DESPITE the ceasefire at the end of November, the bombings continue in Lebanon, and Israeli armed forces continue to occupy the south of the country. As a result, many of the refugees who escaped to Cyprus have chosen to stay there, with the help of the established Lebanese community on the island and the presence of the Maronite Church.
“Most of the Lebanese living in Cyprus are concentrated in the Larnaca area, all along the gulf to Paralimni,” Fr Akl Abou Nader, parish priest of the Maronite Chapel of St Joseph, in Larnaca, explains. He points to the coastline on a map on his smartphone screen. “There are about 35,000 Lebanese in this area. Between 13,000 and 15,000 are Maronites. The numbers of the community have grown in recent months, with the war.”
Fr Nader, who is Lebanese, has provided help to those arriving on the island fleeing Lebanon. His phone vibrates. “Of course, I can translate into Arabic!” he exclaims . Turning to us, he smiles. “Excuse me, I have to help a Lebanese who has just arrived and is dealing with some bureaucratic paperwork.”
A few steps away from St Lazarus Square, a Lebanese bakery has been baking bread with za’atar, a mixture of oregano and thyme spices, since morning. “I came here 21 years ago. I have always worked in renovations. I have my own business, and in 2017 I opened this shop,” Rony Frem, 52, the owner, says. He used to live in Beirut, but does not see a future for Lebanon.
“There is no hope, and the situation is getting worse. Those who can, leave the country; those who stay are alone, because they cannot. Many have arrived, but they only rent a house for a few months, [because] they think they will return as soon as they can.” And also, Mr Frem says, because living here is not easy.
“Cypriots are welcoming with us — there is solidarity — but the government hosts the Lebanese only because many are rich and bring investments. If you don’t have money, life is hard.”
His brother has joined him from Lebanon. “He arrived with his family in August, because it was starting to be too dangerous. We are fine here, but unfortunately we cannot feel safe: the war is not far away. I heard that Cyprus bought the Iron Dome [air defence system] from Israel, which is not good news.”
Under the loggia of St Joseph’s, Mr Frem checks the temperature of the griddle for saj, the Arab bread popular in Lebanon. It is burning hot, which means that it is time to get to work. At the end of the liturgy, the worshippers crowd around the table as Mr Frem distributes the saj sprinkled with za’atar or stuffed with cheese that melts into the hot bread.
“Our first task is spiritual support,” Fr Nader says. “This also means not letting people lose their connection to Lebanese culture, through food. It helps people feel at home.” It is not easy, however, in a war situation. “On 22 November, we were supposed to celebrate the independence of Lebanon, but we cannot celebrate it in this situation. There is no independence today, with what is happening with Israel.”
For many families, material support from the Maronite community is crucial. “We help families pay their rent, we provide legal support, we help with medical expenses. These are the basic necessities that people need,” Fr Nader says. Sipping tea, with a plate of tomato, mint, and cucumber salad, people comment on the events of the day.
A 75-year-old woman has serious health problems. She needs to have an operation on her kidneys, but has no access to the health service. The operation costs €35,000. Even with help from the community, she will not be able to have the operation, for now. A young couple with a two-month-old baby have financial problems, because the father earns only €20 a day, and, without the social network of the community, they would not be able to raise the child.
THE modern history of Cyprus is shaped by the war that divided Greek-speaking Cypriots from Turkish-speaking Cypriots. Since 1974, the south of the country has been the Republic of Cyprus (RoC), now part of the European Union; in the north, the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC) is recognised only by Turkey. The government of the south considers it to be an occupation.
There is also a Lebanese community in the north of the island, although much smaller in numbers than in the south, and generally non-Christian. “I have been living here for four years,” Denise Diab, 40, who lives in the northern part of Nicosia, says. “I am a teacher in a kindergarten in Kyrenia.”
Normally, she explains, the Lebanese living in the north have TRNC citizenship. “Those who have Cypriot ancestors can apply for citizenship. My grandmother was born in Cyprus before the division of the island. I also have the right to citizenship in the south, but I could not get some of the necessary documents to apply.”
There are no statistics on the Lebanese presence in the north, but she says that some have found refuge in the north in recent months. “Since the war began, many have brought their families from Lebanon, but most will return after the war.” She continues: “My parents came here when the bombing started, but they already went back to Lebanon in December. Living here is very expensive, and there is the problem of language. For those who don’t know Turkish, it is hard.”
The journey to Cyprus was not easy, Denise says. “From Lebanon, they arrived by boat in Mersin, Turkey: a terrible journey, full of stress and pressure. For security reasons, they waited two days on board before leaving; they were treated very badly. One elderly man, who needed treatment, died on board the ship.”
On arrival in Turkey, she continues, her parents were detained for a few days by the authorities, “in conditions not appropriate to their age and state of health”. From Turkey, they continued their journey by air. She is a member of the Arab Cypriot Association. “It was born on the initiative of some Lebanese, but it would like to bring together all the Arabs living in the north. It has recently been registered as an official association. . .
“It serves to help those of us who are in difficulty, for medical expenses, work, and much more. It has been important in helping families arriving because of the war. We hope it will help us to have representation and have our rights guaranteed.”
THE Maronite Archeparch (Archbishop) of Cyprus, Mgr Selif Jean Sfeir, is sitting in an armchair at his residence in Nicosia. “There is a historic Cypriot Maronite community that arrived on the island 1200 years ago from Lebanon and Syria,” he says. “They were tens of thousands, living in 83 villages. Over the centuries, the population dwindled, and then the 1974 war had serious consequences.”
The four villages that existed at the time are all in the area controlled by the TRNC, and two of them are military zones. Only Kormakitis is actually inhabited. “Now, there are about 10,000 Maronites in Cyprus. With the diaspora from Lebanon, we will reach 20,000, maybe more. The Lebanese have arrived in recent years, and, especially now with the war, they integrate and strengthen our community.”
Regarding the war, Mgr Sfeir thinks that “none in the world has experienced what the Middle East has suffered.” The history of this island offers food for reflection. “Now that in Cyprus there is no war, we would be ready for a reunification, but it took the 1974 issue and a long time to understand this.”
Every Wednesday evening, Cypriot Maronites meet at the archbishop’ seat in Nicosia for choir rehearsals. The choir concludes the last verse of “Silent night” when the conductor, Georgia Markou, shakes her hands in the air. “Was the Arabic OK?” she asks.
“It was funny, but fine,” a young man replies, while a girl from the choir smiles at him.
Maria and Georges are a young couple who recently arrived from Lebanon. They come from Hadet, a village on the outskirts of Beirut. Georges arrived before the summer to work, and Maria joined him in September, when the war was starting. “It was a disaster,” she says. “The Maronite community was very important for us. Thanks to them, I managed to find work as a physiotherapist. I also participate in the choir — this is the third time I have come to rehearsals.”
Maria moves her head to the rhythm of the music, remaining silent in the Greek parts. She does not know the language yet, and is taking lessons. But, when it comes to the parts in Arabic, she sings with a magnificent voice.
