[1] Views on this blog are mine, alone, and do not necessarily represent those of my place of employment or those of friends and colleagues in Cyprus or elsewhere.
We stroll through a residential alley, where women, dressed in mismatched brightly colored prints, heads veiled, hang laundry lines across abandoned residences or walk their children across the street. While no one is hostile, our presences aren’t really acknowledged with eye contact, either. It looks or feels like what I’d imagine a war zone to look like, or what Nicoletta refers to in a different context as an “open wound.”