Impressions Of A Journey

Hamburg – Izmir – Casablanca – Yaoundé – Hamburg. And then Hamburg – Sarajevo – Hamburg – Bangkok – Hamburg and home. I’ve set out in search of life stories. I want to find out what brings people together. I want to hear their love stories, but I also want to find out about the significance of a law which tests the strength of some people’s new-found love to breaking point. Right at the start of my journey, a chance encounter gives me food for thought. I’m at Hamburg Airport, Terminal 1. I’m waiting to board the aircraft. A young Turkish mother waves her tickets under my nose, points and says something in Turkish. I hazard a guess at what she might mean and say yes, this is the flight for Istanbul, she’s in the right place. She seems ill at ease and slightly lost. Her children look young enough to be in pre-school. They introduce themselves politely in perfect German. They ask me how I am. And I ask myself whether this is the kind of situation which the revised legislation – the Immigration Act – is intended to address.

The more I explore the issue, the more I am plagued by some basic questions. What does integration actually mean? And from that, how should we define the term “pre-integration”? Do language skills equate with integration, or do they simply establish the basis for it? At which point can we say that integration has been achieved? Does it mean giving up one’s identity?

My journey to these five countries and my conversations with the people I meet on my travels – at the Goethe-Institut, on planes, in hotels or on the street – show me that there are no absolutes in life, love or, indeed, in what we describe as integration. Every country is different, with its own culture, traditions, languages and people, with all their diverse experiences, hopes and dreams and their own definitions of love. After countless conversations, though, it’s clear to me that integration needs language. It’s not a new insight, but the reality is brought home to me time and again on my travels.

I’m on the street in Yaoundé and try to hail one of the shared yellow taxis to take me back to my hotel. I don’t speak any French. I’ve written down the name of the hotel and the district where it is located on a scrap of paper. One taxi after another stops, and I try to make myself understood, first in English and then with my two or three words of French. Finally, I pull out my bit of paper and wave it under the driver’s nose. Each time, the driver shakes his head and drives off. My ego is dented: here I am on the street, unable even to get a taxi to take me where I want to go.

In each of the five countries, my inability to communicate robs me of the independence that is normally a source of pride to me. I’m instantly outed as a foreigner. I’m an outsider. Of course, you could argue that I’m only there for a few days, so there’s no need to learn each country’s language. And of course I’d still be an outsider even if I were able to hold a simple conversation. Nonetheless, the fact that I can’t make myself understood robs me of significant moments – a brief exchange, a short conversation on the street – the kind of experience that helps us get to know a country better.

On my travels, I want to find out about the people who are affected by the legislation in Germany – about the life stories behind the exam statistics. The stories are as diverse as the people themselves, but the challenge of learning a new language, the setbacks and difficulties are common to all. And yet no one expresses any real criticism of the law. Somehow, I had expected to encounter a wider range of views and perhaps even incomprehension. Strolling along the beach with Mourad in Morocco, he tells me what the law has meant for him. Of course, he says, having to prove that you have language skills creates additional stress and is a financial and psychological burden – but he thinks it’s important to learn the language. It’s the right thing to do. For Mourad, though, it is also about equality and freedom of choice – the freedom to decide where he wants to live. For him, proving that he has language skills is just one of many conditions that he must fulfil to bring him a step closer to where he wants to be – a step which, for Europeans, is much simpler and entails far fewer obstacles.

Again and again, I try to define my own position. What are my own thoughts about the law? I’m torn. I vacillate. My opinion changes constantly – like a flag fluttering in the breeze, blown in all directions. Nothing is clear. The wind drops. I’m left hanging. I wonder now, as I did at the start, what the law is supposed to achieve. Is it really intended to help people prepare for a life in Germany – to help them get off to a good start and ease their way into their new life? Do the financial, logistical and time commitment, the psychological burden and the stress bear any relation to the benefits? Or is it actually about ensuring that in future, immigrants fit a specific profile – not highly specialised or ambitious, perhaps, but still meeting certain minimum requirements?

It’s always the same questions which occupy my mind throughout my journey and during my conversations and interviews. I haven’t found any answers yet. The language I grew up with is a difficult one – that’s clearer to me now than ever before. Articles, verb conjugations and intonation all resonate like an echo. I’m secretly relieved that I don’t have to learn German as a foreign language. This increases my admiration for those who do, either because they want to or because they have to – or both.

It’s a Friday evening in October. I find an e-mail from Pascal from Cameroon in my inbox. I met him in early August in Yaoundé. He writes to me from Germany:

“I’m in Berlin now. I flew to Germany on Saturday. The weather is a bit cold. I’m very happy with my wife. Have a nice evening. See you soon. Pascal”


“It’s the thrill of travelling, witnessing and understanding. People and their stories and emotions fascinate me. My photographs are how I see the world. They’re my personal observations and are not objective at all.”