We met at a kindergarten in Munich, during our sons’ ‘Eingewöhnung‘. You see, in Germany, they care about children’s feelings. You don’t just park them in daycare cold turkey and risk hard feelings of abandonment and loss. You get them acquainted to a new routine first. You introduce them to their new caregivers. Slowly. Slowly. Over a period of two to three weeks. You start small, let them enjoy it, safe in the knowledge of your presence. You up the stakes each day and leave them wanting more.
Not something for impatient mothers, needing some quick me-time after three years spent cooped up at home.
Süle is 40 and she has two kids, ages 3 and 4. ‘Within 16 months, I’d popped out 2 children,’ she laughs. ‘But now it’s enough. It’s too hard. I have shut down the factory.’ Her words, not mine. She’s been living in Germany for four years and hasn’t had a chance to attend a single German class yet. But with both kids in daycare full-time, she might be able to begin in February. Her eyes are twinkling now and you can tell she can’t wait.
Süle is dying for a smoke and asks when she’ll be allowed to go outside for a cigarette. (All parents of new children are expected to stay inside in case the little ones don’t take the separation too well.) She’s a Muslim she says, so it’s haram to smoke. Her in-laws don’t know about the smoking and they mustn’t find out. But she can’t help it, she claims. She’d quit for four years, was clean with both kids, but her sister-in-law got her going again. She hates it, she says – because it stinks to high heaven, especially in the house – but when she’s not smoking she’ll eat everything she can get her hands on, ‘like a vacuum cleaner.’ She went from 66 to 74 kilograms after a ‘dry’ spell. I suggest she try fruit. Süle shakes her head no. ‘I just need my 3 or 4 cigarettes in the morning and then I’ll be fine for the rest of the day.’
As a police officer in Kosovo, Süle used to work 16-hour days on prostitution cases, writing up documentation for the prosecutors, and getting her Law degree at the same time. Everything had to be just perfect, and she enjoyed working with foreigners from other police forces. ‘Oh, I loved the buzz! I didn’t think it was hard.’ She didn’t even realize how stressful it was until two months after quitting the force. Now she’s a housewife and hasn’t started looking for work yet, she’s keen on mastering the language first. She volunteers sometimes at the refugee center. On occasion, she has been known to ruffle a few feathers: ‘Did you own a farm and a tractor back home?’ she would bark at co-nationals. ‘Yes? Then what are you doing claiming refugee status here? Don’t you have arms and legs to work?’
Before coming to Germany, Süle lived in Slovenia for 4 years. But then it all went downhill there, too. ‘The economy is really bad there now. You can work any job and you get 400 euros and the rent is 500. If you don’t own your house, what do you do? You know?’ she shrugs. ‘They joined the Euro too soon.’ Süle has been to Romania and finds Bucharest beautiful. She was put up in a five-star hotel for some fancy conference. She liked the people, they were all kind to her. She even learned how to say ‘Ce mai faci?‘ and she’s giggling, all proud of herself. Apart from her native Albanian, Süle also speaks English and Serbo-Croatian. ‘But what good will it do? I need German here. And my German is broken.’ Süle’s broken German is actually quite good considering she has picked it up ‘just like that’ from the street or playground.
Two hours have passed and Süle has still not had a smoke. She has talked up a storm instead. Now, she’s feeling relieved. Our time is over for today. And as we are invited to get our children dressed, I try to make out the phonemes that cascade from her mouth while she interacts with her children. One word stands out: it’s ‘Haide!‘
Writer Between Worlds 