Our roots are our history, our language, our customs, our culture. If you deny your roots, you will be like that tree with superficial roots that a strong wind will knock down. The complete person has self-awareness. If you don't know who you are, you will be like a tree in the desert, without water, without memory, without a future in the end.
The first generation Pontians could never forget the "homeland". My grandmother, until her death at the age of 97, always had the longing to see the "sacred lands" even once, like another Odysseus, even if she died afterwards. Our parents' generation was born here in the new homeland, they had different visions and goals: to take root, to excel, to survive. Many of them became immigrants, since the new homeland treated them as a stepmother and not as a mother. The third generation, which grew up with the stories of their grandmothers, carries this homeland in their cells and is the generation that attempts to return to their roots.
Weary, victims of genocide, after journeys of death, they came and settled in a plateau of Western Macedonia, in their new homeland, a village inhabited by Muslims, who left it with the exchange. Pontians settled in Chaidari, most of whom had a common origin. The places of origin were Kiob-Tepes of Epe, Altinoglu Tsifliki of Sevasteia, a few families from Hamouri of Trabzon, Incesu of Tokat, Endirek and a few families from Atapazar.
They took root in their new homeland and with steel and iron hands they looked forward, but never forgetting who they were and where they came from.