Learning German

Facebook has an uncanny way of reminding us about posts we’ve made. What I find more intriguing is: the posts made, have a direct connection to current life events or situations. As if you were going through the exact same thing at this point in history. Reminding you, you haven’t dealt with the event. Or: it was a projection of a situation you’ll have to deal with later. I should set the scene for context. (Snacks and beverage required).

The Shade Room: a website focused on celebrity gossip and current affairs from an intimate perspective, posted a black woman on a flight to a destination within the United States. She was sitting to next to a conservative white man who proceeded to display the following delightful sentiments via text message on his phone. The premise of said messages were: let’s hope they keep raising prices of plane fares to weed these people out. I am sitting next to a huge black lady. For context, this Caucasian man wasn’t on the small side also. We never know the full story; there are always three sides. And also there is an issue of privacy. This lovely man is entitled to his privacy and therefore has the freedom to spew vitriol to his nearest and dearest. However: there is no need for racism of any type. It’s unnecessary and damaging, to say the least.

Think about this, this woman paid her fare. The assumption was those of a ‘lesser’ race should be excluded from the luxury of air travel. In fact, she could be wealthier than him. Meaning: he inadvertently is excluding himself. Anyway: we digress. The main point is: her presence was not wanted. Then I think about my presence here, in Germany, it is not wanted. I rode on a false sense of security: it’s not essential for you to speak German. It’s Berlin; everyone speaks English.

Yeah, nigga no.

Daily I am reminded from members of the public that my non-german speaking, black arse should fuck off home. Not to mention; people seem to think they already know where I come from. I am not American and nor do I want to be associated to a country that kills my black arse like going out to eat Popeye’s chicken. My black skin is second rate, my life doesn’t matter. And let’s not talk about being queer and suffer from a mental health affliction. The world doesn’t want me here. In fact: often, I feel like I don’t even want to be here. Part of this is my fault. If it wasn’t a right wing demonstration, or the woman who thought I was; ‘one of the good Nigerians’’. The guy who followed around the shop after I told him, I only speak English. Only to shout at me in German. Or the colleague who involved a senior manager, because I make her feel unsafe. The countless time I was told that speaking German and living here is essential. Which is true, but: to be called lazy and unwilling to integrate hurts after the 300th time of being spat at. Language courses started before I moved, languages courses whilst living here, 402 day streak in Duolingo. None of it counts. All of this is excused my a damaging mentality that really has me in a spiral. ‘It’s just Germans. They are from a different generation, they don’t mean it. They won’t change’.

Right. Ok. Great.

The truth is: I am alone. It doesn’t matter how many, wonderful-caring-compassionate-trust worthy people-placing-themselves-at-my disposal-selflessly-defending-me-holding-me-consoling-me, there are, I cannot defend myself. And I blame me. I moved here, to this godforsaken place at there mercy of xenophobia and racism and left my defence mechanisms in the flipping spare room of my Nan’s house. Along with my, CDs, cassette tapes, unread pop science books, bags. Everything that made me, shaped and moulded, dried, cracked and repaired are all in that goddam room, at home, where my friends are, my family, my life. I left me there, most of me in a cage I brought the skeleton; this was the foundation on which I built the new me. I hold the passport, but he cannot leave. I am whole only once I visit the UK and stay at my Nan’s. The strongest part of me, the experienced part of me I told to stay, like an obedient dog. And he took heed. Because I thought I was brave enough, strong enough to live in a new country, new language, new experiences. I dove head first and told him: don’t worry. I will learn this language and master the ways of these Germans. Gain dual citizenship and come back for you. Now I feel like the one who needs to return with my tail between my legs.

I am embarrassed. Every black person on this planet should be ashamed of me. I let them down. I came to a place renowned for its racism confirmed by its gassed past and I left my sword at home. I let someone, nervously laughing at their racist joke, disrespect everyone that stands up for racism. My black life mattered, less. I am reminded I am not wanted here. I am defenceless. I am naked, with no strength to cover my modesty. Eggs are bing thrown at me, I am disgraced, ashamed, embarrassed; ultimately pathetic. Until I am red raw, the knees of my mental psyche, bear the brunt of the weight, sitting on my shoulders, bending my spine like a plastic ruler, muscles shake due to fatigue. Eyelids closed so tight, I risk imploding my eyeballs. The skin on the palm of my hands are stretched so tight, calluses have formed due to the constant movement. The seasons change, the days pass, and the weight gets heavier. There isn’t any respite, no break, no time for reconciliation, to grapple with my thoughts, feelings and emotions.

I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this job, in this country, on this fucking planet! No-one cares about me and I am not even sure if I care about me. I feel like I am going nuts. Paranoia plagues me and I am unsure if I am gaslighting myself. These white people have no idea about my black experiences. I have to trust they take this racist comment from the colleague and report it with the same cadence of which it was told. And lets’s face it: it won’t. My story, my life will be briefly represented, diluted and presented to a whole bunch of white people to again, make decisions about life. Like they always have, like it’s always been. Silly Aaron. Silly, Silly, Aaron. Urgh, I am annoyed.

I wanted to integrate so bad. I wanted to be here so bad, I trusted every fibre of my being, told myself that it was best thing for me to be here, right now. I had things to learn, besides the language; who am I? Do I need to challenge my current beliefs? Values? Ethos? I was ready to embrace the change; the future is bright.

Nah, it aint bruh.

Nigger first, monkey second, abomination third.