Some stories are told with a heavy heart, and it’s difficult to finish them because the words become heavy, pulling from within you all your noble emotions.
In the village of Vouni, I have a small holiday home filled with sweet memories. My children grew up there, and from time to time, we’d go as a family to walk and unwind from the mad pace of the city. Smiling, warm people welcomed us and treated us in the local cafés. Even in their old age, it’s a matter of honour and hospitality to offer us a coffee from their meagre pensions. Authentic people from a bygone era…
The wildfire that broke out on Wednesday, 23 July 2025, glued us to our TV screens, anxiously waiting to hear about the fate of these people and our properties. No one could tell us anything or keep us informed. Some phone calls I made to the village ended abruptly amid cries of rage and despair.
“What can I tell you, Mario? We’re burning. Call the fire brigade to go there…”
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With roads closed, the region declared in a state of emergency, and me helpless to assist, I sat on the couch. All I had left was prayer — for God to protect them and give them strength to carry on.
On Friday, 25 July, once the situation was brought under control, I decided, along with some friends, to go to the village to see the situation and our properties firsthand. Honestly, I didn’t know what I would find. I prepared myself internally for everything, took the house keys and wondered, “Will I need them? Or will I throw them into the ashes?”
Driving from Limassol to Vouni, after Kantou, the landscape became disheartening. The village of Souni — once the beauty of the area — desecrated. Bare pine trees and scorched earth. The once-green route turned black, blackening our souls too. Sharp words: “Look over there — that house burned down. Those pine trees burned!”
Eventually, we reached Vouni, went down the road, walked, and reached the house. The house was still standing, and the keys didn’t become a burden. Around us was the smell of burnt earth and ash. I walked behind the house, and suddenly, I heard a voice calling me:
“Where have you been, Mario?”
I walked to the front and saw two soot-covered men — Panayiotis and Chrysanthos, two brothers from Kyvides, relatives of my wife. I was glad. I greeted them and started asking what had happened. Panayiotis, clearly exhausted, his eyes red, began to unfold his story:
“We haven’t slept in two days. We spent the whole night on Wednesday out here on this road, fighting the fire. Flames were coming from everywhere. We couldn’t save Nikodimos’s house — the fire came from the electricity wires. We spent all night trying to save the village. I climbed onto the roof of your house and used the hose to throw water on the flames.”
Panayiotis was fighting the most devouring element of nature — fire — with just a hose. A lump formed in my throat, and I struggled to hold back my tears. I didn’t want to cry — I wanted to appear strong in front of those who had saved the village. Chrysanthos had his hand bandaged with a dirty wrap — he had tripped and almost broken it but tied it tightly so he could continue.
“My car burned — the fire took it,” he told me. “What you see in the back seat of Panayiotis’ car is my wheel rim.” I looked inside the car and saw a long, melted piece of metal. That was his reward. “I’ll keep it as a souvenir,” he said with a laugh.
The lump grew. My eyes filled with tears. In the uninhabited house next to mine, the beams were charred.
“I broke the door and went in to put it out,” Panayiotis said. “Thank God for the volunteers — they came with their vehicles and tanks and put out the fire when the water supply was cut. If it weren’t for them, the whole village would have burned.” Yes, angels came down to the village and saved the homes — the villages. Cyprus’s youth! The ones we “call thugs” — they saved us from the fire. The volunteers!
“I had to drag old Mr A. out of his house. I shouted at him, but he wouldn’t listen — he thought he was being robbed. I broke the glass door and pulled him out. I handed him over to the Red Cross. If he’d stayed, he would have burned…” Panayiotis told me.
I’d heard enough. I had no words, only a simple “thank you” — which I was ashamed to say because it felt too little.
“Now we’re heading further down to see how things are,” they said as they got in their car to go offer more unpaid help.
The story of the brothers Panayiotis and Chrysanthos is real — the landscape itself bears witness. The land around the village of Vouni is scorched. It looks like an oasis in the desert, showing the battle the villagers fought to stop the fire’s darkness from swallowing it.
These ordinary people became heroes in one night. They saved our villages, our history, and the people who needed them.
I could say much about the state’s incompetence, but unfortunately, the state is us. We vote for them, and then we ask for their help when we seek favours. Let each of us reflect on our own responsibility — for out of ego, we do not allow the capable to govern.
Marios Neophytou
Electrical Engineer, AUTH
Also read: Limassol Wildfire: Damage claims open from tomorrow – All the info
