l'allemand est froid

Last weekend I met up with Asylum-seeker C. I met him on that anti-racism congress organised by an initiative of asylum seekers (mainly male, mainly from cameroun, as I wondered at the time) where I provided interpretation french-english-german (a draining experience).
C. was the only one of the African guys I talked to on that day who described himself as an anarchist. He talks a lot though, and many of the ideas he expresses do not necessarily fit my understanding of anarchism. In any case, C. enthusiastically answered my call for help when I moved in August, and since then I have been keeping in mind the fact that I promised we would meet up again.

During our trip to Ulenkrug, I had told M. about my feelings of guilt related to the fact that I hadn't taken time to meet up with him even though he had stated he wanted to talk to me. Asylum seekers have it very very hard in Germany. M. showed understanding and encouraged me to simply call and meet up in a cafe for a couple of hours. So when an email from him came on Friday, inviting me to a little gathering, I called.

We met in P-berg in the afternoon. We looked for a Mexican place he vaguely remembered on Kastanien. Saw L. in the street who had applied for a job at my work place. She didn't get it. She seemed shy and we discussed the fact that she should call to know what they thought of her performance during the interview. C., who is trying hard to perfect his German, followed the conversation and kept throwing in nods and sounds of understanding, and little laughters, which, considering she was probably still traumatised by the rejection, was a little off key. But he couldn't know that.

We didn't find the mexican place, and C. seemed to show interest in a sushi place. I was a bit surprised that a penny less asylum seeker would have gone to a sushy place before, but dismissed this thought as ungrounded preconceived judgement. So we stepped into the sushi place.

C. hadn't eaten sushi before, nor had he eaten with chopsticks. I had the feeling he wasn't comfortable with trying that out in front of me. He repeatedly stated that he could fit in everywhere and adapt and it wasn't a problem.

He told me about his disappointment with a series of associations he'd worked with who provide help for asylum seekers - some organised by Germans, some by asylum seekers themselves. He said a lot of the conflicts that existed in Cameroun, for instance between francophone and anglophone regions, were transported to the country of exile. He complained that German people were too cold and unfriendly. He said he knew himself very well, and that was thanks to his dad who had taught him to keep a precise diary every day, and analyse the diaries on a yearly basis.

All in all, communication was difficult. I don't really do a good job of speaking in French, and I had the feeling he was sometimes using certain words when he meant the opposite or something slightly different. There was no basis for jokes, little relaxing remarks, irony. And there was this constant reminder that I am a privileged European and that I should be ashamed of my ignorance about Africa.

He did a good job of using his chopsticks. When we left the place, he gave a broad grin to the waitress and fluently threw a "Cheerio! Have a good evening!". Next time, he'll cook an African meal for me.