Yeraltý Notlarý, 8 Þubat 2005 Sevgül Uludað | ||
Ahmet Okan: A war child from the Reshadiye Street... I am doing a series of interviews for YENIDUZEN called `Each of our lives is like a novel`… There is so much to write, so many persons to interview, so much to discover…Ours is an oral community – not many people bother to write their memoirs and gradually I realize that those born in the 1950s is a generation of themselves… They were born before the days of `nationalism`, were kids during the times of EOKA and TMT, the boys joined the Turkish Cypriot fighters (mucahitler) when they were barely 14 or 15, did this voluntarily, served around 4-5 years in the army as kids, both going to school and wearing army uniforms, doing their homework at the army posts… They were children of war and instead of playing with toys, they made up their own guns and weapons out of wood or metal… Their games consisted of marching in the street they lived in or fighting `enemies`… Instead of flirting with girls and having romantic relationships when they were teenagers, they had to flirt with guns. Stay in the checkpoints with a gun to watch out where the `enemy` would be coming from… Learn how to shoot, instead of learning how to kiss… This was a generation in itself, being forced to grow up before their time was due… Losing its innocence through the force of circumstances… One of the most striking examples is my life-comrade Zeki Erkut… He was born in 1950 in Kaymakli (Omorphita) and his father was a policeman… They were a big family: six brothers and sisters… In 1963, as Sampson attacked Omorphita, they had to leave their house to become refugees, not being able to return to their home until after 1974… As one of the children of war, growing up during times of fighting and conflict, Zeki didn’t have many toys. He had a submarine made out of wood which he cherished a lot… He joined the Turkish Cypriot fighters when he was not even 15… This, he did without the knowledge of his mother or father… Since everyone in the `mahalle` was joining, he could not pretend that he did not have to… The atmosphere of the time obliged the kids to join the army voluntarily… Nicosia was becoming a nightmare – a city starting to be divided from 1958… The `Green Line` drawn in 1963, further sealed the division… Now there were checkpoints and police searching your car when you wanted to cross… There were body searches of women as well… The Greek Cypriot police was looking for `bombs and guns` and I remember the humiliation of my aunt’s daughter once, when we were going to Famagusta or Limassol… She had her period and the Greek Cypriot policewoman wanted to look into her panties so my aunt’s daughter started shouting: `You think I hide bombs here?! Why are you doing this?…` The stubbornness to divide the country was there – the stupidity, the absurdity, the creation of `the enemy`… His family had just got a red bicycle for Zeki when he was 13… As Sampson attacked Omorphita, while they were leaving their home to become refugees for the next 11 years, Zeki locked his bicycle: `If I lock it, they won’t be able to steal it` he thought to himself… `And when we return, I can still have my bicycle…` He could never actually `return` to those times of innocent childhood again, nor to his bicycle… He kept the key of his bicycle all these years – never losing it, never misplacing it, never giving up the memory of innocence… He still has this key that is like a symbol to his memories of childhood, of the joy of getting something new, of the times before any sort of `ethnic conflict` had come to settle here on this island… Another kid of that time was Ahmet Okan, a poet, musician and journalist… Born in 1952 at the Athalassa Farm (his father was a policeman there) Ahmet and his family later lived inside the walled city of Nicosia… Their `mahalle` was called `Musalla` and his street, Reshadiye Street. Here in this street, he was growing up in the hazy days of the 60s… Right across their house was one of the `safe houses` of TMT. As kids of that street, they didn’t know what went on inside that house… They would just see people coming in and going out. Sometimes a landrover would come carrying someone whose hands were tied and he would be taken inside the `safe house`… Later, they would hear rumors that these were Greek Cypriots… They would never be able to find out actually who these people were… Under the influence of the times, Ahmet formed his first gang of the Reshadiye Street when he was about 12 – this was a team of kids from the `mahalle`, forcing their mothers to sew for them uniforms that looked like something between the boy scouts and soldiers. Their emblem was the `sword`. They made their own guns out of wood. They even had arrows… Each kid had to have a musical instrument and they would march through the Reshadiye Street, be trained for fighting the `enemies` of their own - `other kids`… They were protecting the walls of Nicosia around their `mahalle` and the `other` kids who were their `enemies` would not be allowed to pass! Ahmet was their commander and the Turkish Cypriot authorities got so curious as to who this gang was, which was active without the knowledge or the control of TMT! They sent the PIO to photograph them and ask questions… `These were mysterious times` he remembers, `We looked at Nicosia behind a haze… It was not clear what was happening, what would happen and we were influenced by these misty times…` As the winds of change reached Cyprus, Ahmet was one of the leading figures of youth who was listening to Beatles, growing his hair, dressing up like the Beatles, getting in trouble at school because of the way he dressed and acted! Music was very much a part of his life… In Reshadiye Street, there was the famous `meyhane` (pub) called `Hammal’in Meyhanesi` and music would reach their house at night- the laughter, the arguments but most of all the music of the times… Both his mother and father would sing at family gatherings… These were the times when women used to sing songs of the times in the kitchen while cooking or cleaning or during dinners with the relatives… These were the times of old Nicosia where without music and singing, any entertainment would not be entertainment… All of these would shape up Ahmet’s music in his life later… His adventures did not stop… He went on to form the first political youth organization, DGD (Revolutionary Youth Organization) in 1974-75, to be its leader for the next 3 years… He wrote poetry, sang songs, wrote songs and together with Acar Akalin, another musician, brought out their joint cassette in 1988… It was called `The Prolific Dreams` and became a huge success… These were original songs written by Turkish Cypriot poets and the music made by Turkish Cypriot musicians… Two of the songs, `We are islanders of the blue` and `Behind which mountain are the beautiful days?` are being played even at weddings today… My son would sleep with these songs when he was born and grew up with the original music about love, peace and life! Recently Ahmet Okan brought out a CD called `Missing you for so long…` where we can listen to him in retrospect… But I want to share a poem of his from his book of poetry from 1986 to reflect the feelings of a generation who lost their innocence during the conflict… `We are islanders of the blue` was the name of the book… The poem, written in 1985 comes from a child born in conflict but who carries the dream of peace on this island: I LOVE YOU Leave my eyes open to blue if I die Don’t let the other colors to steal my eyes I am leaving all the words that I have gathered to you with respect I know That after me your life will still be cease-fire Your pillow bags of sand I will not wish for you not to cry Let your eyes be filled with tears And cry For each flying color For each lover leaving, sobbing If I go without seeing much I will go with lots of hope and expectations I hope for joyful mornings Houses without loophoes for the machine guns Hey re hey! The poem is flying My head is dizzy I hope for weddings that would last 40 days and 40 nights I hope for lovers whose hair smell of henna Not gunpowder Come on break the pitchers Let `chiftetelli` play I love you… (*) Article published in the ALITHIA newspaper on the 6th of February, 2005. copyleft (c) 2001-04 hamamboculeri.org
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