Youth are leaving for the cities and abroad: the story of a dying village in Cyprus

For most of the year, Kinuza seems to be asleep. Empty streets, a few cars, silence. “Right now everything here is dead,” as the village is described by its few residents. It only comes back to life in August: the population rises to around 250 thanks to returning emigrants and tourists. For the other eleven months, there are 92 permanent residents, mostly elderly people.

The head of the mountain village in the Paphos district, Solomos Michael, speaks about what is happening without embellishment. Once, around 300 people lived in Kinuza — today only 92 remain. “We managed to destroy the villages,” he says bitterly. There are five or six young couples in the village; everyone else is aging.

Why young people are leaving

Michael states the main reason directly: urbanization. Young people move to the cities or leave abroad altogether. He also points to the rising cost of living — rent, fuel, municipal taxes; it is difficult for young couples to live independently and almost impossible to save anything.

“Today young people cannot put money aside to create something of their own,” he says.

The most personal example is his own son. The eldest of the village head’s eight children left and works at a hotel in Ireland: salaries there are significantly higher than in Cyprus, and there is free accommodation and meals on top. “Why can’t he be at home, in his own place, and work for a decent salary?” Michael asks, having himself worked abroad for several years and knowing the conditions there first-hand.

Kinuza is just a particular case of a much larger shift. Cyprus is among the most “urban” countries in the European Union: according to Eurostat, more than half of the island’s residents live in cities. And across the EU the picture is similar — young people leave villages for cities or abroad for work and education, while older people remain in the countryside.

What else is keeping the village alive?

And yet Michael still finds something to build hope on. There is still some productive life in Kinuza: some people are engaged in logging and forestry, some work for themselves, and others are employed in metalworking. The land yields grapes, cereals, legumes, almonds, carob trees and olives, and part of the Paphos forest lies within the community’s boundaries.

But his main argument is children. There are currently 25 pupils in the community, who travel every day to Polis Chrysochous — to kindergarten, school and the upper grades. “That is pleasant,” the village head emphasizes: despite the demographic decline, new families are still appearing in the village. Small communities, he laments, do not receive the support they need and therefore fade away; to reverse this, local character must be highlighted and employment in the area supported. “This place needs an overall restructuring and a change of mentality,” he says.

The price the village head pays

Michael’s own story is telling. The father of eight children (the eldest is 25, the youngest eight), he receives the minimum guaranteed income and at the same time struggles with health problems. His wife works part-time, and he takes on most of the care for the five minor children. Every day, he says, is a struggle for his family and for the community.

The face of Kinuza is like that of many mountainous and remote corners of Cyprus. A small café serves as a meeting place for the few who remain; once there was also a tiny hotel for tourists, but after the owners died it never reopened — another gap in the local economy. And the village waits for August to come alive again, briefly, once more.