The Swearing-In Ceremony

The Way of the Arpha: 12 of 12 [FINAL PART]

“Tomorrow will be your day,” Grivas told us before the swearing-in ceremony.  “Tomorrow is for your parents, siblings, and girlfriends to admire you. No other KEN training camp is operating right now so all the stations will be showing you. You have a chance to be seen by the whole world.”

This, unfortunately, was even truer for me. Not only was I positioned at the very front of my row, but my line also happened to be directly across from the audience. By a stroke of misfortune, I was among the few conscripts with the privilege of being in full view for the entirety of the ceremony.

And so it was that the whole world – or at least friends and family – witnessed the initiation of us 350 or so recruits into hardened soldiers trained to defend the homeland and withstand the rigors of war. During the ceremony, a conscript fainted and had to be carried away by stretcher.

As usual we were told the National Guard Chief of Staff would grant us an additional day of honorary furlough if we marched well, and as usual, it was given to us despite our resemblance to circus performers specializing in military satire.

It may as well have been a circus. It was a lucrative act, with ticket sales on a national scale. The essential thing was to keep the applause going by giving the appearance of a disciplined, trained army. Like circus showmen, we’d spent weeks practicing for minutes of performance. It was no different from the island’s political arena: all hot air and grandstanding. We were too busy puffing our chests out and raising our chins for anything else.

One of our last days in boot camp involved a “mountain trek,” which amounted to a mild three-hour hike, rest stops included, through the surrounding hills. On the way back, we passed through a village. Before doing so, we were taught one last chant, opening with, “We are tough and disciplined.” After a few recitations, we marched off into the village, bellowing the self-regarding chant.

Two octogenarians applauded us from their porches as we stomped through. A few squawking chickens darted across the road in fright. And a dozen schoolkids rushed to the playground fence and pressed themselves against the chin links, pointing at us and laughing.

THE END

*earlier movie clip excerpted from the documentary Hidden in the Sand by Vasia Markides (my sister) about the ghost city of Famagusta. Trailer below: