UNLESS you’re careful growing old can be a lonely business. You can go days without speaking to another soul. You go unnoticed in the street. You feel your opinion no longer matters. Your busy children seem to forget about you. Society, it seems, has turned its back on you.
The Nicosia Day Centre for the Elderly does its best to ensure none of the above is true. Here, elderly widows and widowers and couples gather every morning from Monday to Friday to talk, giggle, sew, knit, read, make arts and crafts, sing, dance and exercise.
“It’s paradise here,” said Melpo Olympiou, 76, as she busied herself stringing beads made from coloured modelling clay to make a key ring.
“Today we’re eight-year-olds,” said Eleni Koliou.
The 80-year-old, who was adamant she was only 30 and gave her friend a stern “shut up” for daring to say otherwise, said the Centre was a lifeline for her and her cronies, especially after she’d been widowed.
“Losing your husband is the worst thing in the world. My children have their own lives, their own burdens and problems. They can’t always bother with me. It gets lonely. I miss the company. I don’t like living alone,” she said.
Despite the sadness in her words, Koliou is a bright spark with a wicked sense of humour.
“I don’t take things the wrong way you know. I hope you find a good man to marry,” she tells me. “I really do. From the bottom of my heart. If it doesn’t work out in a few years, it doesn’t work out. That’s the way nowadays,” she said.
The 80-year-old then went on to brag endearingly about how her granddaughters have bagged eligible husbands.
“What are you making there?” Eleni Angelidou shouts across to her friend.
“Chicken souvlakia,” the other giggles as she uses a wooden stick to poke holes into the clay after moulding it into little balls.
Despina Georgiou, 71, holds hers up proudly and says they are going to sell the key rings.
The small group roar laughing and the next few minutes are spent joking about what they’re making in their arts and crafts lesson.
“Have we got music with Marios today? Thursdays are his days aren’t they?” The women all nod in unison. Mondays is dancing and singing, Tuesdays is gymnastics, Wednesday is arts and crafts, Thursdays is singing and music, and Fridays is gym and sometimes dancing.
“And sometimes a social worker comes to visit and we talk about all sorts. About illnesses and what teas to drink. We talk about everything,” they said.
But today is Thursday and Marios has cancelled.
“Oh no! Why?” Their disappointment is fleeting however and they are soon whisked away to prepare black eyed peas for tomorrow’s lunch.
“We’re going to exercise our fingers now,” said an 83-year-old lady, as she made her way to the table clutching her state-of-the -art walker. “I don’t walk quite as well as I used to and so use this,” she said. “It even has a brake and I can sit down on it,” she added proudly.
A lone man seems content to sit apart from the crowd playing solitaire. He appears to enjoy the laughter and chat. And who would blame him? The place is full of joy and fun. These people are friends and they are certainly not lonely.
“Every morning I look forward to the bus that brings me here,” said Maria Antonoliou, 78. “It’s good to have something to do.”
Koliou added: “When you have no husband and no children you come here for company.”
Most of the women said they lived alone and felt lonely. None had a housemaid or nurse to care for them.
“You need to get approval from the Social Welfare Services to get one. At least for now I’ve got my health. Thank God for that. It could be worse,” said Olympiou.
Two minutes later her blood pressure goes up because a discussion starts up about her son-in-law who left her daughter and their three children for a “foreign” woman he met at a cabaret.
“He doesn’t have anything to do with the children. My daughter is a lovely girl. These things are about luck. Her nerves are shattered now,” she said.
The subject prompts a discussion about how times have changed and a horrific murder in Greece on last night’s news.
“People are sick nowadays. They really are,” they all agreed.
But Antonoliou disagreed: “This always happened we just didn’t hear about it. Now that we have TV we hear everything. We get all the news from abroad. Before we didn’t even know what was going on in the next village.”
Angelidou changes the subject to old people’s homes. “You know if I broke my leg I’d go into a home. I would. I’ve told my daughters.”
Koliou interrupted her: “Don’t say that woman. Touch wood. You mustn’t break your leg.”
Anotoliou added: “I’d die. Four days I’d last and I’d die.”
Then they’re off talking about names.
“What are you called dear?”
“Alexia.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Chrystalla. After Christ. I was born at Christmas.”
“That’s a lovely name,” I said.
“Well mine is Chloe,” said another. “That’s nice too.”
“Yes it is. You all have nice names,” I said.
“Can you take a photograph of us,” they asked, clamouring to pose for the camera.
I could indeed I said.
By the time I left I’d learned who enjoyed a drop of wine, who was the best knitter, who missed her husband, details of how one had lost her husband, what they ate for breakfast, how their grandchildren had met their spouses, how much money their sons earned and who was lying about her age.
And the underlying lesson from my visit? Companionship is the key to growing old. Nobody knows that better than Nicosia Day Centre and other places like it.
