THE FLAME burning out of the big stack at the refinery has been a defining landmark for Cypriots for over 33 years. When I was little, it was a sign that we were getting close to the beach, and I remember the joy I felt each time my mother would point at the flame and shout, “Big flame in the sky!”
Since then, every time I drove to Dhekelia, I would look at the refinery on my left and say it – “Big flame in the sky,” and the years would roll back again, and I would be in the back seat with my mother pointing and my father smiling.
Driving down to Larnaca on Thursday I did it again, but the flame had waned. It was the refinery’s last day of production and after that it would be cleaned, dismantled and sold abroad. And when the flame is finally extinguished today, so will the livelihoods of around 80 people that have been made redundant.
Most of the staff at the Cyprus Petroleum Refinery (CPRL) in Larnaca have been refining crude oil for most of their lives. They know nothing else, the refinery has been their home and the company has been their provider for 33 years.
Stavros Andreou Kapatais, 55, started working at the CPRL as an operator when it first started in 1971, aged 21. Now the shift manager and a father figure to most of the younger generation at the refinery, he will be shutting it down.
“On the one hand, I am devastated that it will shut down, but then again I think it’s about time I retire,” he said.
“I am proud to have worked here, I have loved this company more than anything else, apart of course from my wife and children, because I came here so young.
“I was raised here, I finished the army and then I came here, I raised my family here, I was here when my children and grandchildren were born. I spent more time here than at home. Now I am leaving here with grandchildren,” he added.
But although it was an emotional day for all the staff at the CPRL, Kapatais said there was no time to let emotion take over.
“What we do is refine crude oil,” he said.
“It’s a dangerous job, and although the guys are sad, today is like any other day for them, they are professionals and they are getting on with it.
“We are refining the last few tons of crude left in our tanks. At around 3.30 we will start to slow the production down, because you don’t just pull a switch and the refinery shuts down, it happens in stages we will slow down until the crude runs out.
“Crude should run out early in the morning and then we will start cleaning the catalysts, a procedure that will shut down completely.
“We then have to clean out the pipes with steam to make them gas-free so we don’t have any accidents during the dismantling.”
Kapatais said he was particularly proud of the fact that there had been no accidents in the refinery throughout his time there.
“For 33 years we did not have a major accident, 12 years ago we got the world safety award from Shell for working 6 million hours without even a minor accident,” he said.
“That was a day to remember, out of all the refineries in the world, we were the only ones without so much as a minor accident.”
At the end of the month, only a skeleton crew of around 30 employees will remain at the refinery, and they will then operate the fuel imports terminal in October. But for some who will be without jobs after so many years, it’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Panayiotis Zakos said no amount of compensation would replace the 28 years he had spent at the refinery.
“I am so used to the routine and I know that I will wake up that morning and start getting ready for work, and that’s when it’s going to hit me. I will have no work,” he said.
“I am so sad that I am losing my job. I never thought the refinery would shut down. It’s not the money, I don’t care how much compensation I get, it’s not about the money, it’s about belonging somewhere, having a job, keeping busy and saying that you have a good job.
“What will I say now when they ask me? That I’m unemployed? That’s too much to bear. The government left us in the dark; they had no consideration for us or our children.”
Zakos said all the employees thought that the refinery would be upgraded to meet with EU standards and accused the government of not caring.
“Not coming to work at the end of the month is something I think about all the time,” he said.
“We are all friends here, being here is like being at home, and now all our lives will change. Leaving here is difficult and it will really affect me psychologically.”
Andreas Papapericleous started working at the refinery with Kapatais; he could barely hold the tears as he blew the horn signalling the start of refining for the last time.
“It’s so sad because it will mean the end of the road for us, the end of a lifetime for us, like watching a ship leave the port, knowing you will never see it again,” he said.
“The blowing of the horn is a farewell from the refinery staff to the refinery, from all of us of the older generation, to the younger generation who will stay here long after we are gone.”
