my Cyprus, my Κύπρος, my Kıbrıs

Summer nights in Nicosia are always permeated by the incessant yet rhythmic sound of the cicadas (ζίζιρος/τζίτζικας/cırlavık/ağustos böceği), fading in and out of the foreground. This summer, the bass sound of the beating drum and the shrill sound of the whistle also joined my summer orchestra. I was in the…