The tranquil hills of Cyprus, once alive with the sounds of numerous flocks and dedicated shepherds, have fallen into an unsettling quiet. This age-old occupation, which is intrinsically linked to the island's rural identity, is experiencing a rapid decrease. Only a small number of individuals are still committed to this arduous way of life. The poignant story of George Kasapis, a 66-year-old former full-time shepherd, vividly illustrates this stark reality. After dedicating many years to his profession, he has now returned to raising goats as a fulfilling pastime. His experiences, alongside the challenges faced by the few remaining active shepherds in villages like Mathiatis, offer a moving glimpse into a vanishing heritage.
For George Kasapis, the transition from a lifelong career to a retirement hobby was prompted by necessity and profound exhaustion. Having spent twenty-five years with the forestry department and countless more tending to animals, he found the relentless demands of full-time shepherding unsustainable. This commitment requires constant attention to livestock throughout the entire year. "You’re tied to it," he explains, effectively summarizing the unyielding nature of the profession. His resumption of goat rearing, albeit on a smaller scale and for personal satisfaction, demonstrates his deep-rooted connection to the animals and the land. He has since acquired a modest herd, beginning with ten young goats purchased for around €40 each. His flock has more than quadrupled over the last three years, a period coinciding with his retirement. The predictable cycle of goat births, following a five-month gestation, continues to mark the passage of time for him. He navigates these challenges despite a partially impaired arm after tendonitis surgery and often operates on very little sleep.
The broader context of Cypriot shepherding is equally concerning. In the village of Mathiatis, a community that once thrived with agricultural activity, only three shepherds remain active. One operates on a fully professional basis, while another, approaching retirement, manages only a minimal number of animals. The third individual is a reclusive figure, unwilling to engage with the public or media. This scarcity is not simply a result of changing personal preferences; it is deeply connected to broader societal shifts that have transformed rural Cyprus. Kasapis believes that the island's accession to the European Union marked a significant turning point. He laments, "Since we joined the EU, it’s all gone," referring to the widespread disappearance of traditional farms and enclosures. The implementation of strict regulations, necessitating licenses and adherence to specific operational standards, has undeniably created formidable obstacles for both new and existing shepherds.
In many ways, the modern shepherd occupies an increasingly overlooked niche. Some observers have described them as akin to "NPCs" – non-player characters – in the larger societal narrative. Their crucial role in preserving traditional landscapes and livelihoods often goes unacknowledged. The demanding nature of the work, combined with the bureaucratic complexities introduced by increased regulation, has evidently discouraged younger generations from entering the profession. As a result, many areas formerly dedicated to farming are now in disrepair or have been completely demolished, visually representing the erosion of these time-honoured occupations. George Kasapis's current involvement with his goats, transforming his late wife's uncle's former enclosure into a space for his hobby, highlights this shift. It is a personal endeavour, a continuation of a legacy in a form that acknowledges present-day realities, rather than a thriving professional pursuit that sustains a community. The declining numbers suggest that without significant support and adaptation, the traditional Cypriot shepherd may soon become a figure relegated to history books and nostalgic memories.