Stavro Andrioti

My name is Stavro. I was 16 years old the day I went out with my friends but never returned. I was studying to complete my Brevet. I hated history, but my mom would help me study by reading the lesson in the form of a story so that dry historical events become easier to remember. I was really good at maths though. I wanted to become an electrical engineer.

I had a younger brother who had died when our balcony was accidentally hit by a shell a few years before. I was a big support for my mother Maggie after his death, yet the war continued to ravage my family.

On July 7th 1978, I left my house in Sid El Bauchrieh, with my friends to spend some time with one of them before he left for the USA. We all hopped into one car and went to grab a drink in Fanar to say our goodbyes, but we never made it there. Eyewitnesses say that a yellow car stopped and two armed men stepped out and forced four young boys to go with them. My family believed this to be me and my three friends especially when someone described one of the boys as being tall, with blonde hair and wearing a blue shirt.

My mother spent years going to detention centers across the country and in Syria to find any information about me. She never received any answers.

Today, she lost all hope that I would return alive. All she wants is a trace of my remains back, so that she can bury me properly and have a place where she can go to mourn and be with me.

My name is Stavro Andrioti. Do not let my story end here.