Tie me up/Unite me

Today is my last day in Trier, and my job at the MZT is officially over. I've got to say its pretty difficult to leave, especially since I feel as if the MZT was exactly the sort of place I would want to work at either here or in the States. 

On Sunday we cooked an "American style" Breakfast there which was a pretty big success. The food basically disappeared as we were setting it on the table and we were actually afraid we would run out before everyone got to eat! We made cheesy scrambled eggs, american bacon, fruit salad, pancakes, orange juice and coffee. Most of the people who came to the breakfast were germans, as its one of the programs that the MZT gears towards the german community here in Trier to try and get them to come and see what the center is all about, so that maybe they will be more interested in participating later. They also offer language classes in French, Arabic, Russian, Spanish, and English for the same reasons--once people walk in the door its very hard for them to leave. Moreover, part of creating a sustainable and tolerant community is providing services for everyone, not just those who are most oppressed. 

I scrambled up and cooked 60 eggs plus cheese which was hectic and fun, especially since I was jacked up on strong german coffee. Then I went in and sat down with everyone else who was eating and got to have a pretty interesting conversation with a german man who was taking one of the arabic language classes at the center. Afterwards the beginning german students from App gave presentations about America and American culture and we left.

Sunday evening was a pleasant counterpoint to the morning. Instead of cooking, we were cooked for. Instead of serving, we were served. We took a bus to Luxembourg to visit Dr. Kennedy's nephew who runs a high end designer jewelry company. When we first got there he took us to their showroom and let us look around. Let me tell you: if you are ever wondering how to win a girl over, take her into a room where all four walls are covered with beautiful jewelry and hand her a glass of champagne! Then he took us into smaller room and let us see the new sample collections that won't be available until next spring which was a really cool experience. I felt like I was on Americas Next Top Model or some other show like that. The jewelry itself was beautifully designed and very unique. Moreover, it is made in the Phillipines by an all-women factory because the designer is a woman and wanted to make sure that her company--whose entire purpose is to make women feel beautiful--also empowered and supported women. In the Phillipines, having a job--whether it be as a secretary or a jewelry artisan--gives women the ability to support themselves and their families and not be dictated by their male relatives. They can choose who to marry or not to marry at all, where to live, what to wear, etc...The designer herself lives in the Phillipines and regularly visits the factory to make sure that everything is going well, which I really appreciated. 

Afterwards we went to Angelo's(Dr. Kennedy's nephew) house and had a "BBQ"....uh...if you want to call lobster tails barbeque food! There was saffron rice, brie cheese, curried grilled chicken, fresh fruit, and more good wine than you could shake a stick at! Angelo's fiance, Serina, is from Iran and her mother, uncle and aunt were all there. Throughout the entire night Angelo and Serina walked around filling people's glasses and making sure everyone was having a good time. I got the opportunity to talk to an architect friend of theirs who lives in Luxembourg but is originally from Greece. She speaks fluent Greek, French, German and English and has been a vegetarian for 25 years. She was really funny and feisty and gave me recommendations of where to get good falafel in Trier!

However the highlight of my evening was definitely having the opportunity to talk with Serina's uncle who is a retired government advisor from Iran, before Ahkmenijad came to power. Although there was a pretty difficult language barrier because his english was so rusty, it was fascinating to discuss politics with someone so different from me. His wife was really adorable and in her even more broken english told me that she was really sorry she couldn't visit America, and I told her that I, too, was sad I couldn't come to Iran. We talked about the difficulties of creating cultural connections when governments are looking out only for their self-interests and the interest of gaining more power, not for their people. We discussed both american politics(is Obama a good president? can we tell yet after only 6 months?) as well as Iranian politics(the recent election, Mussavi, the riots, Ahkmenijad's regime) and also the issue of creating world politics and dialogue when people are coming from such diverse backgrounds and experiences. 

After we finished talking one of my friends came up to me and said, "wow, I'm glad you finally escaped that." 

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "That was the most interesting man I've talked to all night."

He didn't believe me. Which is why he certainly wasn't the most interesting person. However, it is really sad to me to see people missing opportunities to learn something new simply because the person who could teach them is older, or from another country or something. Although I know something about Iranian politics and culture, I certainly know a lot more, now. Moreover its always fascinating to discuss the world with someone who has lived in it for decades longer than myself. It is so easy to be shortsighted.

Anyways, today we are going to a wine tasting in the oldest wine cellar in germany, built when Trier was the capital of the Western Roman Empire. Then tomorrow morning early we get on a bus and go to Munich for a few days. We'll be visiting Neuschwanstein, Dachau(again), the Eagle's Nest, and some other cool places so hopefully I'll have some good pictures for you!

the ties that bind

It always amazes me the way community is created out of such tiny moments, seemingly insignificant actions. Yesterday during the break from class I sat and drank coffee in the kitchen with 4 generations of women from 4 different countries. Naturally we talked about babies. 

Blanky(Blancarosa) is 65 year old woman, orginally from Peru. Her and her husband have lived here in Germany for many years but her accent is still strong. She wears a lot of eyeliner and touches your shoulder constantly when she speaks. She is taking the free language class because her children are gone, her husband is sick, and she's lonely. Oh, and she wants to practice her german, too. 

Fatima comes from Algeria and wears a headscarf. She is graceful and demure, in her late thirties, and has two children. She seems like the poster child for what a proper muslim wife should be, but if you take her on surface value you will miss so much. She is strong and opinionated, intelligent and well-read. Her children are her life, but she also has a strong sense of self. She wants to be able to go to the doctor alone, to grocery shop and make friends in her neighborhood without the help of her husband who speaks much better german. When we talk about subjugation of women in muslim countries--specifically Iran and Syria--she gets angry. She doesn't understand how men can be so fundamentalist as to not allow their women to go out alone or do anything in mixed company. There are muslims, and then there are muslims she says.

Sena is from Morocco. She is in her early twenties, married, and pregnant with her first child. She wants twins, but maybe not for a long time after this one(a boy). Blanky and Fatima laugh at her; everyone says they don't want more children after the first one but then... Sena and Fatima chat in french and persian when they don't know the right words in german. Their hands move like butterflies.

Johanna is 28 and she's not sure about kids. Her mother keeps asking her about it--if you have a child will you raise it catholic or muslim?--and Johanna doesn't know. Her and her husband don't have much money; they work all the time. Johanna says that one of her friends back in Poland is also 28 and already has 9 children. One a year since she was married and then twins at the end. I look at her and I think, I'm 28, too she says I can't believe it. Nine children! No way. Blankie pats my arm. I tell her I don't think I want marriage or children and she pats my arm some more. Of course, of course she says, You're young. But later?

We talk about birth control and family planning, C-Sections vs. natural birth. How many children is good to have(2-3 is good, 5 is too many). We talk about sex. Despite age, religion and language we are women. Everywhere always it is the same. Johanna's mother doesn't really accept her husband because he is muslim; Blanky's daughter is dating a bum. Sena's husband wants a lot of children(yeah right, she says. He's not the one who has to do the work!) We talk about gender roles, and independence, about sexual violence. When we talk about women who are not allowed by their husbands to take language classes in mixed company, or from a woman who doesn't wear a headscarf(Kopftuch) everyone is irate. Religion is a personal choice says Fatima.

From time to time one or another of the boys from language class walks in to grab a coffee cup. They see the gaggle of women leaning over the small table laughing and quickly leave. I don't know what it is about kitchens and coffee that bring women together. Maybe its just coincidence.

In Germany the difference between sleeping in the same house as someone and having sex is a mere preposition.Using bei or mit changes the entire meaning of your statement. One of the younger boys, Abdullah, comes in crying with a bright red cheek. What's wrong? asks Johanna. Though tears he explains: Abdullah is only 14 and he has a girlfriend. It was her birthday and so he went to her house in the morning, because she was having a sleep over that night. He wanted to ask her father if he could stay. Unfortunately language barriers got in the way. Instead of politely and respectfully asking if he could spend the night along with the other kids, Abdullah walked up to this protective german father and told him point blank that he wanted to have sex with his daughter. Little word, big mistake. We make sympathetic noises and tell him it will be okay. Johanna explains the difference between what he meant and what he actually said. She tells him to go buy some flowers and apologize. After he leaves he kitchen we burst out laughing. 

Trauma and Community

Thursday was a particularly fascinating and difficult day at the MZT. When I walked in that morning at 10 Johanna, who was running around more stressed than ever, told me that last night one of the boys had tried to commit suicide. It is not particularly unusual, but still extremely difficult not only for the other boys but also for all the people(like Johanna) who are trying so hard to help them, because sometimes everything is just too overwhelming. After all, he is only 15. Later in the day she and the other teacher sat me down and explained what had happened in more detail so that I would be better able to understand the climate in which these boys live and try to succeed. Here are only a few stories...

To get your child out of Afghanistan costs 10,000 euro and it is naturally a gamble. First the child(in this case a son) must go to Greece, or another of the nations that rings Germany but is on the fringe of EU politics. In order to get into Greece the boy, no matter his age, must tell the authorities that he is 18 years old or they won't let him in. When two or perhaps three brothers go together, they are oftentimes split up while in Greece because either the parents don't have enough money for all of the boys to go at the same time so one has to wait behind, or because there is not enough room for both to travel together on to Germany. Without cell phones or forwarding addresses, once split up it is usually assumed that one will never see one's brother again.

Once a boy gets to Germany he needs to convince the authorities there that he is not actually 18 as he said in Greece or they will not allow him into the country. Germany has a policy which says that any child can stay until he is 18 years old but after that point they must either have finished highschool and have a job, be adopted by a German family, or return to their home country. Moreover, if someone comes as a refugee who is already 18 and they have first landed in another country(like Greece) Germany will refuse to take the person and instead tell them to go to Greece for asylum, however Greece being much less developed and having fewer social services is ill-equipped to deal with young refugees. 

When B and J got to Greece with their brother they were split up. B and J made it to Trier safely, papers and all, but their brother did not. They assumed he was dead. Two days ago, they found him in Munich. However, because their brother came on a different boat and wasn't aware that he needed to tell the German authorities he wasn't actually 18, they are now threatening to send him back to Greece, or possibly even to Afghanistan. He is already 17(B is 15, J 16) so he has only a few months to get all of his paperwork straightened out before he will leave. The clock ticks. Because J and B have already been accepted into Germany as refugees, they have more time and will be able to stay. Moreover, because they have the same paperwork as their brother, if they can get to Munich it will be easier to convince the authorities their that their brother should be allowed to stay, but it is a gamble.

How much stress can a 15 year old take? What is his limit? For B it was this: having lost first his homeland and then his brother, to find his brother only to lose him again was intolerable. Death was better abandonment. He simply could not take the pressure, the idea that if he could not make it to Munich in time to show the Germans his paperwork so that they would allow his brother to stay in the country it would be his fault when his older brother was sent back to Greece or Afghanistan(a death sentence). People who have been working with young asyls for awhile will tell you that you get 3-4 months of strength, courage and optimism before everything crashes. 3-4 months to find them a stable home, get them learning german and in school, and find them some form of counseling before everything crashes. B had been in Germany almost exactly 4 months to the day when he found out about his brother.

Johanna is buying him a ticket to Munich but he is scared to go alone. His older brother J still has a few more weeks of school left. When I saw him in class on Thursday he smiled at me but his eyes were red. For him, the situation is especially hard because to lose first one brother to beaurocracy and then another to suicide would be a double blow. All of the boys are affected. Having lost or left their families, the family they create here in the student or foster housing is especially important. Regardless of language or religion they are brothers, and one brother's pain reminds them all how fragile their situation is.

Thankfully, there is hope for B, J, and their brother in Munich. There is not much time, but Johanna is optimistic that they will be reunited and able to complete school and then live as adults in Germany. For others the situation is not so good.

Many of the boys who escape to Germany end up in mental hospitals. The trauma is too much. One Iraqi boy saw his entire family killed by a car bomb; only he survived. He had to identify his father, sister, and mother, but was only able to find one of his mother's feet. In Islam, one is not allowed into heaven incomplete; all pieces must be present. Having been able to find only one foot, he was convinced that not only had he lost his mother in life, he had lost her in death as well. The responsibility of her loss--his guilt at not being able to find all of her, to put her back together(and in a sense, put himself back together) broke him down. He survived, but what is survival when one's mind is gone? He was only 16 when he came to Germany. That is too young to deal with such loss.

T has been cutting himself. He's stopped coming to class. He knows that he's going to die soon.He has an IQ of 141. T comes from Vietnam. He was smuggled out of the country by family friends after his entire family was murdered and their house burned, probably by the Vietnamese Mafia but he's not sure. His highschool in Vietnam has no record of him existing, and his old neighbors don't know his name. There is no official record of his parents' death. T is 17 years old. In 8 months he will be 18 but he won't finish school for at least another year. Because he has no school records from Vietnam he had to start at the beginning, but for the past two years he has been at the top of his class. Helpful, reliable, quiet and polite, T could be a posterchild for successful azyl integration. But when T turns 18, everything ends. Having not finished school he is unable to find a job. Without a record of his parent's death, he cannot legally be adopted. When the police come, pull him out of class, and take him to the airport to send him back to Vietnam he is going to die. The same people who killed his family will kill him, too. There is nothing to be done. T can speak for languages and fix any computer you put in front of him. His IQ score puts him in the genius category. When he smiles you can see a small gap in his teeth. The other boys who live with him have started saving their money, taking up a fund. They want to give him something so that when he leaves for Vietnam, maybe he will be able to buy himself some time. It is a futile but beautiful gesture; after all, they're brothers now.

If the boys are brothers, then their mothers are Johanna and Maria, the two language teachers. The call them each Mama. The office is always hectic because Johanna is constantly being interrupted by one or the other of them showing off a new haircut or complaining about a disagreement with another boy. They each have her personal cell phone number and she often gets calls at 3 in the morning. Drinking coffee during a break from class Thursday morning all of the boys are laughing and she tells me why: The other day a group of them were walking around downtown in the evening smoking shisha--flavored tobacco. A policeman came up to them(much like the states, it is not uncommon for groups of young immigrants to be hassled by the police) and asked them if they had any Marijuana. Of course! they said, Maria!Johanna! we know all about them. Of course the policeman freaked out, started searching all of them and when he found nothing asked them where their Marijuana was. MariaJohanna are at the school they said. This really made the policeman's eyes bulge. They were on the verge of being arrested when, in their broken german, they were able to explain that Maria and Johanna are their teachers. None of them knew what Marijauna was. In Afghanistan its called Hashish.

It is this mix of laughter and trauma that is the most overwhelming for me. It is impossible to step back, to disconnect, to see these boys as cases or issues or problems to be solved. They are inimitably, undeniably human. It is what makes their successes so exciting and their pain so heartbreaking. They are so young and there is so little hope or opportunity for successful integration. 

Last year on Germany's version of American Idol it came down to two finalists--one a natural-born German, and the other an immigrant from Columbia. The Columbian man could play guitar beautifully. He sang and wrote all of his songs in german and had been living in Germany for years. When it came down to the final choice, the judges told him that although he was technically the more talented of the two, he simply wasn't german enough to represent Germany as their Pop Idol. They wanted someone white. Unfortunately most of these beautiful, funny, annoyingly goofy boys will never be german enough for germans. They will survive here, as they have survived in much worse, but is survival enough? Johanna is polish and a Catholic. Her husband is a Muslim from Algeria. Slowly the climate in Germany is changing. Intermarriage and tolerance are becoming more common, but it is such slow work. 

Multiculturellen Zentrum Trier

A quick note before I begin this post: for the next month I'll be using this blog as part of one of my courses here, so it might get a little boring(i hope not) for those of you who aren't my professor and aren't giving me a grade. Anyways...

Yesterday was my first day at the Multiculturellen Zentrum Trier which is both extremely similar and extremely different to the Evangelische Aussiedlerarbeit. They offer many of the same programs--language courses, integration courses, international meals, etc-- but the general office environment is completely different. It seems as if the MZT is always busy, not disorganized necessarily, more like humming. Most of the people working there are volunteers and the office is crowded and cluttered and friendly. 

In the small room where I sat while Johanna taught an integration and language course sat teenagers from almost every continent. Afghanis, Iraqis, Namibians, Brazilians...most of them under 18 years old. Over half had been in Germany less than a year. The course is specifically designed for Azyls-- young people seeking asylum or who come from war-torn areas, many of whom are also orphans. We talked about breakfast. The small room was barely enough for the large table and twenty or so chairs squeezed around it. Conversations in multiple languages bounced off the walls, or more often in some sort of mix between german and something else. 

During the break around 11 we all crowded into the kitchen for coffee...strong coffee. I took a sip and puckered my mouth, Johanna laughed. We have three different kinds of coffee, here she said, Fabian coffee, Abdulah coffee, and normal coffee. When Fabian makes the coffee i pour a little hot water in my cup to water it down. When Abdulah makes it, I pour a lot. Abdulah is from Afghanistan. He is 16 and has lived in Germany for 6 months in a house with other refugee teens. I don't know if his parents are dead or were simply unable to leave. One of the other Iraqi boys asked me which city was cooler, DC or Kabul. I said I didn't know since I'd only been to one, but that my father is in Kabul now, working and that I had heard it was beautiful, which made them laugh. It was strange to be literally looking at the consequences of american occupation in the face. 

The language/integration course for Azyls is fairly special considering that most integration courses are only focused on people who come to Germany by choice and plan on staying. Azyls often get lost in the cracks because they either do not have the time or the resources to take a long course, nevertheless they still need to know how to order food, fill out paperwork, and get around town. Today as I was reading some literature about the history and pedagogy of the MZT I found out that beyond this course, they also offer a class for people who because of caste and or conflict never learned to read or write. Before they learn german, they have to learn their own speech. German grammar is no joke, but when you don't even know what grammar is... I was really impressed that the people at the MZT had taken this into consideration and actually offering that sort of course. I think it shows a sort of attention to detail that reveals the depth of care and concern they have for foreigners or whatever sort who have come to Germany. They even have volunteers who go along with people when they have to go to the hospital or a government bureau to help them understand the paperwork and make sure that they get everything done correctly and aren't overwhelmed or confused, which is often a major reason why recent immigrants don't seek out the various forms of government aid available. 

One thing that particularly impressed me about the MZT was also their strong commitment to anti-racism and sexism. Of course, being a multicultural center they're all about tolerance...but they have actually organized and participated in large protests against the NPD(neo-nazi party) and also demonstrated against the policy of jailing illegal immigrants(I saw a poster that said kein mensch ist illegal which means "no person is illegal." i liked that.) Considering my own personal political views, I tend to get jaded or cynical when people talk the talk but don't actually, you know...do anything. It impressed me that the MZT was sort of attacking the problem from both ends-- promoting tolerance and integration through positive programs that help immigrants integrate and help the greater community to be more accepting while also taking a firm stance against neo-nazism and other forms or discrimination. 

Next Sunday I'm helping to organize an american breakfast at the MZT. Every month they have a different group cook traditional breakfast food and also give some sort of presentation about their home culture. Since the other language students who are on this trip have been doing presentations about America  and american culture in different schools around town as part of their coursework, Dr. Kennedy(my professor) worked it out so that we could do the breakfast this month. Of course, they don't sell grits or american-style bacon here, so we may have to improvise, but I'm pretty excited. I get to be in charge of figuring out whose going to cook what and then making sure all the ingredients get bought in time. Since no stores are open sunday and many aren't really even open saturday its going to be an adventure. I think it will be pretty fun to watch the beginning german students from app meet other beginning students from all over the world over the breakfast table. 

One thing I'm particularly excited about this trip is that I feel like I'll be able to do some more hands-on stuff than I did last month since, similar to american non-profits, the MZT seems to be constantly looking for volunteers. I may even get to help out with an english course! 

city of my heart

Well, after an exhausting but worthwhile week in the states, I am back in Germany, this time in Trier. Thanks to Air India I have no clean clothes, but hopefully my bags will be showing up today! I'm currently sitting in my favorite coffeeshop(free wireless!) while a massive flash-storm sends sheets of rain down outside the windows. It was so sunny half an hour ago that I had to stop in a store and buy sunglasses. Funny how things change. 

Trier, being the first city in Germany I ever visited, is in many ways my gold standard for what german really means to me. Like a first kiss or first car, everything new I learn or experience about Germany is judged against Trier--its winding streets and fountain-filled courtyards, its history, its people. I am staying in the same Hostel I stayed in last summer, on the same school program with the same professor, using the internet at the same coffeeshop and eating late-night pizza at the same cheap pizza joint(although they've moved to a location closer to my hostel!). I like the familiarity, I like knowing my way around without a map. I like how everything feels like home.

Trier is one of the oldest continuously-populated cities in Germany, dating back to the Roman Empire. Actually, before Constantine built Constantinople, Trier was the capital of the Western Roman Empire. Pretty cool. People daily dig up roman coins and artifacts in their backyards; you can still visit the amphitheater. Later on in the trip we will be once again visiting the oldest wine cellar in Germany which is over 2,000 years old. Coming from America, a country barely 300 years old, its sort of mind boggling to think that people have been living in one place for that long, but something about that permanency provides a measure of peace. If civilization has managed to survive on this patch of dirt for centuries, any problems I might face(no shampoo? no cell phone charger?) can't be that bad. Regardless of the weather I will survive and grow here, if not for 2,000 years, at least for the next 4 weeks.