whole obsession with dogs. Everyone here seems to have a dog or some animal tagging along. In the shops, on the streets, everywhere. I hear that the dogs have their own beds and eat special food. It is a strange world my friend.
I still live at Karata’s underground house, and Karata said that if I tell anyone his address, he will make sure that I disappear. Karata is not as easygoing as I thought at the beginning. He has been very hostile lately. He says that I am not trying hard enough to get a job. I just wish he understood just how hard I am trying. The other day, I walked into a shop.
It was a shop that sold all kinds of things… a bit like Mrs. Patel’s shop.
I asked in English, ‘Do you have a job for me?’ The old man looked at me curiously and said something that I didn’t quite understand. It turned out that he was Turkish. Turkish is a different type of white people. They are just as white as the other white people, but Karata said that they are poorer and that if I am serious, I should go to a real German shop. Anyway, the old man signaled to a young girl, who immediately brought a bowl of rice and dumped it in front of me. He must have thought that I was begging for food! Nevertheless, the food was delicious, and after that, I just left. How could I burden such a kind soul with yet another request for a job?
My “teammates”, or at least most of them, have all gotten some jobs. Karata says that they are not the kind of jobs for me. At this point, I really wish I could change places with them.
Karata said that any man who sees my face will have a nightmare for a very long time… bah! So I think the jobs they got have something to do with men or some man.
But I will soldier on, my friend. I have not lost hope.
That is the end of my letter today.
Philister Taa
Ramona
Germany, 2010, the Purse
I smile to myself. I am a thief. I have finally achieved something. OK, achievement is probably the wrong term to use for stealing a purse. I wonder what the owner of this purse is doing or thinking.
I never set out to steal. It just happened. That’s right. It just happened. I wonder if that is the excuse all seasoned thieves use. “It just happened!” Even to my ears it sounds ridiculous. Things don’t just happen. They are done. So I start retracing the events that led me here. I took the self-help books back to the Stadtbibliothek 41 and pow — it appeared. OK, that is not completely true. It was in a bag. A yellow handbag in a closet that wasn’t completely closed. I think the owner forgot to close it or maybe just didn’t care enough. At first, I thought to turn it in to the librarian, and then I checked inside and saw the gray purse. It was heavy, and I assumed that this was because it was full of money. So I took it. No one was watching, and the thrill of doing something risky completely overtook me. My whole way from the library to the bus stop was an emotional roller coaster. I made sure not to meet anyone’s gaze. I was terrified and excited at the same time. The thrill lasted a while before regret set in. So now I am sitting alone on this bench. But I feel sad. Really sad. It’s almost like I am very lonely, which I am. But I am not admitting it to anyone. Not to myself and certainly not to…
“Hello!” I say cheerfully, standing to greet Roswitha. Roswitha and I belong to the same club. It is a club for chasing devils. That’s right. It was started by a woman from Singapore. She said there are devils all over Germany. She doesn’t see them, but she feels their presence all the time. I don’t know if I believe her, though. But I joined, especially because it’s free. So we meet once every two weeks to chase devils.
“Hello!” she responds and looks genuinely pleased to see me. She has tears in her eyes, which instantly make me feel better. I like seeing sad people or just plain miserable people.
“What is it?” I ask in a concerned voice. And I am concerned. It’s
I still live at Karata’s underground house, and Karata said that if I tell anyone his address, he will make sure that I disappear. Karata is not as easygoing as I thought at the beginning. He has been very hostile lately. He says that I am not trying hard enough to get a job. I just wish he understood just how hard I am trying. The other day, I walked into a shop.
It was a shop that sold all kinds of things… a bit like Mrs. Patel’s shop.
I asked in English, ‘Do you have a job for me?’ The old man looked at me curiously and said something that I didn’t quite understand. It turned out that he was Turkish. Turkish is a different type of white people. They are just as white as the other white people, but Karata said that they are poorer and that if I am serious, I should go to a real German shop. Anyway, the old man signaled to a young girl, who immediately brought a bowl of rice and dumped it in front of me. He must have thought that I was begging for food! Nevertheless, the food was delicious, and after that, I just left. How could I burden such a kind soul with yet another request for a job?
My “teammates”, or at least most of them, have all gotten some jobs. Karata says that they are not the kind of jobs for me. At this point, I really wish I could change places with them.
Karata said that any man who sees my face will have a nightmare for a very long time… bah! So I think the jobs they got have something to do with men or some man.
But I will soldier on, my friend. I have not lost hope.
That is the end of my letter today.
Philister Taa
Ramona
Germany, 2010, the Purse
I smile to myself. I am a thief. I have finally achieved something. OK, achievement is probably the wrong term to use for stealing a purse. I wonder what the owner of this purse is doing or thinking.
I never set out to steal. It just happened. That’s right. It just happened. I wonder if that is the excuse all seasoned thieves use. “It just happened!” Even to my ears it sounds ridiculous. Things don’t just happen. They are done. So I start retracing the events that led me here. I took the self-help books back to the Stadtbibliothek 41 and pow — it appeared. OK, that is not completely true. It was in a bag. A yellow handbag in a closet that wasn’t completely closed. I think the owner forgot to close it or maybe just didn’t care enough. At first, I thought to turn it in to the librarian, and then I checked inside and saw the gray purse. It was heavy, and I assumed that this was because it was full of money. So I took it. No one was watching, and the thrill of doing something risky completely overtook me. My whole way from the library to the bus stop was an emotional roller coaster. I made sure not to meet anyone’s gaze. I was terrified and excited at the same time. The thrill lasted a while before regret set in. So now I am sitting alone on this bench. But I feel sad. Really sad. It’s almost like I am very lonely, which I am. But I am not admitting it to anyone. Not to myself and certainly not to…
“Hello!” I say cheerfully, standing to greet Roswitha. Roswitha and I belong to the same club. It is a club for chasing devils. That’s right. It was started by a woman from Singapore. She said there are devils all over Germany. She doesn’t see them, but she feels their presence all the time. I don’t know if I believe her, though. But I joined, especially because it’s free. So we meet once every two weeks to chase devils.
“Hello!” she responds and looks genuinely pleased to see me. She has tears in her eyes, which instantly make me feel better. I like seeing sad people or just plain miserable people.
“What is it?” I ask in a concerned voice. And I am concerned. It’s
Similar Books
