By Mariam Tutakhel
April-June 2000
Lemar-Aftaab
MY family left Afghanistan 1981, and we came directly to Germany
because my father had studied here. From our first day in Germany, we were surrounded by Afghans.
After about three months we moved from one of the refugee camps in Essen in West Germany to an
apartment in the same city. We were one of the first Afghan families there.
My father tried everything to keep our family together, which included
my uncle, his wife and his three kids, my grandma with my two unmarried aunts and our Apa, my mother's nanny.
Right after us, four other Afghan families followed. This was almost 19 years ago. Since then more family members
have joined us and now there are 25-30 Afghan families living here in the same street.
From the very beginning of my life in Germany, I had my little Afghan community around me.
As kids, we grew up together. Some of us got married and now have kids. Some people died: my grandma and our Apa.
Sure there were always a lot of problems-- especially a lot of gossip. At least once a year we would find a
disturbing anonymous letters here and there.
Often I came home from a party or just from outside, and the first thing I've heard was, "Amee wakhte amadan
ast?! Kolle gap mezanan. Deroz shereengol goft ke dokhtarhaye ee zaman az pacha kasheedan. Kho kera goft?! Ena shoma ra
mega. Da qare khoda shaween nametan bad meesha!"
I hated to be a part of this game. I hated it that everybody watched every step you took. Whatever you did
right at the next day the whole "Qalaye Zaman Khan" knew it. They didn't just stop at talking about other people's
daughters but went further and you heard intimate details about funerals and other private and very vulnerable subjects.
Sometimes I went crazy and could not believe how rude some of them were. But my parents never wanted to leave the area.
All families were divided into four buildings. In our building, there were 12
apartments and eight of them had Afghan families. However
hard we tried to keep something secret, it was still impossible. It was like living on a stage. Being aware that every step could be seen.
This is the one side of the coin.
The other side was never being alone in every situation of your life. For example when my grandma passed away, we
came home from the hospital. My mom and my aunts were crying and screaming, and we were all too young to know what to do;
during the next 20 minutes, all the women from the neighbourhood came, cleaned up, cooked and stayed with us for almost
the next 40 days. Or as my sister got married, from the day she got engaged till two weeks after her wedding party, we had people
coming and celebrating.
I never had the feeling that I was missing something just because I'm living in an European country. We were always
aware of who we are and where we came from.
The Afghan tradition was not just a story told by our parents but always a very important part of our lifes.
When I came to the United States to visit some family members, I was shocked to see that people, much older than me as
they left Afghanistan, couldn't speak proper Dari! I couldn't believe how unpleasent the Afghan tradition in the
States was. I even got the impression that it was somehow a shame to speak Dari with other young people.
Unfortunatly, most of the families are moving away from this area now. The children are older and got married
and the apartments became too expensive.
I'm rarely home, but I always feel secure here. We know that there is always someone to watch over mom
when she is home alone. Fortunetly the families are not moving too far away from here. Most of them are just a few streets away.
It's just a matter of time till they settle in and the rumours start again.
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