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Nanny Vasiliki is over eighty. She needs support even to stand up. Yet she would struggle to reach every nook and corner of her restaurant, kitchen, store and billing counter and all. What is more, even dining customers could experience her physical presence. She would appear in unsteady gait with her walker.
By midday, the crowd in the restaurant would melt away. Workers would retreat to their private space. Vasiliki Nanny would then sit in the portico in a chair basking in the breeze that comes from the Mediterranean seas crossing the Troodos mountains. With a gaze fixed over the distant horizon, she would ruminate her memories
I came across Valsiki Nanny on the second day of my visit to Cypress at a place called Khirokitia. I had secured the services of tourist guide by name Stelios from the town of Larnaca. He had taken me around the villages of Larnaca in his pick up van. We were heading to Lafkara crossing the villages of Kalvasos and Tokni.
On the way we got off at Khirokitia. The hills and vales of Khirokitia were the settlements of Neanderthals, the abode of community man some 11,000 years ago.
It was past noon as we left Larnaca. We enquired at Kalavsos and Tokni if we could get some meal over there but could not. It was searing heat outside. Streets were all deserted by midday. The look was that of a haunted town abandoned by its residents. Not a single soul could be seen in the cobbled streets thickly cluttered with centuries old granite buildings.
It was half past 3. Stelios was terribly hungry. I too was no different.I was shooting the scene. He was frantically searching for a place to eat in that ancient village. At last he discovered one such place that was open.
As we walked in I saw the nanny with her looks fixed into the distance. A vast expansive dining hall. None inside. Stelios walked straight into the kitchen and came out along with a hostess. She handed over the menu card to me. .All in English yet I could not make out anything. Names were all of local dishes. Tactfully I shifted the task of selecting from the menu to Stelios. The dishes arrived pretty fast. Boiled yam for me and boiled large bean pods for him.
Cypriots use a lot of olive oil. At the table too there was olive oil along with pepper and salt. Local food mostly consisted of tuber, bean and fruit. It was a sight to watch Stelios eating boiled beans pouring olive oil into it and squeezing lemon juice.
A lrge number of many photos were seen pasted on the walls. Some were large, some were small. A few were coloured and others were black and white. It was rather unusual in the European tradition. I asked the hostess what it was all about. She pointed her finger towards the old woman at the portico. That was Vasiliki Nanny. The restaurant was a family enterprise. Stelios had whispered to some one that I had come to make a documentary. Soon a bevy of girls came out and gathered around us. Six or seven of them. Daughters and granddaughters of Valsiki nanny running the restaurant.
The girls spoke of the nanny in hushed tones in obvious respect. Together they led me to her. Language was a problem. She knew only Greek. Stalios became our interpreter.
The family of Valsiki started the restaurant years ago. She lost her husband. Her sons are in army service. Other children run the restaurant and she gave details of her family business.
Every day without fail she would arrive at the restaurant. That was an unbroken tradition 30 years old. She always insisted that her personal supervision should be there.
I could see an old black and white photograph of the restaurant in its early days. She said her responsibility increased as her husband passed away. She was just 16 at the time of her marriage. There was a glow of shyness as she spoke. I took my camera to take a close up. Instantly she tidied her hair and adjusted the chain on her neck.
Vasiki Nanny was serene and contented. She had no tension about the running of the restaurant or the future of her grandchildren. A happy family.
But she had one deep sorrow, the sad state of her country. Turbulent 1974 rushed to her otherwise tranquil mind. Turkish army invaded Cypress and broke it up into two. She could not erase from her memory the horrendous migration, genocide and ethnic conflict.
She had only one dream, a united Cypress. “May your dream come true soon for you”. I wished her as I took leave of her.
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