The windswept hills of Cyprus, once echoing with the bleating of countless flocks and the calls of dedicated shepherds, are now eerily quiet. The traditional occupation, deeply interwoven with the island's rural identity, is facing a precipitous decline, with only a handful of individuals remaining committed to the demanding life. This stark reality is perhaps best illustrated by the story of George Kasapis, a 66-year-old former full-time shepherd who, after decades of professional service, has returned to rearing goats as a cherished pastime. His experience, alongside the struggles of the few remaining active shepherds in villages like Mathiatis, paints a poignant picture of a vanishing heritage.
For George Kasapis, the transition from a lifelong vocation to a retirement hobby was born out of necessity and a profound sense of exhaustion. Having dedicated twenty-five years to the forestry department and countless more to tending animals, he found the unrelenting nature of full-time shepherding – a commitment that binds one to the livestock 365 days a year – increasingly untenable. "You’re tied to it," he remarks, encapsulating the unyielding demands of the profession. His return to goat rearing, albeit on a smaller scale and for personal fulfilment, is a testament to his enduring connection with the animals and the land. He has since acquired a modest herd, starting with ten young goats purchased for approximately €40 each, and has seen his numbers more than quadruple over the past three years, a period that coincides with his retirement. The cyclical rhythm of goat births, occurring after a five-month gestation, continues to mark the passage of time for him, even as he navigates the challenges of managing his animals with a partially impaired arm following tendonitis surgery and often operating on minimal sleep.
The broader landscape of Cypriot shepherding is equally concerning. In the village of Mathiatis, a community that once buzzed with agricultural activity, only three shepherds remain. One is a fully professional operator, while another, nearing retirement, manages only a minimal number of animals. The third is a reclusive figure, disinclined to engage with the public or media. This scarcity is not merely a matter of changing personal preferences; it is inextricably linked to systemic shifts that have reshaped rural Cyprus. Kasapis points to the island's accession to the European Union as a watershed moment, lamenting, "Since we joined the EU, it’s all gone," referring to the widespread disappearance of traditional farms and enclosures. The imposition of stringent regulations, requiring licenses and adherence to specific operational standards, has undoubtedly created formidable hurdles for aspiring and existing shepherds alike.
The modern shepherd, in many respects, finds themselves occupying a niche that is increasingly overlooked. They are, as some observers have described them, akin to "NPCs" – non-player characters – in the grander societal narrative, their vital role in preserving traditional landscapes and livelihoods often going unacknowledged. The demanding nature of the work, coupled with the bureaucratic complexities introduced by increased regulation, has evidently deterred younger generations from entering the profession. Consequently, many areas that were once dedicated to farming lie in disrepair or have been entirely demolished, a stark visual representation of the erosion of these time-honoured occupations. George Kasapis's current engagement with his goats, transforming a former enclosure belonging to his late wife's uncle into a space for his hobby, highlights this shift. It is a personal endeavour, a continuation of a legacy in a form that acknowledges the realities of the present, rather than a thriving professional pursuit that sustains a community. The dwindling numbers suggest that unless significant support and adaptation occur, the traditional Cypriot shepherd may soon become a figure confined to history books and nostalgic recollections.