‘customers’ arrived.
Despite the self-service setup, Yalcin’s place, as it came to be known, was magnificent. A beautifully tiled hallway led to a spacious and leafy courtyard, while a swooping stairway took you to vast rooms with covered balconies that hung over the street below. I felt privileged that we could use such a majestic building for such simple pleasures, and only slightly distracted by the thought that if the owner had been around, he would probably have been living there.
It was later, when Yalcin was booted out and the building leased to a “real restaurateur”, that I learned the building belonged to an Armenian Cypriot. In fact, so did many others in the area, especially the splendid ones with ornate balconies and tall front doors. And of course there was the Armenian church, just metres from Yalcin’s place, and the theatre no more than five doors away. But where were the Armenians?
“We left in 1963,” says Sebouh Tavitian, former deputy head of the English School in Nicosia. I met Tavitian at the Armenian Church’s Prelature in southern Nicosia, where I had come to meet the Archbishop.
“There was never any trouble; we left without any fighting or anything,” he says.
Nineteen sixty-three marked the end of almost 1000 years of Armenian presence in the area. For the 400 years before 1963 they had coexisted peacefully with the mainly Turkish population, having been favoured by the Ottomans for their help in their conquest of Cyprus in 1571. It was only when the Turkish and Greek Cypriots fell out in 1963 that the Armenian Cypriots of Arabahmet felt the goodwill might come to an end, as it had so tragically in Turkey five decades before, and left.
Today there are no Armenians in Arabahmet, and the church which once thronged with worshippers on Sundays lies empty, a victim of neglect and vandalism. The medieval Convent of Our Lady of Tyre, which backs onto the church, has suffered a similar fate, and with each heavy rainfall, fire, looting or act of mindless vandalism, a bit more of this beautiful arched sandstone structure is lost.
And although it has been over 40 years since an Armenian has lived in Arabahmet, and the same length of time since a service has been held in the church there, the area, and the church in particular, still hold a special place in many Armenian Cypriots’ heart.
Tavitian is in his mid sixties now, but he remembers well his former home.
“As an Armenian born very close to that church, the church and the buildings around it are part of my life history. I was baptised there. I went to kindergarten there and I sang in the choir there. The church was our second home,” he says, clearly enjoying the memory.
Although Tavitian and his fellow Arabahmet Armenians seem not to entertain the likelihood of returning to settle in the area, their spirits have been lifted by the news that their church and the monastery have been selected by the United Nations Development Programme (UNPD) for restoration. The project is still in its early stages, but plans have been drawn and the church and monastery fenced off to prevent squatters, fly tippers and vandals from moving back in.
Armenian Archbishop of Cyprus Varoujan Hergelian tells me he is glad that the “spiritual home” of the Cypriot Armenian community is being restored.
“All members of the community were baptised and married there,” he says.
“It was the centre of our community, and next door was the school and the social club. It was the cultural hub. Scriptures too were written there,” he adds, emphasising how the church has value for all of the approximately 2,500 Cypriot Armenians living in Cyprus.
While the church and the monastery might not hold great spiritual significance for the majority of Greek Orthodox and Muslim Cypriots, the buildings should however be recognised for their historical and architectural value. The Armenian Monastery, as it is known, was originally known as the Convent of Our Lady of Tyre, built by Benedictine monks in the eighth century. It was rebuilt in the 13th century during the Lusignan reign and only became Armenian when the Ottomans gave it to the Armenian community after their conquest of the island in the 16th century. This is perhaps why the Turkish Cypriot authorities seem happy enough to go along with the project.
Jaco Cilliers, programme manager at the UNDP’s Action for Cooperation Trust (ACT), however, sees the project as having more than simply the preservation of buildings as a goal.
“Our aim is to support this large goal of how cultural heritage can be used to promote reconciliation through cultural heritage,” he tells me in his office in the UN-controlled buffer zone.
Cillier believes that restoring religious and cultural sites on either side of the Green Line might help in alleviating hostilities between the estranged communities on the island.
“What I find most valuable is the willingness of all communities to promote their ideas of what the project is about. There is great collaboration, and without collaboration it would not have been possible.”
In essence, Cillier believes the fact that Turkish Cypriots and Armenians have to sit together to discuss how the project will move forward means the first seeds of reconciliation will have been sewn.
“Whether the reconciliation starts now or in 20 years’ time, people have to have a relationship to have knowledge and understanding of each other. The process is just as important as the restoration,” he says.
Admittedly, most of the Armenians I spoke to did not see the restoration project as something that would spark a love affair between themselves and Turkish Cypriots, particularly since the idea came not from the Turkish Cypriot community but from the Armenian community and the UN. Less still would it have an impact on the ongoing disagreement between the Turks and Armenians over the 1915 genocide of 1.5 million Anatolian Armenians.
“I’m open minded but I can’t forget the fact that I’ve never met either of my grandfathers,” says Artin Aivazian, headmaster of the Narag Armenian School in Nicosia.
But although Aivazian and fellow Armenians look to 20th century Turkish-Armenian relations with sadness, there are also feelings of kinship towards the Turkish Cypriots they used to share neighbourhoods with.
“Even during the uprising of 1955-60, we didn’t see any of the troubles. Our neighbours were Armenian and Turkish. We didn’t speak Greek till we were 10 or 11,” says Aivazian.
“I read novels in Turkish. My father could read and write Ottoman. My daughter knows Turkish because we used it at home,” Aivazian adds. Naturally, linguistic links are important.
Nevertheless, Cillier is keen that the restoration of Our Lady of Tyre strengthens the bonds that already exist and create new ones in generations of Armenians and Turkish Cypriots too young to remember a shared existence in Arabahmet. And although this may take time, it is no reason not to bother. As Cillier says: “You don’t turn up on your first date with a wedding ring”.
