From the Limassol Mountain Front

Stories that should not be buried under ashes

The mountain fell silent. Not from peace, but from death. The ridges that once echoed with the chirping of birds, the ringing of village bells and the laughter of children, remained silent. The summer of 2025 left behind a cemetery of silence.

The flames that erupted with uncontrollable momentum swept away everything in their path. Furious, as if they were aiming not only at the forest, but also at every trace of life. From Mallia to Agios Ambrosios, from Souni to Omodos — houses turned to ashes, courtyards melted, ovens went out forever.

"I didn't even have time to take my husband's photo"

Mrs. Eurydice, 78 years old, stood in front of the ashes of her house. She was born there, she got married there, she raised her children there.

“I had nothing left. Not even my clothes. Not even a bite to eat. I didn’t even have time to take my husband’s photo.”

One of the hundreds of victims who never saw a fire truck near their home. Everything burned down, and they fought with garden hoses and their bare hands.

🐾 The animals that had no voice — and no one listened

In the stables, goats were dying in cages. Ashes still cover their charred bodies. In the yard of an abandoned house, a dog was found charred by its leash because it had not been untied in time. Other animals — deer, foxes, cats — ran with flames in their tails, screaming, until they fell dead.

Volunteers found chickens stuck to the ground by melted feathers, donkeys with melted hooves, snakes charred, birds burned in their nests.

“It was like a nuclear bomb had gone off,” says Eleni, a volunteer from Lania. “You were walking and there were corpses everywhere next to you. And the silence… was heavier than the smoke.”

Volunteers who fought alone

And yet, where the state was slow, there was resistance. Volunteers, residents, young and old — with their own tires, bags of dirt, buckets and towels.

“No one came,” cried Giannis from Omodos in a broken voice. “We were alone. If we hadn’t gone to put out the fire in the house next door, the whole village would have burned down.”

Some suffered burns on their hands, others fainted from the stifling atmosphere. And yet, they didn’t leave. They didn’t abandon their place. Because they knew that if they left, there would be nothing to return to.

The silence after the fire — a silence of guilt

And the question remains, like the smell of burnt oregano in the mountains:

Where were the people in charge? Where were the fire engines? Where was the Civil Defense? Where was the ambulance when grandfather needed it in Lofou?

Who hears the voice of the volunteer who carried water from a cistern alone because "the state forgot that we exist"?

These stories should not be forgotten.

They are not statistics. They are not just “scorched earth, burnt houses”. They are lives. Memories. Faces. Animals. Endurance. Anger. Injustice. Pain.

It is the demand for justice. For respect. So that it does not happen again.