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!
Friday, November 21, 2008
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?
‘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!”
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!”
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