The voice of the not-so-silent majority

Friday 22 February 2008

The story of Manuk Mangaldjian… A heart, full of memories…


Sevgul Uludag

I meet Manuk Mangaldjian through Puzant and Arto…
Arto actually grew up near the famous Victoria Street but he does not have so many vivid memories from childhood: `We didn’t go out to play in the street so much` he says.
Puzant has a better idea: To go and meet Manuk Mangaldjian, who is 86 years old… `He’s practically like a walking encyclopedia` he says, `Knows everything about Armenian Cypriots, all the little details…` `What about Rosa Bakkalian, the `missing` Armenian woman from Neachorgo Kythrea? What about the Bohdjalian family? Nowadays, the Bohdjalian konak is a restaurant… I know that the only person left from this family is a woman… I need to speak with her…
And what about the Bedelians?
My brother used to take violin lessons from him since a very early age…
Everyone knows the Bedelians, so I need to follow the story…` ` Whatever you might want to ask, you can ask him…` Puzant says… So together with Arto, we walk to the shop of Manuk Mangaldjian in the old town. Here he is selling oilcloth for the tables by the meter…
At one point, I see the `arshin` (the yard) in his shop. `But isn’t this the arshin?` I ask him… `Yes` he says, ` you know those from the village could never get used to the meter… They come to buy oilskin and ask for arshin!` I had not seen the `arshin` for so many years and this makes me happy! Once upon a time, Mr. Manuk used to work in the Khan… He would drink at the tavern of Mustafa the Hammal… This was a very famous `meyhane` (bar) in the 50s and 60s… There isn’t anybody he doesn’t know from those times…
`Dr. Kuchuk used to be our family doctor. When he came to our house, there were always jokes! He would tell my grandmother, `You must always wear wool! Then all your pains would go away!`` He talks about the Bakery of the Crazy Huseyin… `Mr. Huseyin used to be a very close friend of my father’s… When my father had to go somewhere, he would leave me in his bakery… `Don’t leave from here` he would tell me…`
We speak in Turkish, perfect Turkish from Anatolia mixed with a slight accent and words from Cypriot Turkish.
Look` he says, `I even have a dictionary here!` Yes! A Turkish dictionary!
As he talks of the past, telling me stories about people and places, I gradually realize that what unites us is the language…
But no, it is not only language but a shared history, shared memories from the past… ]
He is from a time when `nationalism` did not poison relationships among the communities, when people worked together, drank together, laughed together, shared a joke and shared the pain of loss together… This was the simple life of old Cyprus - it did not matter whether you were a Turkish Cypriot, an Armenian Cypriot or a Greek Cypriot – whoever you were, there was a place for you on this island. Blood did not flow between communities, armed underground organisations did not exist yet to tear apart the good, simple life on the island. People were poor but this did not matter – what mattered were the simple, human relationships, the neighbours, the relatives, the friends and the hard work to survive together… In those times, Manuk would help one of his Turkish Cypriot friends to find a job in his company, as a cigarette distributor and would even convince his English boss, to give him a little bit more money than usual because his Turkish Cypriot friend had five sisters and his father was only trying to survive by selling suvla… It did not matter in those times, that they carried different names or worshipped different Gods, the poison of nationalism was not effective back then among the simple people of the island. What mattered was to live and to survive and to try to have a few laughs, to build a family, to grow up children and to lead a decent life. Politics did not spill its poison yet on the island…
`Manuk means baby` he says, smiling… `So even if I grow to be 90 years old, I would still be a baby!` His Turkish mesmerizes me and I sit there wanting to ask more and more things about the past…
Time simply flies and I realize I need to get back to work…
He is a kind person and he says kind things about the Turkish Cypriots he knew…
His mother and father were from Adana in Turkey, Mrs. Verkine and Mr. Kevork… Kevork was a saddler… He was so famous that he would go all the way to Istanbul to fix the `garutsas` of the pashas of those times… Kevork had a friend in Adana, Ahmet who was a poor man and was trying to make a living.
One day, Ahmet came to Kevork… `I need to get a garutsa and some horses` he said. `But I don’t have the money…` `Don’t you worry` Kevork told him. `You know, I understand from horses. I will go and check and get you the horses and the garutsa, so you can work and support your family… Later, when you have money, over time, you can pay me little by little…` So Kevork went and got the horses and the garutsa for Ahmet. They had such strong friendship, Kevork and Ahmet, that when the troubles were beginning in 1915-1920, Ahmet ran to find Kevork…
`Come on, pack up, we are going…` he said to Kevork. `Going where?` `I will bring you and your family to Aleppo (Halep) and get you settled there…` So off they went to Aleppo, Kevork and his wife Verkine, and their two children, Artin and Vartui… Manuk was not born yet… On the way to Aleppo, they had encountered gangs who wanted to kill them but Ahmet was brave and he had a gun: `Don’t you dare touch them! Don’t you dare come near us!` he would say… So safe and sound, they arrived in Aleppo to be settled by Ahmet in a rented room – Ahmet went and bought blankets and food for them and said, `I will return next week`. He did indeed return the following week to check on his friends and to find a place for Kevork to work making light shoes…
Later they would move to Damascus and from there to Cyprus. When they came to Cyprus, Manuk was a one month old baby, landing in Limassol in his mother’s arms. They would be settled in Larnaca but since neither Kevork, nor Verkine spoke any other language than Turkish, they would move to Nicosia, to stay among the Turkish Cypriots and Kevork would work in the Khan, back in his profession as a saddler.
At that time, many Armenians were living mixed together with Turkish Cypriots, since they could only speak Turkish… Later, they would move to live among the Greek Cypriot community, after the conflict of 1963. But many kept their good memories and as soon as the checkpoints opened in 2003, they tried to look up their old friends… For a long time, I could not understand why the Armenian Cypriots had left the Turkish Cypriot mahalles to go and live among the Greek Cypriots because all I heard from people were good stories, friendship stories, memories that touched people’s hearts… So what was the reason for this abrupt decision to leave?
Even Vartan Malian could not answer my questions about why they had left: `I was not in Cyprus at that time – my family being afraid, had left…` Many were afraid that the violence might touch them, like Mrs. Nouritsa in whose mahalle, the family of a Greek Cypriot baker, Mr. Kurtumbellis was killed. An old Turkish Cypriot woman, who lived in this mahalle, Koskluciftlik, later would give me clues about why the Armenian Cypriots had left: `They did not leave, you know…` she would say… `What do you mean, they did not leave?` In a way they were frightened and chased away – I remember in those days, a kind of a statement of `Warning` was thrown under their doors, telling them that they have to evacuate their houses in three days… Later, in some mahalles, some soldiers went round knocking on their doors and telling them that they had to evacuate their houses in three days…
That’s how they left… We never had any problem with living together with Armenians…`
Perhaps also, with the arrival of the conflict in 1963, their collective memory of 1915-20 would urge them that there might be danger and perhaps also this played a role in their leaving… Today, there are almost no traces left of Armenian Cypriots living together with Turkish Cypriots…
Only in the hearts of those who lived together in those times, you might still find traces of the good memories of the times they had been together…

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