Journeying with North Cyprus’ African Community - by Kajuju Murori
I am seated at a tiny pastry shop in the old city of Nicosia, one of the remaining divided cities in the world.
Outside, the cold Fall breeze sweeps by, leaving whistling sounds behind as it passes through the tight corridors filled with shops displaying latest designs of jewellery, shoes and clothes. I rise up from my seat, one of a set of three at the only table inside the shop just by the door and make a few steps to the exterior seating area.
On my right, Nicosia’s Ledra street crossing point is just a stone throw away. I refer to a mental image and compare it with every female crossing the border from the Greek side (Cyprus) to the Turkish side- Turkish Republic of North Cyprus (TRNC). I don’t see her.
My phone chimes. She is a few meters from the crossing, her message reads. I head back and order a cup of capuccino.
My partner in reporting, Anne Ackermann, is coming today from Germany for a weekend filled with work and hopefully some time to get to know each other. It is our first meeting. I am nervous, but also very excited. What if we don’t click? How will we survive the weekend together, leave alone work? But I am reassured because from our video conversations earlier in the month, we had a connection, which I hope still lingers.
When I next walk out, I see her: a lady of medium height, with kind eyes. Our eyes meet, and we recognize each other. Smiling, we exchange our pleasantries like we have known each other before today. We rush into the coffee shop- in the warmth. A little catch-up over hot drinks and we are ready to leave for Kyrenia- a cobblestoned old town wedged between the mountain ranges and the Mediterranean Sea. It is a perfect destination to soak up some rays in summer- but now though still warm; the cold breeze is blowing the sun rays and warmth away into the winter.
We catch the last shared taxi van (Dolmuş) a few minutes to seven. Classic Turkish music soothingly plays in the background as the driver manoeuvres through the city centre.
As soon as Anne settles down, she instinctively reaches out for her camera and starts shooting away. First, she is attracted by the two red flags hanging too close to each other on the windscreen as if they are Siamese twins. Generally, you will not find a Turkish Republic of North Cyprus flag hanging without the Turkish flag close by. Then, I feel a third eye looking from my back, and sure enough, it’s Anne’s Camera. And she keeps clicking away later into the night as we enjoy a Mediterranean vegetarian salad in Kyrenia.
Kajuju seen through Anne’s lenses
There is no better way of capturing stories than immersing oneself in the environment of your protagonists. Luckily, we have identified a couple of young people on the island to do exactly that.
As earlier planned, we are in the city centre to meet our first contact, a tall young man from Congo with cornrow hair style. Once we get to our meeting point, we alert him. He is offline. We start to panic. Since neither Anne nor I have a local sim card, we rely on WI- FI at restaurants to communicate with our contacts. We are in luck; I connect to a WI- FI from a nearby eatery I had visited several weeks earlier. We are hopeful Okito will be there in a few minutes as he had said when he finally came online. Five minutes turn to ten, then fifteen, and then we call again.
The morning sun is hot and the heavy jackets that kept us warm an hour earlier, now feel like heavy loads we cannot dispose of. He promises he will be with us in 10 minutes. So instead of getting a coffee, we stand in the sun hopeful. Anne’s eye for photography identifies a perfect location for more photos and this keeps us busy for a few more minutes. Thirty minutes later, Okito is a no-show.
Then we recall that he had dropped a pin location to his apartment in our earlier messages. It is just a few minutes’ walk. We set off hoping he does not miss us, should he come. We locate the apartment and after few deliberations we agree to knock on one door on the floor.
Muffled voices reach us by the door, we are glad there is someone behind the wall. We knock and wait.
A man’s voice asks to identity ourselves from the other side of the door. We look at each other inquisitively and we do as directed. The door opens slightly. A tall man hovers over us. He recognizes me and after Anne explains the purpose of our visit in French, they are more than excited to welcome us- we speak their language after all.
We sit by the door and though nervous, we soon settle down in the sitting room adjoining the open concept living room and kitchen. Two other men and a young lady join us in the living room with a large window overlooking the street below and the town.
A discussion here and there and we are family. One of the young men is sitting on the rail in the balconette. That would make a perfect shot.
Our friendly hosts contacts Okito on our behalf and he says he would be there shortly. It takes almost an hour before he and his friend show up. All along, the two were in Nicosia running errands as we stood in the scorching sun waiting- but patience pays. Even though we are more than 3 hours behind our schedule, we are satisfied. We not only get Okito to tell his story, but his friends corroborate his experience by sharing anecdotes of their own lives. What a morning!
When we are done, we take a walk to the harbor through the back routes. Freddie, one of the acquaintances- now friend, is visiting from Congo. He has a way to connect with people and animals. As we walk in the streets, a cat passes by and he squats and starts to caress it.
At the harbor, Okito serenades us with a Lingala song while strumming his guitar skillfully. This guitar has its own story. It almost got him deported, a story for another day. But today, his melodious voice is carried across the harbor by the waves and soon, a couple of people join our small crowd to enjoy the African music, as Anne does her best to capture every worthwhile moment.
The usually blue Mediterranean is now dark and grey. Waves and sea foam rush to the shore splashing water on the cemented foot path.
Once Okito and his entourage leave us by the shore to explore the touristic area, we stroll enjoying the cold breeze and the magnificent waves. Suddenly, we are caught up in the splash. The camera and our phones are soaked. Nervous, we rummage for any dry cloth in our handbags and scuffle out of the harbor in search of heat to dry the gadgets hoping they can be salvaged.
After confirming and reconfirming that none of the gadgets has suffered major issues, we agree we are starved. A bowl of well-prepared veggies with halloumi cheese and hot drinks, and we are ready for the next assignment.
When you are on a deadline and on borrowed time, you have to sermon all the strength you got. Anne and I had to plan our schedules in a way we met our participants in their usual environments where they are not only familiar with but also comfortable.
One afternoon we meet one of our participants. She is hairdressing her client. We try our best not to distract her from her business. Weaving hair requires unimaginable strength and creativity to intertwine hair strands – often with other artificial hair- to create beautiful styles that suits one’s facial features. It is fascinating to watch as she weaves in the artificial hair skillfully as she narrates her story.
What interlinks the hopes and trials of the African community on the island is meeting people who have had challenging experiences on the island including low pay for so much work, mistreatment, sexual harassment as well as neglect by family members back at home. What do you offer broken people who are feeling stuck in the inside as well as outside? We give them a voice.
A voice to share their innermost fears, some of which they cannot share with anyone else. This gives some an opportunity to release anger, and accept a situation as it is while they hope for a better future, if not plan for it. It resonates with what we had experienced earlier at Okito’s house a day earlier. We had visited them to drop some paperwork after the interview when we found them transforming the living area into a make-shift church. The group together with a few more others were congregating to share in the Word of God. Our hosts were now ministering to other young people who had now changed into their best dresses for the event. Our hosts told us they met often to share and support each other.
With the flooding of the African immigrants on the Island, churches have been sprouting constantly to march the growing numbers. When we attend the Sunday mass at a university, it is praise and worship time. Dressed in their Sunday bests adorning warmer clothes in the chilly morning, a choir accompanied by instruments played by talented students, voices are lifted up to the Lord. We join in the worship, and for a while, the world is perfect- free from pain and struggles.
In addition to meeting and interacting with our participants, we were lucky to sample some African delicacies too. These gifts reminded Anne and I of the welcoming nature of Africans back at home. It created a longing for more home-made foods. But luck was on our side, we all had a few weeks on the African continent after our assignment in North Cyprus.
As I hugged Anne goodbye on a drizzling morning at the bus stop, I felt I was saying goodbye to a friend. A friend I had only met a few days earlier and became friends fast. The previous night ‘gals’ had met for dinner to meet and greet as well as kiss our goodbyes for the year.
Photos credits: Anne Ackermann
