Dienstag, 4. August 2020

78) Home is where one can live
Written by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com
Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334 79 74
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Home is where one can live

Sitting on the veranda of the large but empty and dilapidated house, he read the last book that was left of his grandfather's huge library. Goethe's Faust! He had read it many times but each time he opened the book, he discovered something new. For him Goethe was Germany, he knew the book almost by heart and had only one wish to live in Germany. The only thing that unsettled him was how such a cultural people could have succumbed to a Hitler. If Goethe, Schiller and Heine were just exceptions or the attempt to annihilate all Jews was a slip up?
A long time ago, his grandfather had worked for the German colonialists. These used the same tactics as the English or French. They chose a minority oppressed by the natives, trained them, and then let them do the dirty colonial work. This generally meant that a minority of the natives controlled and directed the natives. The system worked perfectly, lower classes did not stick together, they kicked each other in the hope of standing a little higher than the one beside.
When the Germans left after the First World War, the English came, but for the natives only the language of contact with the colonialists changed. Of course, his grandfather wanted to keep his position, so he also learned English and an English library joined the German one. The old man was very far-sighted and predicted that the latter would remain. This is how his grandson had to learn English. However, he just couldn't get closer to Shakespeare. He was too chaotic for him. There were acts where you had to be careful to notice that the site of the play had suddenly moved to a different location. It is true that humans are more like a wind-blown leaf than a deep-rooted tree, but certain basic features …. In addition, the language used in Shakespeare was more similar to pub jargon than that of the court, for example, by Edmund Spencer. However, here on his African veranda, it all seemed very far away.
When he compared the news on British Broadcast and Radio France Internationale, he found that the French remained loyal to their Rousseau and Les Confessions, and were less greedy for economic interests than the English.
His ideas about the Americans were divided. There was a George Bush who wanted to have received a divine command and then immediately a 180-degree turn with a half black who trumpeted into the world: "We can!" But the reality remained: American soldiers in Nigeria, Iraq and Afghanistan, the support of the State of Israel, with the displacement of millions of Palestinians, although Jews and Arabs had previously understood each other much better than with the intolerant Christians who wanted to impose their beliefs on everyone.
Then, there were the Russians who always supported those who were against the Americans. And the Chinese, who at least did not grant any disadvantageous loans to Third World countries, but basically did all the work themselves and gave nothing to the host country's population and, in return, deprived the country of its natural resources.
Today, there are many who have deified the old colonial masters since civil war has raged since independence. Especially when elections were on the agenda, it was dangerous to go to the market in the next district.
He had studied archaeology and learned a lot about the ancient culture of Africa, mainly from foreign researchers who, although not mineral resources, stole historical findings.
But the harder the civil war raged, the less researchers showed up who needed a trained archaeologist with excellent language skills. In addition, the old majority was back in power, who of course still hadn't learned much about democracy and tolerant behaviour, that majority does not mean being allowed to do everything, that democracy is not the dictatorship of the majority and therefore suppressed all minorities.
For this reason, everything had to be sold, including his beloved library, he had only be able to hide Goethe's Faust and thus save it. His sisters had been married, his brothers and parents had all emigrated. Now he was the last in the big house.
But this cowardly majority knew that he was alone here now and they were getting braver. First, they poisoned his dog, then smashed windows and finally set fire to the little shed behind the house. The worst thing was that friends and neighbours no longer liked to show up in his company because they were afraid of being the next victims. Didn't they suspect that sooner or later, it would be their turn anyway? What were they hoping for? He was ashamed of his nationality. But where to go? And before him appeared the pictures of all 5 brothers who had tried to emigrate to Europe before him.
The first one had been bought a passport for a cow at a reasonable price, for another cow, he got a visa stamp in his passport, which the family could get thanks to their old connections. So he flew to Europe quite legally, wanted to find work there, then legalize his situation and send money every month to support the family. However, after his three-month visa expired, the police arrested him and put him on a plane that brought him back. Before he could get home, a truck ran over him on the country road at night.
The second, because he could not get a visa, entrusted himself for a lot of money to a smuggler who claimed to have good connections to Europe and could even help him to find a job there. He probably died of thirst in the Sahara.
The third sent a card from Libya, but after that he disappeared.
The fourth was sitting on an island off the European coast in a camp for illegal immigrants, waiting for his trial and likely to be flown back.
And he was the fifth. After the rest of the family had fled to the neighbouring country, they spent their days in a refugee camp, and the big house became more and more like a shack, there was practically nothing left for him than to try it too. He had endured as long as possible, didn't want to leave his Goethe and the veranda, but now it was becoming unbearable.
Then one night, he made his way, or rather, sneaked out of the village to avoid stones flying after him as a farewell gift. He had had to leave the veranda at home, but the Goethe was well packed in his backpack. On long sleepless nights, he would read it again and again.
Today he lives in Europe, he has made it. He knows nothing of his relatives. His wife is black too. Although he works as an archaeologist in a museum and is valued there for his conscientiousness, he has not fully succeeded in integrating; racism, while being suppressed by the state, is nevertheless colouring the whole of society. Talking to him normally is not a problem for many people, however he doesn't like going to the market, but prefers to shop in the supermarket. He was problematic for the family of a white girlfriend, and few people shake his hands. He rarely opens his Goethe. The greatest of all poets had become a dreamer in the eyes of him, the immigrant.


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