Chapter 1
'Follow the crowd'
'Finally I am here!'
'Me voici donc en Allemagne!'
The first thought that ran through my mind as small well-ordered houses appear through the clouds. I wonder when I slept! I was so excited when the plane took off, I could barely breath. I promptly lost all the enthusiasm when the first wave of turbulence hit - no one had informed me how frightful they would be. I wonder why humanity hasn't yet figured out a way of just building roads to all these places, eh ? I swore under my breath I would never get into one of these things ever again - let me just arrive my destination this time in one piece I prayed. I was quite sure the adrenaline in my body was enough to make me stay wide-eyed the whole way to Berlin! I guess my body just got tired and gave way. But looking through the window past the grumpy, snoring white man with the dirty white collar (I overheard him on the phone earlier, talking in really jaw-breaking Deutsch), I could sense the spine tickling giddiness creeping back. Ah! The air was indeed bluer out here compared to dusty, sunny Cameroon. This is bush! I am 'falling bush'! (Seems like I had to repeat this to myself every other time to believe it!). I once more explored my surroundings; Mostly white people who boarded the plane on all the two transit stops - through Malabo (oil men) and Zurich. I hear the announcement made again about touch down and the perfectly efficient hostess comes over and signals to my seat belt. Chai! These women keep smiling - don't their jaws get tired? And how come no one else in here sees how fake the smiles seem to be ? Either way my mind drifts to landing... I can only imagine the face of Nanga...oh, I can't wait to see her at the airport. I hope she's there....its been quite long since I saw her. Ever since the first year at the University of Yaounde when she left for further studies. Its been 3 years, but it seems like forever...
My thoughts are interrupted by the planes descent and loud sounds from the engine as we touch down!
I am nervous...really nervous.
I carried my bag out of the plane, and down a long winding walkway, with everyone hurrying along as if they were late for church. I could barely keep up. Why is everyone here in such a hurry? No smiles? No acknowledgement or greetings? Did someone die ?
The customs and immigration stop is smoother than I thought it would be -'Ich bin eine studenten' I say in my most rehearsed German. The non-smiling agent looks through my newly minted passport with an unconcealed dose of doubt. He is obviously not impressed with my attempt at relating in German - (I am slightly annoyed at this, 'the language is not even nice' I pout in silence). But then, he couldn't find any hint of foul play and handed my documents back to me. I followed the crowds once more till I saw 'luggage', with an arrow pointing downward, then I froze!
Escalators!
Now these things aren't as friendly to movement as they are supposed to be, especially for the uninitiated - and I was as uninitiated as they come. Whatever happened to good old non-moving steps? Go up , come down steps? Now I had to prepare myself to take the right step so that I didn't over shoot, compensate and fall over. The horror stories I heard from Nanga and Tebo about their struggles in using these things didn't make matters any better. I slowed down for a little bit just so I could catch a quick glance at how the rest of those ahead of me did it. I felt unusually hot! Beads of sweat were forming on my shiny nose, and I was worried everyone else could see I was different. Duh! I was black I know, and coming from Africa too but hey, I was told to 'blend in' , whatever that meant. I was apparently not doing a good job of it right about now, from the stares being shot my way. As I neared the steps I couldn't figure out how all these people just climbed up and down with no care in the world without tumbling over. I put a tentative foot forward as i was suddenly jerked downward. I grabbed violently for the escalator handles, and even these were moving. I was on- barely, and it took me a minute to steady myself. On the opposite escalator going upward, I could see some old woman with a very disapproving look on her face! Whew, I survived! I have barely made it into Dresden proper and I already have a story to tell! This is going to be quite an adventure. I pick up my two very heavy bags and head for the exit. One more check and I am in! I cant help but notice how the police constantly glance my way - this is making me uneasy, and then my unease is showing ,and I am sure that only makes me look even more suspicious. 'Calm down! Pull your bags and "follow the crowd"'Nanga had said.
I collect my hand luggage and head out. Then I remember the rule of thumb she had advised me on my last call yesterday 'when you do not know what to do, follow the crowd; that's what everybody else does'. So I followed.
There she was!
Not one piece of hair out of place. I would say 'vision of loveliness' , but that would be a gross understatement. Then she makes eye contact and I can see the excitement on her face as she races towards me. I try to contain my excitement and be all cool , but I am jumping hoops inside! I embrace her so hard, and can barely breath. She smells so good, just like she always has. Her ebony skin is so 'chocolaty' it seems someone polished her.She seems to have grown a little more light-skinned; I guess Germany has that effect on black skin. I seem to hold onto her for like forever through all those layers of clothes and jackets. Then I see two other black people walking our way and I figure they are with her. I release and just look around.
'You've grown' Nanga says in her usual teasing manner.
'You've not' comes my usual sarcastic reply, as we both smile at each other.
'This is Abdul, and Ngozi; my friends at school. We live together'
'Nice to meet you'.
'Ol boy, how far ? Wetin di happen', Abdul says with a broad smile on his lean and streamlined face,with a very fit physique, exactly what you'd expect from a typical Hausa guy.
'I dey, nothing dey happen', I say back as is the usual greeting.
We exchange shoulder hugs as most African guys have been doing for a while ( blame hip-hop videos on Channel O). I smile at Ngozi and hug her as well. Ngozi is one specimen of a girl. Quite curvy yet not plump. Has a very good sense of style without being too overt. Her jeans and tank top fit her to perfection. She instantly makes me a little self-conscious about my slightly larger-than-appropriate-size blue shirt. She has the whitest set of teeth I have seen! A disarming beauty who doesn't seem too preoccupied with it . She seems to have that air of someone who knows where they are from, and where they are headed - I wont mind following her to wherever she is going...my thoughts start to linger.
'We are going to be late for the next S-Bahn Nanga!' Ngozi offers, as she grabs one of my bags and Abdul takes the other, and they start to race towards the exit. Nanga follows right behind them, and i join the race. This rather seems normal here--no one seems to mind! We head for the 'Ausgang' into a tunnel-like corridor which seems to take us towards a direction of increasing train screeching noises. We climb the stairs unto the platform and race for the train as we see the conductor just about step in. The doors close just as we reach them, and the conductor looks at us with a satisfied snare as the train pulls out of the platform. I wonder why she looked so content ? We stood catching out breath, as we waited for the next one, coming in 45 minutes the schedule on the steel support beam indicated. I looked at the time and it was just a minute past the time for the previous train.
'So we missed it by just a minute ? And the conductor couldn't stop?' I asked.
There was a knowing smile on all three faces , and of course Nanga couldn't resist as she gave me my first lesson in German time-keeping - '1p.m here means 1p.m. Not 2 minutes past, not one minute before. If you have an appointment and they tell you to arrive on time, they mean it. There is no African time here', she concluded emphatically, fully satisfied with her first teaching performance. It was always like that with her, a good heart she has, but she never shrugs from the compliments or limelight that come with being smart and knowing. Lets just say humility wasnt a strong trait. It was that same trait of always wanting to know in order to always be the person who knows' that drew me to her in the first place in Ngoakele (University of Yaounde). I digress.
Now, the concept of 'African time' generally needs some explaining to the uninitiated. the general principles state that the time for an appointment or start time for any activity is quite fluid, depending on the circumstances, and persons involved For example, if it is a ceremony with an important guest of honour, then start time is not what is on the agenda, but whenever such a dignitary shows up; but church time is usually prompt as advertised (no playing with God's time)! If it is a bus departure timetable (long distance), the start time is when the bus driver has succeeded in filling up his bus with passengers. If it is an african party, then start time is generally not the time on the program, but the the time when the organiser determines that there is a good enough number of people for the party not to look to sparse or unattended, and even achieving this threshold of invitees generally is a problem. This needs another level of explanation. Now, because most West Africans like to be the person who the others look on as they arrive at the party in order for them to show off their appearance (their own little 'red carpet' of sorts), they tend to want to come a little bit late, when other guests are already seated (maybe due a lack of red carpet opportunities in the motherland or something). It is appropriately termed 'the entry'. Problem is, everyone is clued in! They all want that 'the entry' experience!. As a consequence no one shows up anywhere close to the actual start time for any ceremony. I have been at parties that started 4 hours after the scheduled start time! You get the drift. This was going to be new to me! But I was up for it, and I actually felt happy, because I had always liked the idea of people keeping time, but probably because I was also not the most patient person on earth.
The next train finally comes, and we settle in. The train pull out and soon enough we are out of the airport, and for the first time I am able to see Berlin in all its splendour. Beautifully organised buildings of all shapes, which manage to stay in straight columns of concrete. Amazing architecture as we go past Potsdamer Platz, and head out West. Its clean, its spring, and you know it. The lawns on the houses are mowed, the houses are so organised, and nothing seems to be out of place. Its spring here, and the neatly planted and arranged vegetation is easy on the eye. Signs and directions in a uniform green and white, people scuttling by quite fast as the train moves on. The flowers are blooming. Swaying with such unison you would think they had been part of a gospel choir. I am truly enthralled. Douala has nothing but chaos, and this is the direct opposite of that. 'This, my friend , is 'bush'," I think to myself. Obviously, the guy who came up with the proverb about the grass always seeming greener over the fence definitely wasn't from Africa, because this grass here is indeed definitely was greener, and the air bluer! I was fascinated at the order- a little too much of it... almost unsettling. Even the houses from one neighbourhood to the other looked exactly the same! How did they tell their houses from the neighbours' at night ?
My revelry is broken by Ngozi who wants to know about my journey, and all the other details about Cameroon and Africa which she seems quite interested in. I begrugingly indulge her need for conversation, as I was more interested in soaking in all the scenery and order and cleanliness which was on display as the landscaped swept by from small towns to rows of trees to even smaller towns as the train passed by. Chai! The West was so organised that even the trees in the bush were of the same height and type! They all look planted; acres and acres of them. No wonder these people are the most advanced race on earth; they got even their forests figured out!
Ngozi and Nanga kept the questions coming; how is the food back home? What did I bring ? Is garri included ? Eru ? Dried fish? Who had accompanied me to the airport ? Did I cry ? I think I absentmindedly answered all the questions in the affirmative and they seemed quite satisfied and excited.
We arrived Cottbus, our final destination, sometime just before dusk, and the sun was setting with a warm glow in the horizon. I had seen the sun set before,but somehow this sun seemed a little more golden. The whole day; sites and sounds of the West, had been surreal to me - so these things we saw on TV actually existed! I was impressed with the West. Day one couldnt have been better. couldnt wait for the rest of my life in this place. As we walked to the student quarters from the bus stop, we made small-talk with Abdul asking what we were going to prepare first from the Afro-goodies I had brought with me. I had never seen people this exited about eru and garri before. It seemed even more surprising to me given all the food they had out here. I couldnt wait to indulge in the excess beef and chicken Nanga had been telling me about, which was not only quite cheap here but the staple. I was told I will be living with Abdul , as Ngozi and Nanga were already roommates. This was quite fine by me, as they lived right across the hall. The room was a little disappointing I have to say. Much smaller than I had imagined,and the corridor seemed to reek of cat piss.The rooms were a simple rectangular shaped space , just enough to fit two small beds, a reading table a couch as old as the worn out brown carpet on the floor, and close to the door, a very small cooking stove and fridge. A small door opened into the adjoining bathroom which we were to share with the next door kids. A positively ridiculous design I thought to myself, why they would situate the kitchen next to the toilet and bathroom. While Abdul helped me set up, the ladies, who had invaded my luggage immediately we got in to get the food out, had gone to their room to make dinner for all of us. We could get the aroma right across the hall, and it seemed to attract more and more africans out of the woodwork. They all came to say hi and welcome,but decided to hang around just long enough to be offered some of the food by a humming Nanga - she always seemed to hum unrecognisable music whenever food was around. She seemed prepared for this, as she has prepared more food than a small rebel army could possibly eat in one setting. African hospitality, I was happy to see, extended even out in the West. The rest of the night was spent eating,drinking and reminiscing about the past - our days at the university in Cameroon - some of their more fascinating stories about life in Germany, which i listened with alot of fascination. Abdul was quite the chatter box after a few cans of Stella beer. He went on and on about life in Ahmadou Belo university in Nigeria and something about his popularity in those days. I couldn't wait to get out there and start building my own 'bush' stories , but unfortunately, the excitement of the day was taking its toll and I wading into and out of consciousness. We finally called it a day and retired to our room. I lay in bed replaying the whole day in my mind. Surreal was the one word for the whole experience. I went to sleep thinking to myself 'Goodbye to dusty roads and fufu corn; goodbye to general chaos and joblessness; hello! to organised forests and similar everything; hello to beefy hopes and cheesy chicken burgers!'.
Morning arrived too soon.
I felt like a 20 tonne truck had run over me. I was a little woozy from the journey since i couldnt sleep till 3 am last night. and the sunlight was already piercing through the window covers, displaying patterns of alternate black and white lines on my bed.The room was hot! Like Duala-hot! I thought I had left this sun behind at the equator ? What kind of bad luck is this? I checked my watch and it was already noon. Abdul seemed a little more prepared for this than I was. He had no shirt on, neither did he sleep with any covers.but his gentle effortless snore told me he was not about to wake up anytime soon. I guess German beer held up to its reputation of knocking people out.
I drag myself to the bathroom and after fumbling for a while, I finally get the hotwater-cold water balance in the shower and get a good bath. I wonder what my grandmother will say if she saw me bathing hot water on a hot day; ' Your skin will get twisted and wrinkled like those yellowpeople. That is why they get so old and so ugly so fast!' I could imagine her say disapprovingly. I had my doubts on the scientific veracity of that claim, but figured I might as well enjoy myself in the now. I got dressed and headed for the Nanga's room. I didnt know if they were in, but I was as hungry as a Lion in the barren dry months in the Okavango basin. I needed to find food, and a cursory look around the room revealed a dearth in anything edible.
Nanga had gone for a class, but Ngozi was home, and she flashed a welcoming smile.
'Just-come, how far?'
'I dey. Hungry go kill me', I said with a laconic smile.
'Abeg come chop, sha!'
I sat down on the bed and flipped through the channels as she busied herself somewhere at the kitchen area. Had I mentioned she was beautiful ? That was an understatement. I could swear I had never seen a more beautiful ebony-skinned African. She had PP - proper proportions!. Not like the more skinny ladies I was seeing on TV as I flipped through, who were the stars in the west. This one was a real african queen. A backside only upstaged by her voluptuous bosom. Yet she had an alacrity and an efficient feel as she warmed food for me, you could see she was no stranger to exercise and hard work. And somehow, her clothes always fit. Even now , when she was wearing a some sweat pants and a tshirt, you could still make out her shape, and everything about it was nice. I quickly realised this girl was going to be my first impediment towards my academic goals here in Germany if she continued smiling at me the way she did everytime. I made a mental note not to come over too often. Plus, I still had unresolved issues with Nanga. She was my girlfriend back in the day, when love was pure and there were no complications of adulthood. Our idea of a date was hitting a mami achombo in the local neighbourhood of Bonamoussadi ( a local restaurant usually around student quarters which typically had only one item on the menu -puffballs and beans). These eating houses comprised of makeshift rusted zinc stalls with benches for seats and questionable hygiene practices. An inclusion of meat in the meal was considered quite ostentatious by student standards, and happened only on nights when I was feeling particularly loaded with money. Otherwise, on the usual days, the conversation went somewhat like this for almost every body who came to her stall
The restaurateur would usually ask, 'achombo for how much?'
'5 puff-puff with beans for cinquant francs mami', would come the usual reply or a slight variation of the puff puff to beans ratio.
'With meat ?'
'At your own risk oh!'
This was the indication to the seller that the particular buyer was not solvent enough to pay for meat on the day, and if she went ahead and put any pieces of meat in the food, it was considered a philanthropic addition with no intention of payment. Needless to say, this kind of 'philanthropy of hope' scarcely ever materialised.
But when she came to Germany for further studies and I was stuck in Cameroon, we soon realised the long distance was unsustainable, especially without any serious commitment having been made. She had dated other people, and so had I, though we still kept in touch. When I told her I had finally acquired a visa to come study Electromechanical engineering, there was a mutual undisguised eagerness to meet and or rekindle our romance; but there were no guarantees, just probabilities. But with Ngozi in the picture, even those probabilities might be downgraded to possibilities.
As we ate and discussed about studying out here versus studying back at home, I became keenly aware of how focused and directed she was. She knew why she was doing a graduate degree in environmental management, how much she wanted to earn, what kind of man she wanted to marry, and the colour of the BMW she was going to drive! Oh, and not to forget the recycling business in Nigeria by 2014. Whew. I was both impresses and slightly intimidated;but more impressed than intimidated. Good thing was, she didnt seem to be depending on anyone for the things she wanted. A dangerous combo - an independent hardworking girl with a plan! I think I just found my wife! I had angels singing in my head when I sensed she was impressed about my course of study. She then told me that I was the only african she knew who was taking that course as a major, given that most of the others only did Enviromental sciences which was taught in English.
'How good my German?' she asked curiously.
' Not so good as to run for political office, but good enough to sustain a conversation.' I said in German. She laughed a laugh that reminded me of a nice cocoyam steeped in red oil; yellow and sunny!
'Do you have a girlfriend ?' she asked with her eyes fixed on me.
'Uh... no!' I stuttered defensively, more from being totally taken aback, than from guilt.
This girl doesnt pull any punches, does she? I can now see why she is friends with Nanga. They are cut from the same cloth. She smiled and immediately started talking about how easy her course was, and how she felt the standards or demands of education here were so much lower than those in Nigeria. I nodded and feigned amazement and amusement at regular intervals, in order to hide my total ignorance on the subject at hand.Our conversation easily shifted to the things I needed to do to get settled, including registering at the Rathaus, purchase health insurance, and also get my personal room key from the Hausemiester. By the time we finished eating, Nanga had come back and joined in the stories and discussions.It was easy to see why the two were friends. They went at it from one topic to the other, shouting and exchanging both witting and dump remarks in equal measure. You could see they both were smart and fun-loving. Nanga was a little more on the materialistic end as she talked more from a place of her 'deserving' this and that as opposed to Ngozi who was more a 'go-getter' without waiting or assuming any handouts from anyone.Furthermore, from their clothes, you could see that Nanga had the more expensive outfits, but Ngozi was no slouch either. She wore her clothes and not the other way round. Just the thought of that mental comparison i was now making, drew my attention. It was the first time ever, that I had compared anyone favourably to Nanga. Not that there were no more beautiful girls in the world, but in 'my world', she scored high marks and graduated summa cum laude! But here I was mentally lusting over someone I had barely known for more than twenty four hours. I sure had problems. This dwelling in my head had to stop.
Ngozi had put on a Nigeria movie as I later learnt was their usual custom after a day of school. A way for them to touch base with Africa and its unique intricacies which they say they couldnt get from the Western movies shown on TV. By the time the movie had progressed 10 minutes, I was already losing interest due to the number of editing mistakes and outlandish acting that was packed right at the beginning of the movie. I wonder why women like these movies so much ? My mom was a religious follower of these Nigerian home videos and would defend their quality and authenticity to death, talking about how they always carried a 'message'. I always retorted that if i needed a message, i went to church. Movies for me were entertainment, period. If you couldnt entertain to a good standard, you were supposed to stop making movies. The ladies were gripped by a scene in which some police officers who were chasing an allegedly fugitive, cornered him in an abandoned building.
' This is the Nigerian special branch police, come out! you are surrounded', the policeman said. You could clearly see they were standing infront of the house with no possibility of surrounding it since it had a thick bush behind it.
'Who are you ?', was the reply from the fugitive holed up in the house, as if the police had been speaking in a different dialect, not to talk of the fact that they had literally chased him into hiding!
'The Nigerian police special branch. You have been cornered'. I thought the last statement was obvious given that they had him hiding in a house? I also wondered whether all police were this polite in repeating themselves and their introductions. This was a good example of human rights etiquette for criminals in a developing country. Annan would be proud.
'Why are you here ? the fugitive asked seriously
'You are under arrest for human trafficking'
' Come and catch me then', the fugitive says in a hysterical growl.
The special forces have their hands over their heads holding their guns, with their arms obstructing their view at the same time! I ask myself how stupid you could be to be a police officer in a standoff and having your gun pointed skywards instead of towards your target. Then a melee broke out and there is some shooting and smoke. A pity the impressive looking guns the police are wielding sound like firecrackers. I expected something more imposing in sound, as you would see from the real western movies. Somehow, the police manage to shoot the fugitive. Thing is, the fugitive cries out and falls to the ground before the sound of the gun follows. Then the tomato prop on his chest suddenly bursts open to reveal his 'blood'. Really ? You would think that that sequence of events was supposed to have been opposite to be realistic,but I seemed to be the only person who found anything wrong with the scene, as the girls were all excited and animated at the spectacular action movie they were watching. For fear of spoiling their fun with my cynicism, I left and went back to my room where Abdul was still in the same position I had left him five hours earlier. He didnt seem like he was going anywhere anytime soon.
I was bored, and had not stepped out of the student hostel or Wohnheim, and hence decided to get my first glimpse of my surroundings. I figured I might as well hurry up and look around the block before things went dark. It was almost 7pm but the sun was not about to cede its position to darkness any time soon. I walked around the clean but nondescript apartment buildings, noticing the straight lines in which all the buildings were built, and the fact that all the trash cans were in exactly the same location from block to block. It didnt take long for me to realise a change in the people I passed along the way, as I went further and further away from the University campus. The smiles and air of camaraderie seemed to fade with every block I crossed. Fewer and fewer people acknowledged my 'Wie gehts' greeting, and even less smiled back. I also noticed the buildings had taken on a decidedly desolate and macabre feel, like no one inhabited them. No children playing outside, no adhoc football games by teens like I was used to in Cameroon, no nothing. I checked my watch and found out the sun had been decieving me! It was about 9pm now, and it still shone like daytime. I started to retrace my steps and got even more conscious as I was recieving unhappy stares and snares from the old people I passed on the road, and some teenagers were shouting something towards me from far off - some word with a 'sch' sound in it, and it seemed they expected me to do something in return. So I waved back and smiled! That was apparently not the reaction they expected because they froze and looked on in surprise as I continued heading back, but with decidedly larger step and quicker steps. I couldnt find anything but tarmac and ground. Grey buildings, grey sidewalks, grey everything. I was happy to finally see some of the University buildings, and blooming flowers in front of the building that proudly said 'Technische Universitat, Dresden'. Just my ability to read it aloud in proper diction warmed my heart a little, given the confusing set of sights and sounds I had just witnessed. I loved the ordered beauty of everything, but I was a little concerned with the bland predictability from block to block. Even more disturbing were the people, but I banished this to my imagination. Upon returning to the room, I recounted to Abdul what I had seen and sensed. He had this very knowing smile on his face and warned me in no uncertain terms never to wander too far away from the campus alone. He made me understand we were in a part of Germany which was not very racially tolerant, and giggled when I recounted my encounter with the young boys.
' Kaiwalai.. I can totally see why they were confused', he said as he laughed heartily.
I asked him to explain.
'The word you didnt heard--well, it was 'schwartz' - black ', he said, with a more serious look on his face.
'They were trying to insult you for being black, but you evidently didnt mind at all from the look of it', he said dryly.
We met up with the ladies for dinner--it was Ndole on the menu, and Abdul was as excited as a male peacock in the mating season because he finally could eat the sauce with pounded yam, a particular delicacy he hadnt had for a long time. As the night wound down, I reminisced about my day and convinced myself that no matter what gets thrown at me out here, I was going to make the best out of this place --racist or no racist. I had come too far away from the sweet cooking of my mother, to be cowered by snares from old women and delinquent teens. Nothing was going to stop me. Nothing!
'Follow the crowd'
'Finally I am here!'
'Me voici donc en Allemagne!'
The first thought that ran through my mind as small well-ordered houses appear through the clouds. I wonder when I slept! I was so excited when the plane took off, I could barely breath. I promptly lost all the enthusiasm when the first wave of turbulence hit - no one had informed me how frightful they would be. I wonder why humanity hasn't yet figured out a way of just building roads to all these places, eh ? I swore under my breath I would never get into one of these things ever again - let me just arrive my destination this time in one piece I prayed. I was quite sure the adrenaline in my body was enough to make me stay wide-eyed the whole way to Berlin! I guess my body just got tired and gave way. But looking through the window past the grumpy, snoring white man with the dirty white collar (I overheard him on the phone earlier, talking in really jaw-breaking Deutsch), I could sense the spine tickling giddiness creeping back. Ah! The air was indeed bluer out here compared to dusty, sunny Cameroon. This is bush! I am 'falling bush'! (Seems like I had to repeat this to myself every other time to believe it!). I once more explored my surroundings; Mostly white people who boarded the plane on all the two transit stops - through Malabo (oil men) and Zurich. I hear the announcement made again about touch down and the perfectly efficient hostess comes over and signals to my seat belt. Chai! These women keep smiling - don't their jaws get tired? And how come no one else in here sees how fake the smiles seem to be ? Either way my mind drifts to landing... I can only imagine the face of Nanga...oh, I can't wait to see her at the airport. I hope she's there....its been quite long since I saw her. Ever since the first year at the University of Yaounde when she left for further studies. Its been 3 years, but it seems like forever...
My thoughts are interrupted by the planes descent and loud sounds from the engine as we touch down!
I am nervous...really nervous.
I carried my bag out of the plane, and down a long winding walkway, with everyone hurrying along as if they were late for church. I could barely keep up. Why is everyone here in such a hurry? No smiles? No acknowledgement or greetings? Did someone die ?
The customs and immigration stop is smoother than I thought it would be -'Ich bin eine studenten' I say in my most rehearsed German. The non-smiling agent looks through my newly minted passport with an unconcealed dose of doubt. He is obviously not impressed with my attempt at relating in German - (I am slightly annoyed at this, 'the language is not even nice' I pout in silence). But then, he couldn't find any hint of foul play and handed my documents back to me. I followed the crowds once more till I saw 'luggage', with an arrow pointing downward, then I froze!
Escalators!
Now these things aren't as friendly to movement as they are supposed to be, especially for the uninitiated - and I was as uninitiated as they come. Whatever happened to good old non-moving steps? Go up , come down steps? Now I had to prepare myself to take the right step so that I didn't over shoot, compensate and fall over. The horror stories I heard from Nanga and Tebo about their struggles in using these things didn't make matters any better. I slowed down for a little bit just so I could catch a quick glance at how the rest of those ahead of me did it. I felt unusually hot! Beads of sweat were forming on my shiny nose, and I was worried everyone else could see I was different. Duh! I was black I know, and coming from Africa too but hey, I was told to 'blend in' , whatever that meant. I was apparently not doing a good job of it right about now, from the stares being shot my way. As I neared the steps I couldn't figure out how all these people just climbed up and down with no care in the world without tumbling over. I put a tentative foot forward as i was suddenly jerked downward. I grabbed violently for the escalator handles, and even these were moving. I was on- barely, and it took me a minute to steady myself. On the opposite escalator going upward, I could see some old woman with a very disapproving look on her face! Whew, I survived! I have barely made it into Dresden proper and I already have a story to tell! This is going to be quite an adventure. I pick up my two very heavy bags and head for the exit. One more check and I am in! I cant help but notice how the police constantly glance my way - this is making me uneasy, and then my unease is showing ,and I am sure that only makes me look even more suspicious. 'Calm down! Pull your bags and "follow the crowd"'Nanga had said.
I collect my hand luggage and head out. Then I remember the rule of thumb she had advised me on my last call yesterday 'when you do not know what to do, follow the crowd; that's what everybody else does'. So I followed.
There she was!
Not one piece of hair out of place. I would say 'vision of loveliness' , but that would be a gross understatement. Then she makes eye contact and I can see the excitement on her face as she races towards me. I try to contain my excitement and be all cool , but I am jumping hoops inside! I embrace her so hard, and can barely breath. She smells so good, just like she always has. Her ebony skin is so 'chocolaty' it seems someone polished her.She seems to have grown a little more light-skinned; I guess Germany has that effect on black skin. I seem to hold onto her for like forever through all those layers of clothes and jackets. Then I see two other black people walking our way and I figure they are with her. I release and just look around.
'You've grown' Nanga says in her usual teasing manner.
'You've not' comes my usual sarcastic reply, as we both smile at each other.
'This is Abdul, and Ngozi; my friends at school. We live together'
'Nice to meet you'.
'Ol boy, how far ? Wetin di happen', Abdul says with a broad smile on his lean and streamlined face,with a very fit physique, exactly what you'd expect from a typical Hausa guy.
'I dey, nothing dey happen', I say back as is the usual greeting.
We exchange shoulder hugs as most African guys have been doing for a while ( blame hip-hop videos on Channel O). I smile at Ngozi and hug her as well. Ngozi is one specimen of a girl. Quite curvy yet not plump. Has a very good sense of style without being too overt. Her jeans and tank top fit her to perfection. She instantly makes me a little self-conscious about my slightly larger-than-appropriate-size blue shirt. She has the whitest set of teeth I have seen! A disarming beauty who doesn't seem too preoccupied with it . She seems to have that air of someone who knows where they are from, and where they are headed - I wont mind following her to wherever she is going...my thoughts start to linger.
'We are going to be late for the next S-Bahn Nanga!' Ngozi offers, as she grabs one of my bags and Abdul takes the other, and they start to race towards the exit. Nanga follows right behind them, and i join the race. This rather seems normal here--no one seems to mind! We head for the 'Ausgang' into a tunnel-like corridor which seems to take us towards a direction of increasing train screeching noises. We climb the stairs unto the platform and race for the train as we see the conductor just about step in. The doors close just as we reach them, and the conductor looks at us with a satisfied snare as the train pulls out of the platform. I wonder why she looked so content ? We stood catching out breath, as we waited for the next one, coming in 45 minutes the schedule on the steel support beam indicated. I looked at the time and it was just a minute past the time for the previous train.
'So we missed it by just a minute ? And the conductor couldn't stop?' I asked.
There was a knowing smile on all three faces , and of course Nanga couldn't resist as she gave me my first lesson in German time-keeping - '1p.m here means 1p.m. Not 2 minutes past, not one minute before. If you have an appointment and they tell you to arrive on time, they mean it. There is no African time here', she concluded emphatically, fully satisfied with her first teaching performance. It was always like that with her, a good heart she has, but she never shrugs from the compliments or limelight that come with being smart and knowing. Lets just say humility wasnt a strong trait. It was that same trait of always wanting to know in order to always be the person who knows' that drew me to her in the first place in Ngoakele (University of Yaounde). I digress.
Now, the concept of 'African time' generally needs some explaining to the uninitiated. the general principles state that the time for an appointment or start time for any activity is quite fluid, depending on the circumstances, and persons involved For example, if it is a ceremony with an important guest of honour, then start time is not what is on the agenda, but whenever such a dignitary shows up; but church time is usually prompt as advertised (no playing with God's time)! If it is a bus departure timetable (long distance), the start time is when the bus driver has succeeded in filling up his bus with passengers. If it is an african party, then start time is generally not the time on the program, but the the time when the organiser determines that there is a good enough number of people for the party not to look to sparse or unattended, and even achieving this threshold of invitees generally is a problem. This needs another level of explanation. Now, because most West Africans like to be the person who the others look on as they arrive at the party in order for them to show off their appearance (their own little 'red carpet' of sorts), they tend to want to come a little bit late, when other guests are already seated (maybe due a lack of red carpet opportunities in the motherland or something). It is appropriately termed 'the entry'. Problem is, everyone is clued in! They all want that 'the entry' experience!. As a consequence no one shows up anywhere close to the actual start time for any ceremony. I have been at parties that started 4 hours after the scheduled start time! You get the drift. This was going to be new to me! But I was up for it, and I actually felt happy, because I had always liked the idea of people keeping time, but probably because I was also not the most patient person on earth.
The next train finally comes, and we settle in. The train pull out and soon enough we are out of the airport, and for the first time I am able to see Berlin in all its splendour. Beautifully organised buildings of all shapes, which manage to stay in straight columns of concrete. Amazing architecture as we go past Potsdamer Platz, and head out West. Its clean, its spring, and you know it. The lawns on the houses are mowed, the houses are so organised, and nothing seems to be out of place. Its spring here, and the neatly planted and arranged vegetation is easy on the eye. Signs and directions in a uniform green and white, people scuttling by quite fast as the train moves on. The flowers are blooming. Swaying with such unison you would think they had been part of a gospel choir. I am truly enthralled. Douala has nothing but chaos, and this is the direct opposite of that. 'This, my friend , is 'bush'," I think to myself. Obviously, the guy who came up with the proverb about the grass always seeming greener over the fence definitely wasn't from Africa, because this grass here is indeed definitely was greener, and the air bluer! I was fascinated at the order- a little too much of it... almost unsettling. Even the houses from one neighbourhood to the other looked exactly the same! How did they tell their houses from the neighbours' at night ?
My revelry is broken by Ngozi who wants to know about my journey, and all the other details about Cameroon and Africa which she seems quite interested in. I begrugingly indulge her need for conversation, as I was more interested in soaking in all the scenery and order and cleanliness which was on display as the landscaped swept by from small towns to rows of trees to even smaller towns as the train passed by. Chai! The West was so organised that even the trees in the bush were of the same height and type! They all look planted; acres and acres of them. No wonder these people are the most advanced race on earth; they got even their forests figured out!
Ngozi and Nanga kept the questions coming; how is the food back home? What did I bring ? Is garri included ? Eru ? Dried fish? Who had accompanied me to the airport ? Did I cry ? I think I absentmindedly answered all the questions in the affirmative and they seemed quite satisfied and excited.
We arrived Cottbus, our final destination, sometime just before dusk, and the sun was setting with a warm glow in the horizon. I had seen the sun set before,but somehow this sun seemed a little more golden. The whole day; sites and sounds of the West, had been surreal to me - so these things we saw on TV actually existed! I was impressed with the West. Day one couldnt have been better. couldnt wait for the rest of my life in this place. As we walked to the student quarters from the bus stop, we made small-talk with Abdul asking what we were going to prepare first from the Afro-goodies I had brought with me. I had never seen people this exited about eru and garri before. It seemed even more surprising to me given all the food they had out here. I couldnt wait to indulge in the excess beef and chicken Nanga had been telling me about, which was not only quite cheap here but the staple. I was told I will be living with Abdul , as Ngozi and Nanga were already roommates. This was quite fine by me, as they lived right across the hall. The room was a little disappointing I have to say. Much smaller than I had imagined,and the corridor seemed to reek of cat piss.The rooms were a simple rectangular shaped space , just enough to fit two small beds, a reading table a couch as old as the worn out brown carpet on the floor, and close to the door, a very small cooking stove and fridge. A small door opened into the adjoining bathroom which we were to share with the next door kids. A positively ridiculous design I thought to myself, why they would situate the kitchen next to the toilet and bathroom. While Abdul helped me set up, the ladies, who had invaded my luggage immediately we got in to get the food out, had gone to their room to make dinner for all of us. We could get the aroma right across the hall, and it seemed to attract more and more africans out of the woodwork. They all came to say hi and welcome,but decided to hang around just long enough to be offered some of the food by a humming Nanga - she always seemed to hum unrecognisable music whenever food was around. She seemed prepared for this, as she has prepared more food than a small rebel army could possibly eat in one setting. African hospitality, I was happy to see, extended even out in the West. The rest of the night was spent eating,drinking and reminiscing about the past - our days at the university in Cameroon - some of their more fascinating stories about life in Germany, which i listened with alot of fascination. Abdul was quite the chatter box after a few cans of Stella beer. He went on and on about life in Ahmadou Belo university in Nigeria and something about his popularity in those days. I couldn't wait to get out there and start building my own 'bush' stories , but unfortunately, the excitement of the day was taking its toll and I wading into and out of consciousness. We finally called it a day and retired to our room. I lay in bed replaying the whole day in my mind. Surreal was the one word for the whole experience. I went to sleep thinking to myself 'Goodbye to dusty roads and fufu corn; goodbye to general chaos and joblessness; hello! to organised forests and similar everything; hello to beefy hopes and cheesy chicken burgers!'.
Morning arrived too soon.
I felt like a 20 tonne truck had run over me. I was a little woozy from the journey since i couldnt sleep till 3 am last night. and the sunlight was already piercing through the window covers, displaying patterns of alternate black and white lines on my bed.The room was hot! Like Duala-hot! I thought I had left this sun behind at the equator ? What kind of bad luck is this? I checked my watch and it was already noon. Abdul seemed a little more prepared for this than I was. He had no shirt on, neither did he sleep with any covers.but his gentle effortless snore told me he was not about to wake up anytime soon. I guess German beer held up to its reputation of knocking people out.
I drag myself to the bathroom and after fumbling for a while, I finally get the hotwater-cold water balance in the shower and get a good bath. I wonder what my grandmother will say if she saw me bathing hot water on a hot day; ' Your skin will get twisted and wrinkled like those yellowpeople. That is why they get so old and so ugly so fast!' I could imagine her say disapprovingly. I had my doubts on the scientific veracity of that claim, but figured I might as well enjoy myself in the now. I got dressed and headed for the Nanga's room. I didnt know if they were in, but I was as hungry as a Lion in the barren dry months in the Okavango basin. I needed to find food, and a cursory look around the room revealed a dearth in anything edible.
Nanga had gone for a class, but Ngozi was home, and she flashed a welcoming smile.
'Just-come, how far?'
'I dey. Hungry go kill me', I said with a laconic smile.
'Abeg come chop, sha!'
I sat down on the bed and flipped through the channels as she busied herself somewhere at the kitchen area. Had I mentioned she was beautiful ? That was an understatement. I could swear I had never seen a more beautiful ebony-skinned African. She had PP - proper proportions!. Not like the more skinny ladies I was seeing on TV as I flipped through, who were the stars in the west. This one was a real african queen. A backside only upstaged by her voluptuous bosom. Yet she had an alacrity and an efficient feel as she warmed food for me, you could see she was no stranger to exercise and hard work. And somehow, her clothes always fit. Even now , when she was wearing a some sweat pants and a tshirt, you could still make out her shape, and everything about it was nice. I quickly realised this girl was going to be my first impediment towards my academic goals here in Germany if she continued smiling at me the way she did everytime. I made a mental note not to come over too often. Plus, I still had unresolved issues with Nanga. She was my girlfriend back in the day, when love was pure and there were no complications of adulthood. Our idea of a date was hitting a mami achombo in the local neighbourhood of Bonamoussadi ( a local restaurant usually around student quarters which typically had only one item on the menu -puffballs and beans). These eating houses comprised of makeshift rusted zinc stalls with benches for seats and questionable hygiene practices. An inclusion of meat in the meal was considered quite ostentatious by student standards, and happened only on nights when I was feeling particularly loaded with money. Otherwise, on the usual days, the conversation went somewhat like this for almost every body who came to her stall
The restaurateur would usually ask, 'achombo for how much?'
'5 puff-puff with beans for cinquant francs mami', would come the usual reply or a slight variation of the puff puff to beans ratio.
'With meat ?'
'At your own risk oh!'
This was the indication to the seller that the particular buyer was not solvent enough to pay for meat on the day, and if she went ahead and put any pieces of meat in the food, it was considered a philanthropic addition with no intention of payment. Needless to say, this kind of 'philanthropy of hope' scarcely ever materialised.
But when she came to Germany for further studies and I was stuck in Cameroon, we soon realised the long distance was unsustainable, especially without any serious commitment having been made. She had dated other people, and so had I, though we still kept in touch. When I told her I had finally acquired a visa to come study Electromechanical engineering, there was a mutual undisguised eagerness to meet and or rekindle our romance; but there were no guarantees, just probabilities. But with Ngozi in the picture, even those probabilities might be downgraded to possibilities.
As we ate and discussed about studying out here versus studying back at home, I became keenly aware of how focused and directed she was. She knew why she was doing a graduate degree in environmental management, how much she wanted to earn, what kind of man she wanted to marry, and the colour of the BMW she was going to drive! Oh, and not to forget the recycling business in Nigeria by 2014. Whew. I was both impresses and slightly intimidated;but more impressed than intimidated. Good thing was, she didnt seem to be depending on anyone for the things she wanted. A dangerous combo - an independent hardworking girl with a plan! I think I just found my wife! I had angels singing in my head when I sensed she was impressed about my course of study. She then told me that I was the only african she knew who was taking that course as a major, given that most of the others only did Enviromental sciences which was taught in English.
'How good my German?' she asked curiously.
' Not so good as to run for political office, but good enough to sustain a conversation.' I said in German. She laughed a laugh that reminded me of a nice cocoyam steeped in red oil; yellow and sunny!
'Do you have a girlfriend ?' she asked with her eyes fixed on me.
'Uh... no!' I stuttered defensively, more from being totally taken aback, than from guilt.
This girl doesnt pull any punches, does she? I can now see why she is friends with Nanga. They are cut from the same cloth. She smiled and immediately started talking about how easy her course was, and how she felt the standards or demands of education here were so much lower than those in Nigeria. I nodded and feigned amazement and amusement at regular intervals, in order to hide my total ignorance on the subject at hand.Our conversation easily shifted to the things I needed to do to get settled, including registering at the Rathaus, purchase health insurance, and also get my personal room key from the Hausemiester. By the time we finished eating, Nanga had come back and joined in the stories and discussions.It was easy to see why the two were friends. They went at it from one topic to the other, shouting and exchanging both witting and dump remarks in equal measure. You could see they both were smart and fun-loving. Nanga was a little more on the materialistic end as she talked more from a place of her 'deserving' this and that as opposed to Ngozi who was more a 'go-getter' without waiting or assuming any handouts from anyone.Furthermore, from their clothes, you could see that Nanga had the more expensive outfits, but Ngozi was no slouch either. She wore her clothes and not the other way round. Just the thought of that mental comparison i was now making, drew my attention. It was the first time ever, that I had compared anyone favourably to Nanga. Not that there were no more beautiful girls in the world, but in 'my world', she scored high marks and graduated summa cum laude! But here I was mentally lusting over someone I had barely known for more than twenty four hours. I sure had problems. This dwelling in my head had to stop.
Ngozi had put on a Nigeria movie as I later learnt was their usual custom after a day of school. A way for them to touch base with Africa and its unique intricacies which they say they couldnt get from the Western movies shown on TV. By the time the movie had progressed 10 minutes, I was already losing interest due to the number of editing mistakes and outlandish acting that was packed right at the beginning of the movie. I wonder why women like these movies so much ? My mom was a religious follower of these Nigerian home videos and would defend their quality and authenticity to death, talking about how they always carried a 'message'. I always retorted that if i needed a message, i went to church. Movies for me were entertainment, period. If you couldnt entertain to a good standard, you were supposed to stop making movies. The ladies were gripped by a scene in which some police officers who were chasing an allegedly fugitive, cornered him in an abandoned building.
' This is the Nigerian special branch police, come out! you are surrounded', the policeman said. You could clearly see they were standing infront of the house with no possibility of surrounding it since it had a thick bush behind it.
'Who are you ?', was the reply from the fugitive holed up in the house, as if the police had been speaking in a different dialect, not to talk of the fact that they had literally chased him into hiding!
'The Nigerian police special branch. You have been cornered'. I thought the last statement was obvious given that they had him hiding in a house? I also wondered whether all police were this polite in repeating themselves and their introductions. This was a good example of human rights etiquette for criminals in a developing country. Annan would be proud.
'Why are you here ? the fugitive asked seriously
'You are under arrest for human trafficking'
' Come and catch me then', the fugitive says in a hysterical growl.
The special forces have their hands over their heads holding their guns, with their arms obstructing their view at the same time! I ask myself how stupid you could be to be a police officer in a standoff and having your gun pointed skywards instead of towards your target. Then a melee broke out and there is some shooting and smoke. A pity the impressive looking guns the police are wielding sound like firecrackers. I expected something more imposing in sound, as you would see from the real western movies. Somehow, the police manage to shoot the fugitive. Thing is, the fugitive cries out and falls to the ground before the sound of the gun follows. Then the tomato prop on his chest suddenly bursts open to reveal his 'blood'. Really ? You would think that that sequence of events was supposed to have been opposite to be realistic,but I seemed to be the only person who found anything wrong with the scene, as the girls were all excited and animated at the spectacular action movie they were watching. For fear of spoiling their fun with my cynicism, I left and went back to my room where Abdul was still in the same position I had left him five hours earlier. He didnt seem like he was going anywhere anytime soon.
I was bored, and had not stepped out of the student hostel or Wohnheim, and hence decided to get my first glimpse of my surroundings. I figured I might as well hurry up and look around the block before things went dark. It was almost 7pm but the sun was not about to cede its position to darkness any time soon. I walked around the clean but nondescript apartment buildings, noticing the straight lines in which all the buildings were built, and the fact that all the trash cans were in exactly the same location from block to block. It didnt take long for me to realise a change in the people I passed along the way, as I went further and further away from the University campus. The smiles and air of camaraderie seemed to fade with every block I crossed. Fewer and fewer people acknowledged my 'Wie gehts' greeting, and even less smiled back. I also noticed the buildings had taken on a decidedly desolate and macabre feel, like no one inhabited them. No children playing outside, no adhoc football games by teens like I was used to in Cameroon, no nothing. I checked my watch and found out the sun had been decieving me! It was about 9pm now, and it still shone like daytime. I started to retrace my steps and got even more conscious as I was recieving unhappy stares and snares from the old people I passed on the road, and some teenagers were shouting something towards me from far off - some word with a 'sch' sound in it, and it seemed they expected me to do something in return. So I waved back and smiled! That was apparently not the reaction they expected because they froze and looked on in surprise as I continued heading back, but with decidedly larger step and quicker steps. I couldnt find anything but tarmac and ground. Grey buildings, grey sidewalks, grey everything. I was happy to finally see some of the University buildings, and blooming flowers in front of the building that proudly said 'Technische Universitat, Dresden'. Just my ability to read it aloud in proper diction warmed my heart a little, given the confusing set of sights and sounds I had just witnessed. I loved the ordered beauty of everything, but I was a little concerned with the bland predictability from block to block. Even more disturbing were the people, but I banished this to my imagination. Upon returning to the room, I recounted to Abdul what I had seen and sensed. He had this very knowing smile on his face and warned me in no uncertain terms never to wander too far away from the campus alone. He made me understand we were in a part of Germany which was not very racially tolerant, and giggled when I recounted my encounter with the young boys.
' Kaiwalai.. I can totally see why they were confused', he said as he laughed heartily.
I asked him to explain.
'The word you didnt heard--well, it was 'schwartz' - black ', he said, with a more serious look on his face.
'They were trying to insult you for being black, but you evidently didnt mind at all from the look of it', he said dryly.
'These people are not as exposed to different cultures as we are, so they still have really backward ideas. You want to make sure you never travel alone to such places, else you might actually be beaten or mobbed. Truly, it has happened before to my friend Kofi. He did beat the living daylight out of one of the skin heads who attacked him, but he got cut on his shoulder and lost a tooth. If you wander off again, you will meet skin heads. And
if you meet skinheads you will have to fight for you life. And if you fight for
your life you might have to lose a tooth. You dont want to fight and lose a
tooth. Don't walk alone'. He didn't need to tell me anymore. I got
the message, though I was bemused at his rather roundabout way of making the
point.
I had barely spent two days out here and my reality was coming to fistfights with my imagination. I always read of racism, but it had always been very far, very abstract, very far removed from my loving and all-inclusive community experience. It was a strange thing to see it up front, but instead of anger, I found myself having a totally different emotion - pity.We met up with the ladies for dinner--it was Ndole on the menu, and Abdul was as excited as a male peacock in the mating season because he finally could eat the sauce with pounded yam, a particular delicacy he hadnt had for a long time. As the night wound down, I reminisced about my day and convinced myself that no matter what gets thrown at me out here, I was going to make the best out of this place --racist or no racist. I had come too far away from the sweet cooking of my mother, to be cowered by snares from old women and delinquent teens. Nothing was going to stop me. Nothing!
Very engaging
ReplyDelete