• The local time in Ixnay is
The imposing savannah of southern Recepistan slowly slips away as our boat heads for a small plateau jutting out from the depths of Sydona Sea. On board a group of 13 people make a visit to the country's southmost frontier: Çiçef Isle

It seemed a smooth journey on this hot summer day. But soon gusts of wind lash the sea into a fury, causing the boat to bob like a cork. Feeling sick, recalling historic accounts of the first Arab arrivals on this very area, who experienced violent storms in these waters centuries ago likewise the Istroyans before them. At a time when Çiçef was known as Istion . Cursed as many ships crashed unto its shores. At last their destination unravels, a rocky outcrop with cliffs plunging into the sea. Relatively flat, about only 300 meters high, with no defining peaks. Thick growths of pine trees and scrub cover most of this island of roughly 20 square kilometers. In some areas, coastal junipers go right down to the shores.

This island is no place of tourism, as mere half-a-hundred people living here; slowly but steadily bypassed by modern civilization. Though freighters and tankers often sail by its coasts, the island has only an infrequent ferry connection with the mainland, often delayed or canceled because of bad weather. Bad memories reek the island, there were times housing tens of thousands here - condemned souls describing their place of torment as " a barren island rightfully called the island of death. Good only at breeeding deadly scorpions, a place where many . . . died of starvation, privations and diseases ". Famous anarchist-nationalist Orhan Bozkırcıyan was exiled on this island, fishing unto the open seas for food and preached about an early concept of the minarchist ideological framework carried out later on by his disciples in Pomeralia.

The 13 youngsters weren't just any kind of cheerful visitors or fanatic disciples making some vacational pilgrimage. They docked to offer hope, uplifting the locals by providing healthy energy even if temporarily. Eager to get ashore, their pale faces betraying their uneasiness over the sea journey, some came from the cities or the mountainous regions facing such a place for the first time of their lives. The price of adulthood.

The locals friendly and hospitable. Inviting them into their homes, urging them to take a nap to compensate for their 6 hour long journey. Offering coffee as a refreshment to perk them nicely. Eager to offer their help, an electrician in the group notices a broken appliance in a woman's place of business and offers to fix it. The woman is touched, personally sending a letter of commendation. Another woman expresses her appreciation and says, “Your work is from the Most Merciful, not from men, and this is obvious because you came to our home. We thank Yahweh for your arrival.”

A very old man, asks their help showing them a building on sorry state. Atop it's entry, there is clear inscription: The tetragrammaton, house of YHWH in Samaritan inscription. The yeshiva in the group dare not saying the name, respecting the customs. Maybe their mission was holy, maybe not but nevertheless they came to serve the people of this island part of Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC originally was created post civil war work relief program but later transformed into a mandatory conscripted civil service organization; the only of its kind as Recepistan is the only country in the world keeping a solely civil service mandatory conscription program with virtually no exceptions. The mission of the CCC is to dedicate a small amount of time(six months) of their lives into serving society helping frontier regions with undermanned services in a more cheap manner.

3 months into their service another group of 25 people came to reinforce with manpower to assist in various sub-projects around the island and more yeshivas helping building the mikveh and the rest of the temple. Statues were cleaned, road holes closed, dock piers fixed, trees planted and sea turtle breeding grounds taken care off. Before they even know their time was over, rebuilding the synagogue in time; celebrating Yom Ashura(Samaritans and Muslims celebrate Yom Kippur together in Recepistan) chanting their prays quietly into the cool breezing night. God's light can come to most strangest of places, indeed there was a wisdom in that. The traditional delicious Recepi homemade preserves of quince and other fruits served with a rehydrating glass of water reminded so much of home.

It seemed like a dream so long ago, exhausted as uneasy feet stand unto dry land in midnight. The stars so bright, they would not forget the hardship experienced. All in the group agree that the effort was well worth it. Such memories of this trip will remain indelibly embedded in our hearts.
 

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