ON THE BORDER OF WAR AND PEACE

The war that ripped Cyprus apart in 1974 left the country's fate undecided. Thousands of people lost their homes, their lives and their loved ones. Dimitris Nickolas and Orhan Atasoy are two of the young boys whose life was forever changed by those warm summer days in July and August.

The boys grew up on opposite sides of Cyprus, unaware of how the events that unfolded between 1960 and 1974 would spin their seemingly different lives onto the same path. Orhan was a 6-year-old Turkish Cypriot from the capital Nicosia, spending the summer with his grandparents in the mountain village of Günendere on the south-eastern slopes of the Kyrenia range. Dimitris was a 16-year-old from the rural fishing village of Ayia Napa, spending his summer hunting for calamari with his three brothers and helping out in the potato fields.

It had been a turbulent year in Cyprus with multiple clashes between EOAKA-B members and the Turkish Cypriot guerrilla group TMT. The leader of EOAKA-B, Georgios Grivas, died of a heart attack in January 1974, causing the group to fall more directly under the control of the military junta in Greece. On July 15^th EOAKA-B launched a military coup against President Makarios aimed at enosis, a union with Greece. The President escaped to London unhurt, and on July 20^th Turkey evoked the Treaty of Guarantee and mobilised into the North.

Thousands of people had to flee their homes, leaving everything dear behind. Tourists were evacuated from the island. Cyprus had become a warzone, and a no man's land swallowed 180km of the Mediterranean pearl. This is today the UN bufferzone. The former celebrity summer paradise, Varosha, in Famagusta, was turned into a ghost town. Shoes still lay by the hotel entrances, and forgotten passports remain somewhere inside the harrowing hotel rooms, now only visited by curious birds peeking through bombed windows.

DIMITRIS AND ORHAN

The boys found themselves abruptly thrown into the world of grown-ups. What they experienced during the war shaped them forever.

Orhan´s story

Orhan Atasoy was only 6-years-old when the war broke out, blissfully unaware of the turmoil ravaging his beloved country. But the human horror he experienced would be burned into his mind forever.

Summers in Nicosia were humid and hot, with temperatures reaching up to 50 degrees. The summer of 1974 was no different. Every summer Orhan's parents would send him away to his grandparents in Günendere, a small Ottoman mountain village. The heat in Nicosia was not a good place for the adventurous little boy, who most of all wanted to play with his cousins and climb in trees.

The summer had started like any other. Days were filled with childlike imagination and delicious food. The village was tranquil and peaceful, the older men would play backgammon on the cafe terraces, the women would meet to chat and children would play in the streets. It was as if the people were unaware of the war that was about to erupt. In mid-July everything changed.

All the men who knew how to use a gun armed themselves and created a defence around their beloved village. The children, women and elderly hid inside their houses. When the night came, the fear grew. Orhan did not understand much, but the sound of bombs and airplanes above his bedroom roof scared him. As the rumour of the Greek troops' advancement spread, Orhan and the other villagers not involved in the defence, went to hide in the village's secondary school.

It was true what they had heard. When the Turkish troops came to Cyprus on July 20^th, EOAKA-B, who held the nearby Greek Cypriot villlage of Peristeronipigi (Alaniçi), captured the three Turkish Cypriot villages of Muratağa (Maratha), Sandallar (Santalaris) and Atlılar Katliamı (Aloda), where they arrested the men and sent them to internment camps in Limassol. In these villages, only 12 to 15 km from where Orhan and his grandparents were hiding, the women, children and elderly left behind were murdered by EOAKA-B men on August 14^th when the second Peace Operation from Turkey started, as if verifying a statement made by President Makarios in his dictum written in August 1964:

The shock of the Turkish military's advancement caused them to act quickly, and the 126 victims of the mass murders were buried in the mass graves that still remain as an open graveyard today. The youngest victim was a 16-day-old baby, the oldest a 92-year-old man.

That same day, only 12km away, Orhan and the rest had to flee the school where they were hiding as it was no longer considered safe. Orhan was scooped up by one of the adults, who had decided to make a break for the mountains where it would be safer. However, they would not get far.

As they were heading up a mountain path, an armoured car stopped in the middle of the road, cutting them off from safety. Panic struck, and everyone, young and old, began to cry. They believed it would be the last thing they saw.

Little did they know their saviours had come.

A breakdown in communication due to the ongoing war meant that Orhan and the villagers did not know the Turkish forces had come to rescue them.

Orhan had never seen a Turkish soldier before, but as one of them pulled out a Turkish flag and held it aloft to assure them, he and the others were overcome with relief.

While Orhan did not completely understand what was going on at the time, the evident joy on the adults' faces and the tears streaming down their cheeks, reassured him that he would be safe.

The Turkish soldiers brought them back to Günendere, where Orhan soon would be reunited with his father Özkan.

Özkan was a member of TMT, the Turkish Cypriot guerilla force. He was involved in a great deal of questionable actions, which he would later regret on his deathbed and which caused him to have a turbulent relationship with his son.

By his father's side Orhan drove home to Nicosia flanked by a military escort. On the way home Orhan would come face to face with the horrifying results of the conflict.

As they neared the outskirts of Nicosia, all Orhan saw was dead bodies along the road. They were almost unrecognisable: bloated and disfigured by the heat.

Somewhere along the road the cars stopped, and the soldiers got out. They hurriedly tried to move the bodies into large pits dug at the site. It was impossible to say whether these bodies were Greek or Turkish Cypriot, so they were laid to rest together. Orhan's eyes were quickly covered by his father's hand. This was not something any child should see, but the memory would be burned into Orhan's mind forever.

45 YEARS LATER

Today Orhan lives in a rented house with his wife and their adopted stray cats and dogs. His experiences from the war shaped the rest of his life.

What he saw on his way home to Nicosia and his early memories of his father's involvement in the TMT had caused him to despise weapons, and during his mandatory military service at eighteen Orhan had to be forced to carry a gun.

After the war people began asking what secret groups, such as EOAKA-B and TMT had done, and Orhan began to question his father.

It was not until his deathbed that Özkan would confess his crimes.

Even 45 years on Orhan still holds the hope that Cyprus will be united once again.

DIMITRIS' STORY

On the south-east coast of the island another Cypriot boy was about to see his whole village change in front of his eyes. Dimitris Nickolas, an adventurous and philosophical 16-year-old from countryside Ayia Napa, was about to witness the birth of one of the hottest European party destinations, and perhaps, the death of his beloved fishing community.

Prior to 1974 Ayia Napa was a tranquil and charming little fishing village whose population made a living of fishing and farming. It was a place far removed from the jet-setting tourist crowds that each year flocked to Famagusta, only a short forty-minute drive away. It was here that Dimitris grew up together with his three brothers Yiannakis, Emilios and Andreas.

At that time there was close to no tourism in their village, and the only TV available was found in the village Kafenion, a gathering place where the men of Ayia Napa would play backgammon, cards and gossip.

The summer of 1974 changed everything. Though the villagers knew something was brewing following the military coup on July 15^th, the Turkish invasion still came as a shock. Just like with Orhan, Dimitris' beloved village would soon change: not by violence and mass graves, but by the invasion of mass tourism.

The message that the north had been seized came over the radio on the morning of July 20^th, and it has since remained a painful memory for most.

Inside their bedrooms the boys could hear the desperate cries outside and the deep sorrow many Greek Cypriots felt in losing what had been their home for so long. When Dimitris and his brothers went to the window they could see all the people gathering in the neighbourhood, and the heartbroken mothers waving goodbye to their seventeen- and eighteen-year-old sons being loaded on to trucks and sent into the war. Had Dimitris been only one year older, he would have had to go and fight with the rest of the men. Many of them never returned.

As the Turkish troops advanced, fears grew that they would reach Ayia Napa, and Dimitris' father Nickolas decided the family were no longer safe, and that they too had to leave. A family friend let them stay in his house in Limassol until it was safe to return.

A few days later when the Turkish soldiers stopped marching forward, the family went home to Ayia Napa, where thousands of Greek Cypriot refugees who had fled the north had come begging for help.

One of the refugees from Varosha wrote in a blog how he had to flee on the back of a truck with his family, leaving behind his aunt who refused to leave her home despite her husband being killed by TMT. They, as many others, were taken to Ayia Napa, where the police were trying to restore order amid the chaos of the hundreds of refugees waiting for help. Eventually his family was offered to take over a supermarket and apartment formerly owned by a Turkish Cypriot family, who like them, had to flee the war.

For Dimitris and the rest of the villagers in Ayia Napa, the masses of refugees changed the face of their village, and in the space of only a few days, it's population, which in 1972 counted to about 200 people, more than tripled. Soon the holiday-makers that had been thriving across the bay in Famagusta, would invade the small fishing village.

Dimitris' father had until then made a living as a fisherman, and his small light-blue fishing boat was his greatest pride.

Tourism started to boom in Ayia Napa following the war, as a result of an embargo placed on North Cyprus, which shut the borders to former holiday paradise Famagusta until the borders were opened again in 2003. Dimitris' family also started to earn good money of their humble farming land. But the people of Ayia Napa quickly learned that tourism comes with a price...

45 YEARS LATER

Much has changed in Ayia Napa since 1974. Today the former village has become a town, and many of the local residents have sold their properties to developers and moved into the hills. The village that for centuries had made its income off farming and fishing saw tourism take over as the principal industry.

As it sprung from a rural farming village to the new Ibiza, the local people that were born-and-raised would soon be outnumbered by tourists, EU workers and Russian migrants. Dimitris misses the early days of tourism in Ayia Napa, and is worried about Cypriots becoming a minority in their own country.

Dimitris is critical to a solution being found, and is disappointed that the EU have not done more to assist their member state, the Republic of Cyprus, in solving the problem. He hopes negotiations soon will be brought back to the communal talks table.

Even after all these years, he insists he still views Cyprus as one island, despite the fact that it has been separated since 1974. He believes that the reason why Turkey, after numerous attempts, remain outside the European Union, is due to their unwillingness to solve the problem.

Willy Lindh has been called everything from a traitor to a saviour. As one of the first UN soldiers to arrive in Cyprus in 1964 he would witness the beginning of the war, that ten years later, would split the island apart.

Ever since Cyprus gained independence from Britain in 1960 the island has been tormented by constitutional wrangling, intercommunal violence and hate crime. The constitution, which was created to ensure power-sharing between the Greek Cypriot majority and the Turkish Cypriot minority, was suddenly questioned by President Makarios, causing tensions to rise. The violence, murders and feuds would escalate, forcing the United Nations to step in to protect the civilians.

Willy Lindh grew up in Stockholm, Sweden, and until 1964 he had never experienced war. He was 27 at the time of his first (and last) mission. Cyprus.

Willy and the rest of the soldiers arrived in Cyprus during the scorching July heat. As a Lieutenant he was put in charge of five Turkish Cypriot villages in Erenköy in the western part of the island. It was the only coastal strip still accessible to the Turkish Cypriots, whose communities had been surrounded by the Greek Cypriot military.

The year before, President Makarios had proposed a controversial amendment to the constitution that would repeal the power-sharing arrangements between the two communities. A liquidation plan which was later known as the Akritas Plan.

Suddenly Turkish Cypriots found themselves unarmed and defenceless against the Greek Cypriot militia that dreamed of enosis, a union with the 'motherland' Greece. Turkish Cypriot police were disarmed, their communities encircled, and even their politicians were forced out of office. All power over airports, power plants and water supply was given to the Greek Cypriot government, who through the amendment hoped to extradite the Turkish Cypriot minority.

This is when the UN chose to intervene. Willy and the others were tasked with setting up outposts and preventing an escalation of the conflict. They were not allowed to interfere, but were required to report any military action from either side.

700 people lived in the five villages Willy patrolled, many of them women and children. The men in the village were mostly farmers and had no military training, with only shotguns to defend their families from Greek machine guns. Their war had already been lost.

On August 6^th 1964, the Greek Cypriot National Guard of 25,000 soldiers, supported by 10,000 soldiers from mainland Greece, bombarded Erenköy with heavy artillery, mortars and cannons. Many of the Turkish Cypriot villagers were killed or wounded.

The UN had withdrawn their forces to the mountains before the attack took place, leaving behind the villages they had vowed to protect. Only Willy and a dozen of his soldiers had chosen to stay.

From the UN headquarters the message was clear: Stay out of the fighting, and do not under any circumstances, interfere.

In a few days, four out of the five villages had been conquered by the Greek Cypriots. But during the villagers darkest hour, an unexpected protector would come to their rescue.

AT WAR WITH NEUTRALITY

Late in the afternoon on August 8^th multiple Turkish fighter jets attacked the Greek forces that had encircled Erenköy. The aerial assault lasted several hours, and by the end, defeated Greek troops were forced to retreat from the village.

Only with Greek troops out of the village, the UN returned to the duties they had left behind.

Following the surprise turn of events, the civilians were evacuated from the village. However, many of the Turkish Cypriot women refused to leave their beloved Erenköy. Instead they hid in nearby caves to protect themselves from the gunfire.

The village was still isolated from the rest of the island. Their only connection to the outside world was the open ocean in front of them, where Turkey offloaded boatloads of guns that the villagers could use to protect themselves.

The UN supplied the villagers with food supplies, but emergency healthcare was cut off from them by Greek Cypriot roadblocks. Though the UN helped as best they could with providing medical care and escorting out the dead and wounded, their efforts were not enough.

Then came the word that the nearby village of Lefke was to be attacked by Greek Cypriot troops. That is when some of the villagers approached Willy, asking him to help them smuggle weapons to their friends so they could protect themselves from the inevitable attack.

Together with his colleague Helge Hjalmarson and five other soldiers, Willy agreed to help secretly transport weapons to Turkish Cypriots in Lefke.

In the beginning it went smoothly, and the men faced no issues crossing the roadblocks. But the word spread. Eventually someone decided to snitch on them to the Greek military.

They were stopped at a roadblock in their armoured car, and with a truck full of weapons, the crime was hard to deny. The UN were contacted, the weapons handed over to the Greeks and the men were taken prisoner. Willy had no idea how big of a deal it would become.

The UN Secretary General at the time, Kurt Waldheim, was called and woken up in the middle of the night. The UN chief, their battalion chief, the police and the press were all informed, and the men were transported to the British military camp in Nicosia for interrogation.

Within days they were sent back to Sweden, stripped of their honorary UN badges, and thrown into what would become a high-profile trial, which eventually would end their UN careers and send them to prison.

PRISON, TRAITORS AND BIAS

Willy had never expected the media circus that would greet him at the arrivals gate at Stockholm Skavsta Airport in the autumn of 1964.

"Traitor!", "weapon smuggler!" and "you are horrible people!", were only some of the abuse the men had to cope with.

Eventually they ended up in trial accused of crime of majesty, an accusation as serious as treason. Willy was facing a potential life sentence of prison labour.

However, their criminal defence lawyer, Ragnar Gottfarb, calmed the court, and the men were sentenced to two years of penalty labour. This was later shortened to eight months.

Despite losing his military rank that he had invested more than eight years of his life to obtain, his career ending in shambles and being branded as a traitor by millions of people, Willy says he would do it all over again.

He often ponders whether the situation in Cyprus could have been different if the UN had acted back in 1964...because is it truly possible to be neutral in war?

The forgotten army

The UN forces in Cyprus (UNFICYP) is the longest peacekeeping mission in the world. Their mandate has been extended 18 times since their arrival in 1964, and in July the question is up for debate in the Security Council yet again. With peace negotiations at a standstill, it raises the question: is the UN still needed in Cyprus?

When the UN first arrived in Cyprus its mission was to prevent the escalation of violent fighting between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots. Today no deadly shots have been fired for decades, and to a stranger's eye the Mediterranean island appears peaceful and serene. The only visible signs are the many border crossings, the ghosted hotels in Varosha and the many military camps spread across the island.

The buffer zone, or so-called green line, that was established 55 years ago has become a prominent part of the Cypriot identity. Today it accounts for more than 3% of the island, spanning more than 180km in length. What remains inside the buffer zone seems frozen in the past, ghosted, abandoned and isolated for the developed world outside its gates.

The only inhabited buildings past the green line are the UNFICYP headquarter, a couple of offices, negotiation rooms and sleeping bunkers for the soldiers who train there every day. Armed UN soldiers check the registration number of all cars entering the seemingly frozen world.

The first sight that greets visitors is the decrepit petrol station a short drive from the main gates. The sign outside the building still showcase the price of petrol the day it was abruptly left behind in 1974. Today nature has taken a hold of its walls, engulfing the pillars and petrol pumps with branches and weeds.

Over the past 3 years, Aleem Siddique has spent his days here working as the official spokesperson for UNFICYP. In that time he has witnessed the peace-talk progress that in 2017 would bring Cyprus within touching distance of the solution, that for more than forty years had remained a distant dream.

"The most important change I have seen since I came to Cyprus is the recognition that the current status quo cannot continue," Aleem says.

Today one of UNFICYP's key roles is to facilitate and lead efforts to assist the Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot government in reaching a comprehensive agreement.

"Making peace is never easy business," Aleem says, "if it was we would have solved the Cyprus problem 55 years ago."

During the Crans Montana negotiations in 2017, the closest Cyprus has ever come a settlement, UNFICYP played a central role, working closely with the UN Special Advisor on Cyprus and main diplomat, Espen Barth Eide.

In the lead-up to the talks UNFICYP's mandate was extended multiple times, because it was argued they were a crucial part of the negotiations. However, when the talks broke down, the question on whether the UN still served a purpose arose yet again.

Despite the criticism Aleem believes the Cypriot people think they are needed on the island.

"We are very grateful for the support we receive from both communities. There is a strong understanding of why the presence of the UN is required, and I think there is an appreciation for the role the UN can play."

It costs £42m a year to keep the UN forces in Cyprus. Almost half of which is funded by the Republic of Cyprus (£13.8m) and Greece (£5m).

Aside from facilitating talks, where UNFICYP has a permanent negotiating team constantly working on what a possible deal would look like, its troops also serve an important role.

On a daily basis the troops supervise the cease fire lines established in 1974 and maintain control over the buffer zone. Despite nearly no violations of the ceasefire since then, UNFICYP records an average of 1,000 incidents in the buffer zone each year.

"We have challenges on a daily basis in patrolling the buffer zone," Aleem explains.

"We rely on good and effective relationships with the opposing military forces to address any of the challenges that arise during the course of our work with them."

Over the past 55 years more than 150,000 troops have served in UNFICYP, with 888 currently serving on the island. The United Kingdom and Argentina have been the largest troop contributors, and on average UNFICYP's military and police forces rotate every six months, year or every two years depending.

Today over a thousand people, both Greek and Turkish Cypriot, still live inside the buffer zone.

"Most people think of a buffer zone as a dead zone, but the reality is that a buffer zone is a living, breathing thing," Aleem says.

There are schools, villages and factories all within the buffer zone. In these areas the UN peacekeepers work around the clock to give its inhabitants access to move, in liaising between the opposing forces and by maintaining law and order. They even help facilitate religious services in mosques and churches for those who chose to stay in their homes when the war broke out.

However, most of the buffer zone still remains dead and abandoned.

Only a short drive from Aleem's office is the old Nicosia International Airport, left desolated since 1974.

On its deserted runway an old Cyprus Airlines passenger jet still stand covered in dust, its old logo deteriorated by years of blasting sun and bullet holes in its window as if taken out of a horror film. The scene is eerie. Broken glass, heaps of barbed wire. Sprouting weeds is the only sign of life in the airport that back in its glory days hosted stars such as Grace Kelly and President John F.Kennedy. Many of the huge led-light letters that used to spell out the name on top of the building have disappeared just as the many tourists that used to roam its now deserted arrival halls.

The UN in Cyprus have entered its 55^th year of service to the Cypriot people, having maintained a neutral approach since they first arrived. A time that now, seems a world away.

Despite Willy's criticism of their approach to the crisis in 1964, Aleem withholds that the UN are unbiased when it comes to the Cyprus conflict.

"The unique selling-point of the United Nations is that we remain impartial, and we value our impartiality," Aleem says, "It is the most important feature that we can offer in a divided island such as Cyprus."

However, some critics claim that the money spent on keeping UNFICYP forces in Cyprus could be better spent in war zones where people are still being killed.

"The sad reality is that there is conflict taking place all over the world, and there is a need for peacekeepers. Where those peacekeepers are deployed and how long, is really a matter for the Security Council."

On July 31^st the Security Council will decide whether to extend the UNFICYP mandate yet again. If extended, it will be the nineteenth time the decision on whether or not to withdraw the UN forces in Cyprus has been put to question.

"I hope that Cypriots will realise that they have far more that unites them than divides them," Aleem says.

Until then, the UN buffer zone remains as it was left in 1974: desolated, untouched and abandoned.

ÖMRÜM'S STORY

Ömrüm Aki is one of the young Cypriots that have suffered most under the embargoes on her home country. After years spent completing her degree as an engineer, but with no industry to apply her skills, Ömrüm was forced to change direction, leaving behind her dream career in order to make a living for her two young daughters.

Ömrüm was born in Turkey in 1982 to a Cypriot mother and Turkish father, and raised in Kyrenia, North Cyprus, where she has spent her entire life since. She had a happy childhood on the island, and despite growing up with the division, she never realised the impact her ethnicity and zip code would have on her future.

When she was only one year old, North Cyprus was be put under strict international embargoes that made the economy suffer greatly. Suddenly her home was only accessible to the international community through Turkey, with all direct flights and postal services being restricted. Popular international products and shops disappeared, and her favourite singers were banned from performing anywhere on her side of the border.

When it came to choosing a university, Ömrüm knew she had to get out, and decided to take her degree abroad.

Every year thousands of young Turkish Cypriots move to countries such as the UK, Turkey, Australia or the United States to take their university degree, in the hope of establishing a more secure future for themselves, and with an aspiration to experience the world that they so far had lost out on.

Ömrüm spent four years in Turkey studying engineering. She had always been a smart girl, and finally it seemed she had found the perfect path for her. However, her dreams would be short-lived.

She moved back home as a proud engineer, only to find her dreams had been crushed as infrastructure in North Cyprus had come to a standstill. Suddenly the degree she had spent four years slaving over was rendered pointless. With no development on the horizon, Ömrüm was left with no job, no money and no other option than to go back and earn herself a new career that would allow her to live in the country she loved so dearly.

Pharmacy became her second choice, and after another four years of studying hard, this time at a Cypriot university, Ömrüm completed her second degree.

Today she owns her own business, running a pharmacy near the village of Esentepe. Despite the situation having improved in North Cyprus over the past ten years with new tourism developments, Ömrum is still tied to Turkey in order to make her business thrive. Everything she sells in her pharmacy, from make-up and skincare to prescribed medicine, has to go through Turkey, each order being heavily taxed by customs.

Despite hard business, today the most important part of Ömrüm's life is her two beautiful daughters, Mira (5) and Maya (3).

She describes her daughters as the love of her life. Despite growing up in the same setting as their mother, unknowing of life without a division, the girls are full of laughter and childlike imagination. They love dressing up as their favourite Disney princesses, Rapunzel and Elsa, drawing and playing, and Peppa Pig is their big hero.

Their smiles is what keep Ömrüm going when she worries about the political situation on the island. After peace talks fell through yet again in Crans Montana in 2017, there are few signs that the embargo on North Cyprus will be lifted anytime soon.

She often finds herself worrying about their future on the divided island. Will they face the same challenges as she did? Does northern Cyprus hold a future for them?

Today Cyprus still remains divided, and with the breakdown of peace talks in Crans Montana in 2017, the hope of a unification seems to fade more day by day. It is a conflict that the best mediators in the world don't seem to hack, but could the Cypriot people themselves hold the key to its solution?

Every day hundreds of Turkish Cypriot children cross the border to Nicosia to attend private schools. For many it is a choice of their parents, who worry that the education available to them in the North will hold them back. Some parents spend up to four hours a day driving their children to school, while other children, fortunate enough to live in the city, cross the border on foot.

Cecil Kayim is one of them. Every morning at 7AM she has to show her identification papers and cross the border of the divided city. She walks fifteen minutes, crosses the border and continues the journey to school on a local school bus in the South. It makes her sad that many of her Greek Cypriot friends are forbidden by their parents to visit her at home in the North, and even though she is only 12 years old, she is very much aware of the hostility from some of the people she meets. In school they don't learn anything about the war that divided their island, something Cecil thinks is good.

Despite no promise of new negotiations, some Cypriots still cling to the hope of a united future.

Andromachi Sophocleous, 30, is one of those working for peace. Having grown up in the divided city of Nicosia as the daughter of a Greek Cypriot refugee from Famagusta, she always knew she wanted to make a change.

After studying abroad she returned to Cyprus to establish the Cypriot Puzzle, a bi-communal news project that aims to inform both sides on what is really happening on the island without a political bias. She is an active peace activist for Unite Cyprus Now, and in 2017 she went to Crans Montana to call on the Cypriot leaders to come home with a deal.

"Any activist working for peace in Cyprus has encountered criticism," she says. "We are called traitors all the time. We get attacked on social media and by mainstream media."

During the Crans Montana negotiations, then 28-year-old Andromachi was slated in the media at home for her activism. For weeks a cartoonist would make insulting illustrations of her and her big hair.

When peace talks collapsed two years ago, it was a big defeat for Andromachi and her friends, and she says she is no longer hopeful for the future.

"You can never have peace until you understand what you did," she says.

There are still no formal peace talks on the horizon, but the Cyprus problem is what keeps Andromachi going.

"They wanted to convince us that the Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots could not live together, but I have no intention of letting them win."

On the other side of the border similar heartbreak is felt over the lack of progress in finding peace.

Turkish Cypriot Esra Aygin, 39, clearly remembers the day she returned to Limassol with her father Ozel, and how the usually cheerful man broke down crying at the sight of his childhood home demolished and gone.

"Everyone suffered," she says, "but unless we are exposed to it, we will never understand."

When Esra decided to become a journalist she knew she wanted to work in Cyprus, and she started her career covering the lead-up to the Annan Plan. Since then there have been a lot of disappointments.

Every time the country came close to a solution she would get excited and hopeful, only to be left heartbroken and defeated time after time.

After years of covering the negotiations, she is certain that the key to the problem lays in education.

"We need to start talking about peace to the children. They are the ones that will take the agreement that we may reach and make it possible," Esra says. "Why are no one concerned about that?"

She no longer believes in a unification, and often thinks about taking her children and moving abroad. Her beloved Cyprus no longer represent the future she dreams about.

After years of hope, it seems Esra is reaching the end.

...

Today the two women still work for a solution.

Through the love for their island they have become close friends, working together for peace. They come from different sides of the border, speak different languages and live different lives. But despite the many things that divides them, what unites them overcomes everything.

Andromachi still works at the Cypriot Puzzle informing Cypriots about the war that divided them and actively participates in peace activism.

And though Esra is not as hopeful as she once was, she became the Cypriot correspondent for Reporters Without Borders in February, working against the tide to tell the tale of the war the world has forgotten.

THANK YOU

A huge thank you to the many incredible people who have made this online documentary possible. To the many photographers and politicians, soldiers and museums, the UN and diplomat Espen Barth Eide, not to mention the many wonderful Cypriots I have met along the way who have allowed me to share their intimate and personal stories. THANK YOU. Telling your story has been my privilege.

A special thank you to my loving and supportive parents, Gunn Eidhamar and Kim Müller Madsen, who have driven me to interviews, motivated and inspired me throughout this process. This would not be possible without you.

Credits

Produced and created by Isabel Müller Eidhamar

Contributors:

Orhan Atasoy

Dimitris Nickolas

Esra Aygin

Espen Barth Eide

Ömrüm Aki

Andromachi Sophocleous

Aleem Siddique

Willy Lindh

Cecil Kayim

Kemal Baykalli

Ersin Tatar

The United Nations in Cyprus, UNFICYP

Photography:

Turkish Woman Mourning the Death of her Husband, Cyprus, 1964 © Don McCullin, Courtesy Hamiltons Gallery London

Richard Chamberlain

Roman Robroek, https://romanrobroek.nl/

Katarina Záhorská / UNFICYP

United Nations, UN News

Including personal photographs from Ömrum Aki, Willy Lindh, Orhan Atasoy, Dimitris Nickolas, Cecil Kayim and Esra Aygin

Music & Sound Effects:

Alan Spiljak, Clouds
Alan Spiljak, Light Blue
Alan Spiljak, Empty Days
Alan Spiljak, Something wonderful
Alan Spiljak, Time
Alan Spiljak, New day
Alan Spiljak, Dreams
Alan Spiljak, Spring memories
Meydän, Glimpse of eternity
Meydän, Contemplate the stars
David Hilowitz, Time passing

Poem:

Nese Yasin, Yurdunu sevmeliymiş insan (One has to love his/her country)