Of all Countries, Why Germany?

Before I finally made up my mind to come to Germany, I’d taken a couple of focus groups and listened to their various one-on-one testimonials (most of them hear-says!). The majority of these opinions vigorously warned against my plan of leaving for and eventually working in what they already termed: the land of Hitler. They’ve already succeeded in painting a picture in my head suggesting every German is a chip off an old Adolf with potentials of shrinking in size, growing some insane looking moustaches, developing syphilitic tendencies while running around designing nauseating Nazi insignias on anything you can think of, and spending sleepless nights perfecting ingenious new ways of killing more people without blue eyes and blond hair! Meanwhile, Adolf Hitler had neither blue eyes nor blond hair!

But I presume it’s a shame how the major population of planet earth have come to see Germany as the world capital of racism. The majority of my friends who warned me against coming to Germany are North Americans whose continent has given safe haven to KKK whose mission statement is to dress up in peaked white hoods before burning crosses anytime after midnights! Does KKK have a branch in Germany? Hell, no! It’s time people stopped thinking that an average German family’s breakfast is a ritual oath of grandfathers (Opas), grandmothers (Omas), parents (Elterns), sons (Sohns) and daughters (Tochters), white dogs (Weiße Hunden) and rabbits (Hasen) coming together and renewing pledges of allegiance to hate and kill more people with little or no blue eyes and blond hair! Enough of all these insinuations, and that was why I’d made up my mind to go to Germany and see for myself!

The Fhadi Connection
Well, the only warning that came close to making any sense came from Fhadi, one of my Germany-hating friends. Fhadi’s father a medical doctor from Syria, had a successful practice in Montreal. One day he left for his middle east country only to be killed for reasons best known to the people who kill themselves while they are killing other people! Yet Fhadi still considers himself a proud Syrian! In spite of the fact he was born in Montreal he vehemently refuses to accept his status as a Syrian Canadian. Fhadi believes you can either be a Syrian or a Canadian and sees no sense why anybody can be a Syrian Canadian. My plan to come to Germany coincided with the period Fhadi just completed his final exams to obtain a first degree in Financial Management. Wrong timing! This is because I’d become Fhadi’s first guinea pig in his early financial advisory skills! He came up with heaps of funny looking papers downloaded off the Internet with several scary looking diagrams including graphs, charts and endless figures. He cornered me into an empty classroom one evening and locked the door! I almost passed some drips of urine in my pants as that was the scariest moves experienced by me! I’m sorry, Fhadi could be my best friend, but that doesn’t stop the fact his ideoloy has made him refuse to be addressed as a Syrian-Canadian (although he was born in Canada!) and prefers to be seen as just a Syrian! And now he was holding me hostage inside a room with what I suspected to be paper and diagram-bombs?

“What are you doing, Fhadi? Please before you start detonating stuffs; remember I’ve always supported you: George Bush is so wrong waging that stupid war in Iraq! Now that you know where I stand in middle east politics, can you unlock this door and set me free?”

“Oh, shut up! What do you think I’m doing?”
“Bomb me, of course! Or, why would you push me into a dark classroom and start locking the door?”
“I’m doing this for your own good!”
“For my own good? Is that what ya’ll tell people before grilling them like suya?”

I heard a flick and a beam of light erased every darkness inside the room. I was speechless thinking I was already dead when I noticed the light was thrown directly thrown as a spotlight on the white wall infront of the room! Overhead projector! I heaved a sigh of relief as the first series of papers and diagrams were enlarged on the wall. Next were retinues of any form of charts you may think of. Finally came the nightmarish figures that easily makes one think of Matrix series of movies where greenish figures run nonstop around black backgrounds! Thankfully the silent torture that could only be compared to Guantanamo ended and Fhadi finally spoke:

“As you can now see, buddy, Germany has a long way to an economic recovery. This shows that Germany cannot accommodate you with employment especially if the current unemployed percentage already speaks the German language which you don’t! My professional advice is stay action and watch if Angela will perform magic”.

“Angela? Who is Angela?”
“The German Leader.”
“That is Ah-nn-Gh-ela Merkel, Ahn-Gh-ela! Not An-JJ-ella!”
“Whatever!”
“Fhadi, you need to show some respect while calling the name of a nation’s leader!”
“Why? Is that not her name?”
“She is the Bundeskanzlerin for crying out loud!”
“So? Don’t we call George Bush George?”
“That is America where people answer anything! In Germany you must never say first names unless you are given appropriate clearance to do so with the attendant reference of du against Sie!” You must only say Herr to their men and Frau to every German woman!
“So you want to go to Germany so people can call you Hair?”
“Herr, not hair!”
“What’s the difference? Look, if you stay back here I can arrange for people to start calling you hair, I’m sure it won’t be a problem!”
“You don’t get it. Please unlock the door, I have packing to do!”
“You are mad! The only reason you are going to Germany is for German people to check out your nappy hair and call you Hair Erinugha! Do you think Europeans have the patience to say your that your surname, Hair Erinugha?”

Amsterdam
The seven-hour KLM flight from Dorval airport, Montreal, to Schiphol, Amsterdam, was smooth but not very interesting. Oh, it had nothing to do with my sitting in the economy class. I did my best to sleep but all to no avail. Each time I tried taking a nap three events occurred at same time. One, my legs were continually wide awake refusing to sleep even when I shut my eyes real tight. As if that was not enough, my neighbour was snoring all night! I ignored him but not when he continued switching into the next available snoring gears! And that brings us to the third. My new snoring friend was not just snoring but he had a sensor like magnet that was attracting him to my shoulder! I got tired of pushing him away from me that I used all my strength in pinning him into his own head rest! Good grief! How much can one wish to land in Amsterdam! Each time I pushed him off hoping he’d wake up, and as soon as I was about to scream “alleliuah!” he’d just slipped into the next available snoring gear, moaning away with two wide and wild funnels afixed unto his face called nose! Ladies and gentlemen, is it me or does this guy posses fifteen hundred and fifty-five snoring gears installed in a windpipe like organ traced between his ears-nostrils-and-throat! Praise the Lord! Captain just announced arrival in Amsterdam!

A Super Model from Hell!

It was on that line for fifteen minutes that seemed fifteen weeks! It was finally my turn and I was standing face to face to a dissatisfied looking Hollandian. It is very important emphasizing this man was thinner than participants in Heidi Klum’s Germany’s Next Top Models! I heard being thin is not just a culture in Europe but also a religion that everyone must be fanatical about. Ignoring his feeding-challenged appearance I showed him the bio-page of my passport without looking at him and continued moving as others ahead of me. But I heard him calling me back. I thought he wanted to ask me for some sandwiches because anyone looking at me must realise I do not play with my eating capabilities!

‘Here we go again’, I muttered to myself. Turning towards him, I found a stretched thin left hand demanding I gave it my passport. Now was the time to stare into his face and that was when realised he was wearing not just some red lipsticks, but some eye-shadows over shaved eyebrows! Well, what’s my own? Anyone willing could do two jobs: immigration officer by day and Heidi Klum-wannabe at night! As I handed him my passport I spoke to him in Igbo asking: “I bet you catwalking for me if I give you my passport?” He refused replying as he took his time going through my passport page by page. I continued studying his cosmetic invaded face while he controlled my passport with a ‘K’. Suddenly I saw him hesitate at the bio page before returning to the 3-month visa into Germany issued me by the German Consulate in Montreal.

Bang! The half-immigration officer, half super model raced into his pocket and was quick to return with a black conical instrument that looks exactly like a BMW wheel bolt. What the hell does this freak want to do? Lock my international passport with an Automatic Braking System before running me over with a Man-Diesel truck that has no shock absorber? I got really scared that officer Paris Hilton was about to set me up by destroying my visa before alerting the deportation squad to take me back to Murtala! I tried to raise an alarm but a woman next to me who had been watching all my reactions explained what was happening. His weird toy was neither a BMW wheel bolt nor an ABS lock but a special lens that could dictate forged visas on international passports. I guess she probably thought that would make feel better but I was more infruited. Why didn’t he use that instrument on other passports before mine?

Right now officer Paris Hilton was raising the instrument towards his face. Before I knew it he stared closing his left eye while advancing the funny lens towards his right eye! I could swear with my life, from the way Heidi’s home boy was handling my case, he might as well be on his way to some sick home! But for all I cared, it would have been a better idea if that was a plug-bolt and he used it in plucking his own right eye by himself! If he had done that what would have been my reaction? Instead of yelling for help, I will find a way motivating him further to do the same to the remaining eye. That would not only dissuade further overzealousness and hate motivated scrutiny against Nigerians who carry green passports. And yes, that would also help putting to an end nauseating dreams of career immigration officers trying to be female super models!

“What exactly are you looking for, sir?”

I only asked this question because I was getting rather frustrated, not because of wasting my time (after all my connecting flight to Frankfurt was in three hours) but was it taking him forever to pluck his own eyes? In fact I asked the question hoping he will be pissed off and speedup the eye-plucking deed! We are waiting, Paris!

“Can I do my job, sir?”

Wow! Paris Hilton was not deaf and dumb after all! OK! Since your super-model ass has got some sarcasm, why not bring it on!

“During my flight I had a dream of white women in blue uniforms using military binoculars in reading every Nigerian passports! That could be a heck of a job, sir!”

“Where are you going, sir?”

“Erfurt, very close to Buchenwald near Weimar, where under Hitler’s command human camped, killed and burnt fellow humans after cutting them into heaps of pieces!”

“Have a nice trip, sir”

I snatched my passport from him hoping and praying endlessly that sooner or later this man will use his own hands in plugging in some screwdrivers and plucking out his both eyes! Amen somebody?

New Found Bredeh!

Schiphol is not just amazing; it is an airport with wondrous written everywhere. Wandering around this significant wonder, awaiting my board for Frankfurt, I kept wondering how beautiful it would be to have such a structure in our own Murtala Mohammed International back home. Right beside these thoughts were dark images of wizards hovering in the sky above the terminals reminiscent of a former aviation minister’s testimony that witches and are responsible for the repeated air crashes in the nation! This claim came against proofs of inefficiency and missing fund approved for control towers! I sat down in the middle of the dutyfree area, allowing my imaginations run wild and wide after unseen evil spirits and their witches and wizard friends. I could see them all gathered and planning endlessly to sink more airborne planes! According to them, that would enable them access to more litres of blood to drain and suck and even swim in! Suddenly, all the witches and wizards started flying away as the boarding announcement for my Frankfurt destination was relayed over the PA.

At first I was going to complain that I was the only black man on board this plane till I reassured myself I was going to Frankfurt and not Orile or Oshodi! The plane was noisy with hearty Germans who maybe returning from holidays and couldn’t wait to reach home once more and eat their brötchen with either wurst or käse while drinking one of their over fifteen hundred thousand brands of beer. Standing there on the aisle waiting for happy Germans to store their loads and luggage into the overhead compartments was like waiting for George W. Bush to recall his troops and leave Iraq! I was like in a sea of white Germans, swimming and listening to their loud conversations. It was not much of a great experience especially if you have no idea what they were saying at the same time blocking your access to find a seat. And they were also laughing in German as loud as they were screaming, and I can swear they were also farting in German in between every hearty laughter and screaming altercations. The more I tried to listen to them speak, the more it was clear to me that the German they were speaking was quite different from the German I’d been studying!

How would I know that I bought a German-made-Easy book written (with CD produced) by some Swiss guys? Sooner or later it would dawn on me that the German they speak in Switzerland may sound different from the German spoken inside Germany. Something told me my new friends in the Frankfurt plane were not from Switzerland. I was hoping one of them may say something like Grüß Gott! None said that so it became obvious they were not Bavarians (Bayern) either. None was repeating ge intermittently and no into another person’s sentences, so that made them not from Thuringia either. I sincerely hoped at least one of them was from Thuringia (the province of my final destination) so I may begin to figure how to say stuffs like no and ge? Truly I became worried because as it was, I was the only black man searching for his seat right in the midst of more than 150 very happy Germans (including pilots and crew members) who would neither say no nor ge!

Hold on, I was wrong! Wasn’t that a Blackman sitting over there? Was I so wrong! Sitting quietly deep inside the cabin and effortlessly absorbing all the German dialogue-vibrations that sounded even more than the plane’s engine, was another Blackman! Wow! My heart leapt for joy and for unknown reason my feet got speedier as I raced towards my new brother! You never knew how precious a black man would be till you are in a flight heading to Frankfurt! My sudden behaviour was noticed immediately and the laughter ebbed, the screaming halted and the slapping on the backs kind of suspended. So? I continued by shoving and pushing more people away from the aisle but not without saying “excuse me” and “sorry” for each shove and all the pushes respectively! Sorry German folks, but my newly found brother is right here auch in da house!

I was wondering if he was Nigerian but as I drew closer I saw him properly. His teeth were too white and his glittering skin real dark to be a Nigerian. Please don’t get me wrong! Not that Nigerians don’t have white teeth but the truth is that Ghanaians’ teeth are significantly whiter than that of other West Africans. Does it have anything to do with their thick dark skins? I have no idea! But all I knew was that it was a free-seating flight and Kwame immediately invited me to sit beside him. I knew my brother when I saw him! Sitting and extending my hand for the first handshake I was getting in Europe, I introduced myself and added I was on my way to Erfurt. The alarm in his eyes meant nothing to me because I was not expecting any. “Do you live and werk there?” he cautiously asked. That again is not Nigerian. Nigerians say “work” but Ghanaians say “werk”. Nigerians say “papers” and Ghanaians say “pepers”. Nigerians say “brothers and sisters” and Ghanaians say “bredehs and sistehs”.

“I can see you are from Ghana?”
“Yes, and you are an Igbo man?”
“I am Igbo, but I am from Nigeria just like we both are West Africans. Are you coming from home?”
“Yes, I went home brefly to see my parents and my bredehs and sistehs”.
“So how are your parents and your “bredehs and sistehs”?
“They are fine. What about you? Coming from home?”
“No. I was coming from Montreal. I will take a train from Frankfurt to Erfurt.”
“You live and werk in Erfurt?”
“No, this is my first time in Germany.”
“Why Erfurt? Why East Germany?”
“Former East Germany, you mean? I thought the wall came down sometime.”
“Fuck the wall! The east is still east! They hate black people in the East!”
“Have you ever been to Erfurt, Kwame?”
“My name is not Kwame, my name is Kwesi.”
“I’m sorry but both names start with Kw. It’s confusing.”
“They will kill you if you go to Erfurt! They kill black people in the East!”
“How long have you lived in Germany, Kwame?”
“If you call me Kwame again …!”
“Kwesi! I’m sorry, but how can you believe that former eastern Germans kill black people? You think there is no government in Deutschland?”
“When you get to Frankfurt, before boarding a train to Erfurt, ask anybody about the radicals, the Glatzen skin heads springing up daily and fighting the left wing Zecken!”
“So, does it mean there are no black people in Erfurt?”
“They have killed all the black people in Erfurt! There is no single Blackman in Erfurt. If I were you I’d go back to Canada or come with me to Düsseldorf!”

Report Number ONE - The Appointment

My appointment was not until 10.45. I arrived 10 am. only to realise that no one is willing to attend to me till exactly 10.45 because there was a reason why I was asked to show up at 10.45 am! “Nehmen Sie bitte Platz.”. That was all the elderly woman behind the reception desk said to me after I had made a huge mess of introducing myself and my mission in the Privathochschule (private polytechnic) which is also known as the Intercontinental Berufsakademie. I evaluated my performance and realised I have just thrown around in the worst manner German phrases that were really irrelevant to whatever I had to say and disjointedly weaved them together again to achieve the most ridiculous expressions in situations like this. That was the moment I wished I could return one the idiotic language series I bought a few weeks before titled: “How to Learn German in Five Days”. (German Language for Idiots!)

Lesson number one: Don’t ever read idiotic books before going to Germany to sign a contract! Traditional former Eastern Germans lose their tempers easily at people like me who always find it exciting to mess with their beloved mother tongue. “Nehmen Sie bitte Platz.“ she said again, bitterly! Now her voice was raised, and a close look at her was a warning to me! She had already turned red from ear to ear. Although I did not really understand what she was saying but why should I keep standing face to face with a woman whose voice was rising, eyes dimming and face all red? Luckily this time, her “Nehmen Sie bitte Platz.” was accompanied by a near violent gesticulation of hand waving at the direction of empty chairs. Only a blind man would still utter something like “pardon me?”

Still angry with myself for already failing the very litmus test I had been practicing for the past two days, I rushed to the seat before she’d change her mind. Maybe this time she’d come out from behind that sacred reception desk, pinch-clutching at one of my ear lobes while dragging me to an empty seat screaming: “Sit down you idiot that takes pride in defacing our wonderful and noble German language!” From where I was sitting, I was still facing her. The more I tried to look elsewhere the more my mind told me to keep watch in case she’d carry out the ear lobe move. Still frowning, her eyes were nowhere else except on the wall clock ticking away in a slightly modulated noise. I followed her eye level only to realise what she was doing! The clock was ticking right above my head. I stared up above me by stretching my Adam’s apple and realised I may have up to seventeen more minutes before anyone would ever talk to me.

From the first day I knew I’d be coming to live in Germany, I’ve performed every manner of researches including holding focus groups here and there. Apart from the beers and sausages, I was more concerned with the index of German precision. The average German is devoted to perfectionism and this quest for perfectionist-oriented existence is highly driven by another religious way of life called “Ordnung”. As an African I have always frowned at the African Time, which has almost become a sarcastic insult on my tradition, I finally made up my mind to erase such stereotypes by appearing unbelievably early to further appointments. But here in Germany, that didn’t seem good enough. I guess one must appear on the EXACT time! There is no reward if you were early for appointments and you will be severely punished if you try to be just one or two minutes late! Only if I knew anything about this Ordnung thing. I could have been walking around Anger (yes, Anger! Probably the most important spot in the city of Erfurt) till the exact time instead of making people watch wall clocks to attain perfection.

I thought it was a joke when they say: when in Rome act like Romans! Here I am today in Germany, and heck, ja, I’d better replace the Roman thing by starting to find ways not just to act but avoid pissing the Germans off! Right now, I got myself into such an uncomfortable situation where the attitude of the only German facing me is scary. How can you be in the same room with a woman who is not talking to you but spend all the time watching the wall clock right above your head? Since I am now in Germany, let me do as Germans do!

That was how I joined Frau Heike Stein (that’s what was written on her desk) in watching the three different hands of the nervous clock. In the next fifteen minutes or so, I’d come up with a chronometric research that would make Einstein green with envy! I rediscovered the shortest hand of the clock never moved all the while I sat there. The longest hand was actually the one doing most of the moving with some arrogant noise that I thought was slight. Actually the noise got more intense now that I was focused on this German’s most favourite game. The minute hand finally moved again (fifteenth time) and then it was EXACTLY 10.45 am. Halleluiah!

Heike jumped from her seat and rushed to a door, cracked it a bit open and yelled: “Dein zehn Uhr fünfundvierzig ist schon da!” A few months later I was to put all those sounds together to achieve the following result: your 10.45 is already here! Before she made that announcement, I was thinking there was a meeting inside that room. And that that meeting was supposed to end at exactly 10.45 am, and the lives of all the people in that meeting depended on 10.45 am. I then balanced in my seat awaiting the surge of a regular 10.45 troop, instead the tallest man I will ever see in my lifetime shot out from the room like a giant bullet off a smoking bazooka! He wore the most colourful suit I have ever seen, except for that fact that the suit appeared to be the tightest fitting suit in German history.

Hallo! Ich bin Hans Meyer. Wie geht es Ihnen?

I know I don’t understand German but come on; this should be the easiest German in the German vocabulary. Hello, I am Hans Meyer. The second sentence only proved that the idiot book I studied could ever be useful after all. How are you? My best resource was at this time handy, although still confusing trying to know when to address people with “dir” or “Ihnen”. Since Hans started with an “Ihnen” I am like: yeah, man! Let’s get it on with some “Ihnen”. After all, your first impression of Herr Hans is that of a very smart bookworm.

And it’s been quite easy noticing smart guys these days. Hans reads people’s minds I guess. As soon as he caught my eyes darting on and off the suffocating buttons around his stomach areas he came to everyone’s rescue. He carefully unbuttoned the tight suit and heaved a refreshing sigh of relief. He was standing but his head was a few inches away from the ceiling. I managed to move my gaze from his belly region to his piercing blue eyes which were almost covered with an umbrella kind of loose straight hairs. I finally jumped from my seat grabbing his palm as wide as half of a table tennis board. Still recovering from my neck ache after watching the wall clock with Frau Heike Stein, it was quite a trauma trying to raise the same neck to look Hans in the face while he was greeting me. Some hairs were actually passing through his nose while a few kept standing near his lips. That was why Hans had acquired some irritating mannerisms of moving hairs which were trying to gain access to his mouth while he was talking or to his nostrils while he was breathing.

Hans stood there speed-talking tons of German expressions, moving his hands up and down not to help me understand, but to move hundreds of hairs impeding his speech speed. As he was uttering more sounds in his very fast German, I believed he was reciting certain poetry to himself. This guy could be a new Schiller or Goethe convert, or maybe it feels good to some extremely tall Deutsche to connect to Bertolt Brecht at exactly 10.45 am every morning. With his lips still moving quickly and his hairs vibrating all over his head, I guess it was time I let Hans alone to commune with his literary ancestors. I gradually retraced my steps and finally found my seat and sat once more while waiting for him to round up his morning rituals!

Nein! Nicht da hinsetzen! Kommen Sie mit, bitte!

Heike was not amused. Her attention was captured with Hans’ sudden change of tone. I figured out I shouldn’t sit in the reception area but come with him into the office. I dashed my gaze from Heike to Hans hoping to get any idea what was going on. Heike provided none as she herself seemed more confused than I was. From her expression I quickly deducted that Heike had never had one on one contact with a black man. In fact, this could be her closest black man contact. And it was not funny, I could hear her mind. I avoided Heike’s curious eyes praying she wouldn’t escalate anything by calling the police. I quickly jumped on my feet and followed Hans who smiled for the first time all morning. Time 11.05.

Hallo Zubi! Ich bin Jana!

Hello, Jana?

Haben Sie uns gut gefunden mit dem Stadtplan in der E-Mail?

And I was completely silent.

German is an intimidating language. One needs a lot of confidence to even take an initial go at it. Jana’s hand and mine just left themselves in the first handshake I finally got this morning.

Oh, I’m so sorry! I forgot you don’t speak German!

What a relief! After almost half an hour, someone finally figured it all out! I just flew in from Montreal last night and this morning, at exactly 10.45, a group of German people were already bombarding me with Dativ and Akkusativ germanistics! What a relief, people! What a relief! God bless Jana (Yanah)! I felt like delivered from the bottomless pit. I even felt better when Jana turned to Hans and tried my best to catch a word or two and see how I could use them to know a bit what she was telling him…

Er spricht kein Deutsch! Er kommt aus Kanada!

He speaks no English! He comes from Canada!

Hans mumbled a couple words and from my observation he had no regrets talking to me in German for over twenty minutes earlier. Hans did not understand how a grown man like me couldn’t understand simple German. Moreover, if one knew one would be coming to Germany at a certain stage of one’s life, what prevents one from studying German? And thirdly, why should it be his responsibility to start speaking English to me? Since I was already in Deutschland, I should be the one to start speaking German, and fast! I was upset! Very upset and I had a lot to say but, how does one start explaining his anger in a strange language? I urgently need to yell at Hans and curse him out! And finally reminded him how badly he needed a frigging barber!

Jana’s smiles comforted me. Thank God there are Janas in language schools! If Jana was a little bit of Heike maybe the whole school will be over flowing with policemen. I could have lost it and started kicking Hans’ ass. Maybe throw a couple ghetto-fabulous punches at few others who’d come for sympathetic ass kicking. Jana finally reassures Hans. He was convinced to settle down. How did she do that? I have no idea except that German language is a very important tool in crisis management. Jana politely asked if I wanted anything to drink? Coffee, tea or just water. Stupid me, I tried to be nice and asked for water! Well, you asked for it: she gave me a glass of water that I never drank. That was mit Kohlensäure … Translation: water overloaded with excitedly sparkling gas!

The discussion between the language school represented by Jana (and Hans) and I lasted less than twenty minutes. Jana printed out my schedules and explained every task to the letter. She gave me a whole folder of papers that insisted on how to grade class tests, case studies and examinations. More papers on how to mark right answers right and wrong answers wrong. The rules are different in Germany. You make a long dash with a red pen for right answers and a funny F in bent cursive for wrong answers. There were more papers explaining how to explain every explanation that has been explained or need to be explained for the sake of its explanation!

More papers on how to award marks, papers on how to convert each mark into percentages and more and more papers to verify that I received all the papers that were in the huge folder. As if that was not enough, Jana opened another folder with more papers in various colours of plastic files! She said I needed a couple files to open a bank account. Why would one need over seven files of papers just to open a bank account? There were other neatly designed papers for taxes. I was tempted to close the folders and convince Jana that there was no need. Jana confessed to me saying that was the most important yet complex aspect of the entire morning’s discussion. She advised I contacted a Steuerberaterin immediately if I had no intention of going to jail anytime soon in Deutschland.

More folders kept appearing from nowhere till I made it obvious I was tired of papers! Jana in her very wonderful PR told me I was in Germany, the home of paper work. She said I should not worry because very soon, I was to join the queue and get used to it. More papers were given to me for signatures. There were too many papers to sign, most of them papers confirming I had received some other papers. I didn’t even wait to cross check corresponding papers as advised by Jana. I signed everything in sight! This little encounter had just awakened a sleeping obsession in me! I even signed the folders and Hans held my hands when I started signing some old magazines on the table!

Mann!

We have agreed on my salary. Since they were offering me German lessons as well, my income was not very much. Well, I was the one who chose to learn German after spending all my life learning English in my country, Nigeria and French in Montreal, Quebec that is still insisting on leaving Canada. When I worked in McDonalds sometime in Chicago, I learnt a little Spanish. My Spanish vocabulary is limited to composition and counting of sandwiches, fries and queso! I thought I was happy with my meeting with Jana and Hans till I raised my accommodation issues. The language school was paying for my accommodation in a hostel and would stop after one month; then I was to take care of my own housing. This was unbelievable because if I’d to pay rent with whatever was remaining of my salary I would be the poorest black man in the history of Germany!

Fortsetzung folgt. (To be continued.)