A Day in Mr. Özmaniglu's Neighborhood

I had a bit of a walkies through my neighborhood the other day, to take some pictures (which will randomly pop up with neither rhyme nor reason during this post, just to show you a bit of where I live) becaues it was a beautiful day, and because I had been sitting in my house fucking around on the internet instead of doing anything productive. Ahh, the unemployed life.

When I was a girl of 17 or so I used to think that the most remarkable things happened to me. Every "deep" conversation with a worldly, well-read stranger was an "experience". I went out of my way to let weird stuff into my life, because I believed that the only path to an authentic existence was to expose oneself to as many bizarre and uncommon things as possible. I felt sorry for and superior to people who sought to shelter themselves from unpleasantries.

Fast forward ten years. I have had enough of the "authentic" life, now I just want you to get out of my face. Neukölln, or Kreuzkölln as we tourists affectionately call it, is a big, sometimes rough, always dirty, Turkish neighborhood here in Berlin. As I'm ambiguously brown I usually go about my business, without anyone paying me much mind one way or the other. But not long ago, I was walking down my street, when some idiot in tight pants told me I was holding my head a little too high and that I needed to show some humility, because I was in Neukölln (ostensibly this means that here in Muslimworld, women know their place). This is only slightly more of an outrage than the time that I had a bit of a limp from spraining my ankle and was hobbling quickly to the train station when another idiot in tight pants asked me why I thought I was a man (he didn't like the way I was walking).

Now keep in mind that it is a very diverse neighborhood, I mean, in terms of Muslims that is. Most of them are Turks, some are from Lebanon and Syria, but in general it is a pretty relaxed place. Women wearing hajibs driving cars and talking on cell phones. Girls and even older women without their heads covered at all, smoking cigarettes and making out with their boyfriends at the busstop. Only rarely do you see a lady completely covered from head to toe, with the gloves and all. (The photo above was not taken in my hood.) But I have to wonder what kind of family these guys come from, where a generally well-behaved young lady like myself draws such attention. Perhaps I ought to be pushing a stroller and languishing under a burka instead of wearing a backpack and undoing the top button. I dunno.

Back to my recent walk. I meandered a bit, chasing water towers (pictured at top) and historical promenades (not pictured because I was scared of losing my camera). Schillerpromenade is a big cobblestone street with a green strip down the middle that Turkish kids use to loiter in. Someone get these children a proper park. Ping pong tables are for playing ping-pong on, not for smoking cigarettes and feeling up whorish German girls on. Similarly, football pitches are for playing soccer on, not for standing around listening to tinny music on your cell phone on. I have never been scared to walk down any street in broad daylight in Berlin, but the situation here was crucial. You know something is wrong when at 6pm the only people on the streets are gangs of kids aged 9 - 17. Not even old German guys have the balls to run around here. After ignoring a comment from a presumptuous youth and finding myself trapped in a sea of potential delinquents (and witnessing a fist fight) I decided to get back to civilization.
I was only a block away from Hermannstraße when an African hair shop caught my eye. There are only two kinds of shops I randomly wander into here, and that's jewelry stores and hair shops. While I am not currently in need of any six-foot long, neon orange swatches of synthetic hair, I am always looking for the next cheap place to get my Black People Products (like cocoa butter and Pink Lotion). This particular shop was full of people sitting around drinking beer, so instead of crashing their party, I just browsed through the window. The people inside noticed and waved me in. Usually, I would just sort of make some passive gesture and slink away, but for some reason I was feeling bold, and went inside.

A pleasantly brash kaleidoscope of pidgin French and English whirled round and round my head, and I tried my best to focus on the products in front of me, and not to eavesdrop. It didn't work, and soon enough someone asked me what I wanted to drink and offered me a chair. What am I, 17 again? I should have just politely refused, gone home, cooked dinner, and done something appropriately boring. Instead, I accepted the beer and sat down. And another one.

During the course of the two hours I was sat there, three separate men attempted to talk me out of my underwear. Now what is wrong with me? Why didn't I just leave? I guess for the same reason that they didn't just let me stand out in the cold--it seemed sort of wrong, like wasting an opportunity, to sever contact with other black people, even if one of them is a guy who's invited me to come to a meeting of his "NGO" the next day where his Turkish friend, Murat, who has just completed his terrorist training, is going to teach the group some Near Eastern drumming.

I even stayed after this same guy had had a couple too many beers and got aggressive with the proprietors of the establishment and some of their friends. I stayed after the proprietor kicked him out and proclaimed that he was not to come within 100 meters of the store (evidently he is a judge or something, because now Mr Terrorism NGO can't even eat a kebab next door, according to his mandate). I stayed after one of the crazy-cocky women who'd been strutting and clucking like a chicken with her stories and anecdotes had the nerve to ask me why I'd pierced my lip (while she herself had pierced her gums... gross) but I was on my way out.

All in all it was a lovely day, but I think it was a bit more authentic than I usually care for. I think I should go back to being a grumpy old Republican (ok I'm not quite a Republican but you get the picture) who hates trying new things or being exposed to different ways of life, who thinks everyone should go back to Africa and that all young people have lost their minds.

But I got home with my camera, two free beers and a bit of a story to tell, so it wasn't much of a loss, was it? ;)