‘We’ve had 50 years of division; 50 years of failure. 50 years of the same conversation, over and over again’
In the middle of No Man’s Land, there stands a lonely fig tree.
Each summer, its fruit ripens. But nobody comes to share it; years of fear and division have divided the island. The fig tree has been all but forgotten…
Except by Constantia Manoli. Who, every morning, looks out of her kitchen window, and sees the fig tree standing tall – “behind the checkpoints, amid the olives and almonds.”
Constantia lives on the outskirts of Lympia, a place she describes as “a hot, dusty Cypriot village overlooking the Green Line.” She wasn’t born there – her first decade was lived thousands of miles away, under the grey and rain of London. Like many others, her family moved to the UK after 1974: a new life for her father who had fought on the front lines; who had seen friends and family fall; who could not bring himself to speak of the war.
But now, she lives in Cyprus. And she sees the fig tree every day in “the place between two worlds. Barriers rise,” she ponders, “yet nature has endured. Perhaps there’s hope that peace, too, might one day take root and grow…”
For most, the thought would end there. But Constantia is a writer. Her first book, Tomatoes In My Lunchbox, was released by publishing giant Macmillan in 2022. It’s a delightful (and multiple award-winning) children’s story that mirrors her own childhood in the UK: the immigrant experience of feeling constantly out of place.
But her second book, set to be released next year, reflects her more recent life: a tale of the barriers and borders she sees every day from her kitchen window. It’s called, quite simply, The Fig Tree…
“The book was directly inspired by my life in Cyprus,” says Constantia. “By my dad – who still finds it hard to talk of the war. By the bicommunal programmes that bring so much hope to a divided island. And by what I can see out of my kitchen window.
“The ongoing division of our island is an issue that, like the fig tree, is getting older: we’ve had 50 years of division; 50 years of failure; 50 years of the same conversation, over and over again. I’m not a politician,” she adds. “And I cannot claim to have solutions. But I am a writer. I dream up the ‘what ifs?’ And I can imagine what is possible.”
In The Fig Tree, Constantia does just that. Told from the point of view of the fig tree itself, the story is the past, present, and possible future, starting with ‘The warm days before, when laughter and friendship knew no boundaries.
‘The old tree remembers fig-picking days from years before, when the two sides of her divided island were bound together, friends gathered to collect her fruit while children played. Then they spread their patchwork blankets under the gauzy shade to share food and recipes, stories, and songs until their shadows stretched long on the ground.’
But then came the guns, the tanks, the troops. ‘The conflict that tore her people apart,’ writes Constantia. And when a line was scratched across the island, there were no more gatherings under the fig tree.
‘Yet, with changing seasons comes renewed hope,’ runs the story. ‘And the old tree dreams of a future where sharing summer’s first figs might mend those broken bonds. She sees how things could be. One will pick the fig and tear it in half, reaching out across the rift to share the sweetness with the other…’
There’s a poignant message to this book. And it’s not just for children.
“Children’s books are a unique genre,” says Constantia. “You’re writing for younger readers, but it’s usually being read out by the adults. And The Fig Tree has a message for all ages: for the adults who have been unable to sort things out for over 50 years, for the children who are the future.”
It’s a message of hope, of peace, of reconciliation. A message for the next generation.
“Those with direct experience of 1974 are getting older; when they’re gone, what will be left?” she asks. “Our children are the future of this island; we need to stop messing things up for them. And so the message in The Fig Tree is simple: what if we came together, worked together? What would happen if, today, our children could once more share the fruit of our land?”
Constantia’s work is well-known around the world. Not only is she an award-winning author, she’s also a teacher, lecturer and illustrator. And, when it’s released next year, The Fig Tree will be bought, and read, and loved by hundreds of thousands of people.
“It’s putting Cyprus in the hands of young readers and their grown-ups around the world,” she says. “And though I recognise that’s a wonderful, terrifying responsibility, it’s also an opportunity to share our history with an audience who may not even know the island exists.
“Children are not powerless,” she adds. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite: they often see things much more clearly than adults; they’re capable of immense love. And I firmly believe they’re the key to building peace on our island. Because the adults can’t do it, can they?”
Constantia is clear that the story is not meant to be political. “It’s not a detailed record of history.” Instead, she reiterates, it’s a ‘what if?’ What if we stopped letting the past dictate our future? What if the next generation didn’t inherit our prejudices? What if, instead of conflict, we choose connection?
“It’s about imagining a different path forward – a path where the youngest amongst us can finally begin to heal the island’s wounds.”
For Constantia – who has seen first-hand the effects of generational trauma – The Fig Tree stands for hope. It stands for the peace, community and forgiveness she believes the island needs to heal its wounds.
“In the story, a solitary tree brings two children together across the divide. Every morning, I look out of my window and I see the fig tree, growing older – alone. And I think ‘what if?’”
The Fig Tree, written by Constantia Manoli and illustrated by Leah Giles, is available for pre-order. For more information, visit Macmillan publishers, or the Facebook page ‘Costantia Manoli – Author & Illustrator’
