I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

 ***

August 1973. I had graduated from high school two months earlier and was in Potamia, my hometown in Cyprus, for the summer. Life in Potamia was hard and uncomfortable, and I had never really liked being there. My father was a farmer, and my parents had to work long hours every day on our farm to make ends meet. When we were in Potamia, my brothers and sisters worked at the farm as well. For most of the year, we, the eldest three of the five siblings, attended secondary school in Nicosia (the capital of Cyprus), where we lived with our grandparents. During school breaks, the three of us moved in with our parents in Potamia. I was the only member of our family who was spared having to work on the farm—a privilege I truly appreciated! I suspect my mother had something to do with it. Now that she has passed on, I will never know if I thanked her enough for this and many other privileges she somehow managed to secure for me as I was growing up.

Three years earlier, when my family first moved back to Potamia, cousin Fikriye (Aunt Nazime’s eldest daughter, who was about ten years older than me) had taught me how to make a special embroidery called Lefkara (appropriately named after a town in Cyprus where the craft originated a long time ago). This traditional Cypriot embroidery was always in high demand by both Cypriots and tourists, and a lot of women in Cyprus earned money by making it and selling the products they created (tablecloths, table runners, bedspreads, decorative cloth napkins, etc.)—a tradition that continues to this day. After learning how to do it, whenever I was in Potamia, I spent all my time working on Lefkara embroidery—my first source of income. Cousin Fikriye, who had been doing this work for years and was very good at it, would receive large orders to work on. As a favor, she would give some of the work to me. Basically, I was a subcontractor! However little it was, I will never forget the first money I earned by working on Lefkara embroidery. I was paid a quarter Cypriot shilling (about fifty American cents) for each two-inch square of embroidery I made. I loved this work because it occupied only my hands, leaving my head free to think and to dream. To me, that was luxury.

One needed to be careful when working on Lefkara embroidery, especially when cutting the cloth with small sharp scissors, in preparation for creating the diamond-shaped designs between the star-shaped flowers. A small, careless move could easily cut the cloth the wrong way and damage the entire piece. My strategy was to stop daydreaming (which was basically what I did while working on the embroidery) whenever it was time to cut the diamond shapes. After each cutting task was completed without mishap, I had no difficulty returning to my daydreams and usual worries, which were always on the same subject: my limited prospects for higher education. Like a deeply rooted and hidden phobia, this subject was always on my mind, continuously eating me up.

While in Potamia, I rarely left home. Only a handful of Turkish families lived there, including Aunt Nazime’s family. Instead of returning to Potamia as our family had done, most Turkish families had stayed in the cities and towns to which they had migrated back in February 1964, when conflict erupted between the Greeks and the Turks. Our decision to return to Potamia after a seven-year absence was an economic one, because my father’s employment opportunities in Nicosia, where we had lived as refugees during those seven years, were very limited. Exacerbating our financial situation was the fact that as we grew older, our financial needs increased. That’s why three years earlier, in 1970, my parents and two younger siblings returned to Potamia, while the three older siblings stayed with our grandparents in Nicosia to attend secondary school. My father thought he could make a better living in Potamia by farming our lands and perhaps raising milk cows.

One day, toward the end of August, I was alone at home—as usual, working on my Lefkara embroidery—when there was a knock on the door that startled me. It was only midmorning, and my parents and siblings were not due back home until evening. Somewhat alarmed, I hurried to the window and looked outside. There was a car in our yard. How odd; this was peculiar! My heart immediately started racing. Who could this unexpected visitor be? Hesitantly, I opened the door and peered outside. Much to my surprise, I saw Professor Robert Parsons, an American anthropology professor emeritus, who had been with the University of Washington and who was then working in Cyprus as a volunteer doing research on social issues related to refugees and displaced people. Stepping out of the car with him was our mutual friend, Atiye. The two worked together on the same project at the Social Aid office on the Turkish side of Nicosia. But, what were they doing in Potamia? How did they find me? Atiye had never been to Potamia before, and I was baffled as to why she would have gone through so much trouble to locate me.

***

Two months earlier, just after graduating from high school, and while still in Nicosia, Atiye had given Professor Parsons my name to add to a list of applicants for a private sponsorship to study in the United States. Professor Parsons’s good friends working at the American Embassy on the Greek side of Nicosia, the Martins, were offering the sponsorship and had asked the professor to help them identify a suitable candidate (from among interested Turkish Cypriot students finishing high school).

Starting in 1963, after conflict broke out between the Greeks and the Turks, all international academic scholarships granted to the government of Cyprus, such as the Fulbright Scholarship in the US and other scholarships awarded by some European countries, were given to Greek Cypriot students only; none were given to Turkish Cypriots. This situation lasted well into the early 1990s (about thirty years) before such scholarships became available to Turkish Cypriots. In short, back then, it was nearly impossible for a Turkish Cypriot to study in the US. Hence, the sponsorship the Martins were offering was very significant. But, initially, I did not think much of it. Having graduated from a high school taught entirely in Turkish, I assumed my chances of getting it were nearly zero. However, I did tell Atiye she could pass my name on to the professor to be included in his list.

A few days after this conversation, Atiye informed me that the candidates on the list, including me, were going to be interviewed by the Martins the following week. Before proceeding any further, I took a bus to Potamia and told my parents about the prospect of getting a private sponsorship to study in the US and that I was scheduled for an interview. They reacted positively and said I should definitely try. My father insisted on taking me to the interview to be conducted by Mrs. Martin at the Saray Hotel in Nicosia. During our thirty-minute meeting, she detailed the terms and conditions of the sponsorship and asked me about my background, education, and interests. There were three conditions: I needed to take the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) required to get acceptance to universities in the United States and do well in it; I needed to wait in Cyprus for one year until Mr. Martin’s diplomatic assignment in Cyprus ended; and I needed to live with them during that year to improve my English before leaving for the United States.

As I left the interview that day, I didn’t think I had a chance. Up to that point, my entire education had been in Turkish with the exception of my English and French language classes in high school. My reading and comprehension were okay, but I could barely converse in English. In fact, during the interview with Mrs. Martin, I felt quite embarrassed by this limitation. Two weeks later, Atiye informed me that I had moved to the next level in the selection process, and that I was scheduled to take the SAT at the American Embassy the following week. On the designated day, I went to the embassy and took the SAT, as required. I thought I did well, but was not sure what the outcome would be. Then, assuming nothing would come of it, I went to Potamia to spend the rest of the summer with my family.

As far as university education was concerned, I was laser focused on my original plan, the one I had set my heart on for many years—going to Turkey and attending a good university there. At this time, there were no universities in Cyprus, and those seeking higher education had to go abroad. Typically, Turkish Cypriots went to Turkey, and Greek Cypriots went to Greece. A small minority of both Turkish and Greek Cypriots went to England; but that was a lot more expensive and therefore most Cypriots could not afford it. My financing prospects for a university education in Turkey were fuzzy, but this was my plan. I was hoping that once I had started my education, good grades would enable me to get an academic scholarship and somehow manage to complete my education. It was these thoughts that kept me constantly worried.

Back then, I aspired to become a chemical engineer. More specifically, I wanted to attend either the Middle Eastern Technical University (METU) in Ankara, or the Istanbul Technical University (ITU) in Istanbul. These two universities were on top of my wish list, and in my endless daydreams, I frequently imagined myself studying at one or the other.

***

Now, many weeks after I had taken the SAT, I was surprised to see Professor Parsons and Atiye at my home in Potamia. I invited them in, and they gave me the big news. They told me my SAT results had come in through the American Embassy and that my score was quite good. In fact, I had been selected to receive the sponsorship! Professor Parsons was so happy with the decision that he wanted to inform me personally without delay. Upon learning the results of the exam and the final decision made by the Martins, he had apparently talked to Atiye and asked her to go Potamia with him and help locate my home there.

I was speechless and ecstatic! I thanked them both and served them Turkish coffee. The moments following the news were quite surreal. I was simply on top of the world! The only detail I recall from those moments was the fact that I did not have any sweets at home to serve Professor Parsons and Atiye, as is customary, with the Turkish coffee. But under the circumstances, neither I nor they could pay much attention to such insignificant details. They could only stay about half an hour because they needed to get back to their work in Nicosia. Before they left, we agreed I would return to Nicosia as soon as I could. I was going to move in with the Martins and live with them for about a year while I worked on improving my English. My aim was to improve my English by reading books, and the Martins would help me improve my verbal skills. These terms were discussed during the Saray Hotel interview. There were no surprises.

After they were gone I became totally restless. The significance of the news started to slowly sink in. I had just secured a private sponsorship to study in the United States of America! At that time, Turkish Cypriot students finishing high school would have done anything to get such a sponsorship. It was a true miracle that to this day, I can’t believe happened. Once alone, I remember telling myself that earlier, when Professor Parsons had knocked on my door, it was not really him knocking. It was fate knocking at my door!

I knew right away that my life and future were about to change dramatically. Then, I did something quite out of character. I decided to walk to our farm where my parents and siblings were working to tell them the good news. I got dressed and left. I walked as fast as I could. Several hours later, during which I got lost a few times, I made it to our farm. From a distance, I started waving at my family, but they did not respond because they did not recognize me. I walked closer and waved again. When my mother finally realized it was me, she almost fainted from anxiety. She thought something terrible must have happened to me, otherwise I would not have walked all the way from Potamia to get there. The whole family started running toward me to find out why I was there. I told them the good news and they were overjoyed. After talking it over at some length, the whole family agreed I should accept the sponsorship and go to America for my education.

The next morning, with my belongings in a small suitcase, I took the first bus to Nicosia. On the way, I watched the dawning of a new day from the window of the bus, and knew my life would never be the same again.

-Aysel K. Basci

Aysel K. Basci is a nonfiction writer and literary translator. She was born and raised in Cyprus and moved to the United States in 1975. Aysel is retired and divides her time between Washington DC and Dallas. Her work has appeared in the Michigan Quarterly Review, Columbia Journal, Los Angeles Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Critical Read, Aster(ix) Literary Journal, Bosphorus Review of Books, and elsewhere. Find her on Twitter @BasciAysel