‘The whole village was one big family’

Once upon a time, everyone in Cyprus, as with much of the rest of the world, knew their neighbours.

We knew their likes and dislikes, remembered their birthdays and name days, and were there for them (and they for us) through joy and sorrow.

We knew their family trees: children and grandchildren; aunts and uncles. We’d bring them fruit from our orchards; flowers from our gardens. When they were ill, we’d cook for them. And when they hosted a wedding or christening, we were among the first to be invited.

For those who attended an English-speaking school in the 70s or 80s, such sentiments are familiar. How many times did we sing ‘When I Needed a Neighbour’, belting out ‘were you there, were you there’?

It was a song that suggested safety, security. It spoke of trust and compassion – and a community that cared. And, although it was originally religious in nature, there was a lot of relevance to the real world. Because, in the days when we all knew our neighbours, when we were part of a vibrant community, things were very different…

“It felt like the whole village was one big family,” says 34-year-old Maria Constantinou, who grew up outside Limassol. “You knew if you ever needed help, you didn’t have to look far. That kind of support, it didn’t just make us neighbours; it made us family.

“When I moved to the city, that all went. Okay, it wasn’t so bad 15 years ago. But now it’s pretty cold – it’s like we’re afraid of our neighbours. It’s the opposite of what I grew up with. I miss knowing everyone’s story, being part of each other’s daily lives.”

How many of us feel the same?

We live busy lives – often working more than one job (and lengthy hours) simply to make ends meet. Our spare time is spent not chatting over the fence (or oleanders) but inside – in the air conditioning and on our smartphones.

Our community centres and village cafeneions – once hubs of social life – are now largely frequented by the elderly. Roughly 60 per cent of women on the island work, so the traditional role of managing local connections has changed. And the fields and forests the kids used to play in (often forging connections and bonds between families) have been paved over to make way for new developments.

“Neighbourhoods now are just that: neighbourhoods,” says 76-year-old Dimis Theophanides. “They’re a collection of streets, rather than a community of people.

“Growing up in Larnaca, I knew everyone in my area: I knew whose mum made the best tiropita, whose grandad would slip us sweets. We were in and out of each other’s homes all day long. And it never occurred to us that we wouldn’t be welcomed – these were people we’d known since birth; they were like family to us.”

After a career in the UK, Dimis repatriated to Cyprus in 2015. “I bought a house in Oroklini, and was looking forward to the sort of community I’d enjoyed as a child. It’s all gone. Friends from my old neighbourhood say the same has happened there: now, their neighbours don’t speak the same language or share their culture.”

Dimis is touching on a sensitive issue: immigration.

According to Eurostat, Cyprus has the fourth highest immigration rate in Europe: almost 200,000 foreign nationals make their home on the island. Our communities have diversified: no longer are we living side by side with the people we grew up with.

It’s also rarer for parents to build nearby homes for their daughters. And, with rising house prices, singles and couples are often forced to rent – and then move out of the area when prices increase.

Over the last decade, home ownership has decreased from 73 to 68.8 per cent. Meanwhile, rental prices have surged: the RICS property index reports a year-on-year increase of more than 10 per cent.

“When I first rented a flat back in the 90s, I was paying £200 a month for a three-bedroom in Limassol,” says 59-year-old artist Christy Athenou. “Over time, the landlord increased the rent, so I moved further out of town. Then that went up. So in 2016, I moved again, and found an old two-bed for €650.

“When you’re only in one area for a few years, you don’t get close to your neighbours. You say yiasou in passing, maybe enquire after their family. But you know that rising rents are going to force you onward, so you simply don’t invest in becoming life-long friends with the people next door.”

Meanwhile, in the cities, long-time residents have mostly passed away or moved out. But this may be the one place, suggests 24-year-old Nikos Kouros, where neighbours can still be close…

“My neighbours are a very diverse group,” he reveals. “In my building alone, there’s a Palestinian, an Indian, a Sri Lankan, a Croatian, and a bloke from Belarus.”

Nikos, who’s lived in Nicosia old town for four years, moved to the area for the cheap rent. “Most people my age still live with their parents, but mine are in Paphos and the commute is too long. All I could afford was this one-bed within the walls.

“To be honest, I like it. And I like my neighbours. We know each other well; we chat on the stairs, go out for a drink together, join in each other’s birthdays. We don’t have a lot in common other than ridiculously low salaries and no kids. But I think it’s a bit like the lower decks of The Titanic – when nobody has anything, you all pull together!

“Maybe that’s why many in Cyprus don’t have proper neighbours anymore. People got rich and moved into communities in Latsia where they’re ‘safe’. But isn’t that just another word for lonely?”

BENEFITS OF HAVING GREAT NEIGHBOURS

Neighbourly support is linked to improved wellbeing, especially during challenging times.

Neighbours provide practical help and resources when getting out of the house is difficult.

Knowing your neighbours fosters a sense of community and social support.

Relationships with neighbours decrease feelings of loneliness, nervousness, and worthlessness.

Neighbourly relationships stand in for distant family, delivering a strong, supportive network.