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!