BERLIN – It had been a long time since I had been fascinated over something.
It seemed to me as if I had simply grown, my head more distracted with university, work, more work, and grades I never seemed to achieve.
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Long lost was my mind, the constant pondering over thoughts, and the many epiphanies I used to have. They were the kind that would make me aware of the vastness of life itself, that I was just a pinprick of soul filled with billions of others.
I never really looked forward to anything anymore, except for when it would be time to sleep. Occasionally I’d remember that I used to love eating.
But really, it had been a long time since I consumed something. Whether it was food or content, my brain felt like a paper shredder smoothly performing its work, only for the paper to be scattered. I was no longer in the present, but sitting back in a dormant part of my brain where everything was quiet.
Then I had the spontaneous opportunity to go to Berlin for three weeks.
It was weird for me to perceive that me of all people – whose parents are strict and were opposed such an idea like this whenever it would be suggested – would be making this journey.
But by fate’s chance, it fell into my lap, and they hadn’t the heart to say no. I was going to Europe on my own, with no guide and no friend.
I almost didn’t want to think about it too much, afraid the opportunity will slip from me before I knew it.
Until I actually sat down on the plane, I didn’t really believe it. I’d flown before, but never outside the Middle East.
This is definitely not Cairo
From my aisle seat I could see the familiar landscape of the yellow deserts below.
But when we finished crossing the seas, there was lush greenery beneath us, the type of scenery I’d only see online. It was wonderful, and reality of these new strange surroundings finally started to settle in.
I had researched enough to know that Germany had an extensive public transport system, and I was on a train ready to perform the train switches on my planned route.
That’s when I had my first impression of famed Berlin.
On my train were a bunch of kids partying, playing techno music in the background, beer in their hands and a random guy doing push-ups.
I knew I wasn’t dreaming because this was definitely not Cairo.
When I got to the station closest to my hostel, I had no wi-fi as my e-sim didn’t work, so I didn’t know how to find it. I was stuck trying to explain my situation to a Turkish guy who doesn’t speak English – and whom I’d irritated because I thought I could use his hotspot, but he angrily told me no.
It was humiliating, but nothing unexpected out of a solo traveller’s first time in Europe.
I gave up and eventually took a cab and squandered six euros for a 10-minute walk.
I had never been in a hostel, but I loved the experience. I stayed in a female dorm with five other people. The room was big enough, and most of my roommates were pleasant.
I got used to inviting everyone to hang out with me. As roommates, they were so considerate – constantly helping each other out and being quiet after a long night out while everyone else was asleep.
They had completely different lives than me, which made me feel like the odd one out whenever I explained who I was, where I came from and why I was there.
I had no reason to be in Berlin but there I was, for three whole weeks.
On my first day, I went on a three-hour free walking tour of the city. We walked from Alexander Platz all the way to the Holocaust memorial, which wasn’t so far from Brandenburg Tor.
Two days later, I was on a flight to Copenhagen. It was an unforgettable trip to write about Copenhagen Fashion Week.
Leaving so soon? Hello, Copenhagen!
The night before I flew to Copenhagen was rough. I only slept for two hours, my head spinning with thoughts that had almost convinced me to not go. It was a once in a lifetime trip, but there I was, questioning whether I deserved it.
And the freedom I felt in Berlin made me grieve leaving it just two days after I arrived.
Youth Journalism International supported my trip to Copenhagen, and I would have felt horrible to not go, to waste the opportunity given. I didn’t want my brain to convince my body to remain in my bed because “I didn’t deserve it” so I got up at 3 a.m., haphazardly packed my backpack and went on my merry way.
To this day, I wish I could repeat the Copenhagen experience. I wish I could describe how it felt being there. It was simply a new place, a different landscape. It is a fancy city with a different energy and feel to it. Everything was so amazing to see.
I was fascinated again! I found myself jumping up and down in front of Noah Haynes, my younger YJI colleague who showed me around his city. You would think I was the younger one between the both of us, but he’s taller than me so no one would probably know.
I pointed at everything, exclaimed loudly and gasped so frequently it annoyed me so much and wondered how he wasn’t irritated.
After two days of fashion week and good food – and a duck confit sandwich whose taste I wish I could recall – I was back in Berlin with more time to spend.
Back to Berlin
I met different people, took part in community events, and made friends whom I still keep in touch with. I remember being at Tempelhofer Feld, an abandoned airport where trees and grass were sprouting amid the old runways, watching the sunset.
In Berlin, I had many of those quiet moments that filled me with awe, staring intensely to observe everything around me with the dream of never forgetting one detail. I saw vibrant colors in nature that I’d never witnessed.
My retinas quite literally burned with the color frequencies I saw in Germany. I opened my eyes wide, not wanting to miss a thing.
I was also homesick, which is funny considering I was abroad for only three weeks. I had always been invested in my culture but I never felt more desperate to chase after it. Once I was going up the escalators after a community gathering, behind a few Arabic-speaking men who, let’s just say, were saying some quite colourful words only we would know.
I was quiet, occasionally gave a pressing glance or two towards them, more out of intrigue than judgement.
Suddenly, one of them says in Arabic, “There is an Egyptian girl behind us,” then looked at me and asked in a heavy English accent, “You Egyptian innit?”
We all burst out laughing. It was funnier knowing that they weren’t even Egyptian.
I remember my late-night walks spent listening to the late Ziad Rahbani, especially his album Hodou’ Nisbi. He always pierced something within me, this highly intelligent man with his witty lyrics and sophisticated compositions.
His death in July made his melodies more piercing than usual. His song, “Ana Moush Kafer,” translating to “I’m Not a Nonbeliever” was one of my favorites. It reminded me a lot of Alexandria, Egypt – the community I lived in, all of us waist-deep in struggle that would have drowned us if it weren’t for others looking out for each other.
And that’s what I kept telling everyone whom have wanted me to talk about him more. I talked about Egypt, the struggle, the bliss and how it completely revolves around my identity.
Adventures in Leipzig and Dresden
While in Germany, I met up with two other fellow YJI students. Milana Yarychkivskiy met up with me for a few hours in Leipzig and showed me around. Together we walked in the city, visited a museum, a church and a war memorial and had lunch.
In Dresden, Lina Marie Schulenkorf’s family hosted me for a couple days. I got to see how a German family lives and tried some authentic dishes, especially fresh bread from the bakery every day.
She introduced me to German culture and took me to a gathering with her friends.
And one night I made a mild Egyptian stew of mallow leaves for the family to share a bit of my own heritage. They really loved it and that made me really happy.
There were other memories under my belt to go back home with, too.
I remember an older Mexican biologist who conversed with me as we waited in line for Sudanese falafel sandwiches at the Sahara restaurant near the Hermannplatz area of Berlin. She told me, as had other people, that I looked like I had lived in Berlin for a long time.
When she asked me if I want to move here, I told her that I considered it, but that I may not have the opportunity to come back to Germany again unless I study super hard and get accepted for a graduate program.
She told me that me being here in itself was a wonderful thing to have, and that I have the chance to go back home with a part of this city that I can spread to others. I was not sure what that thing could be, but her words still echo in my brain.
I wonder if that thing is reading books on my way to university like a German who has nothing to do on the train. I wonder if it is the action of pursuing something with full confidence. I think about my unfinished projects, or the ones I hadn’t even started yet out of fear.
I think about the biologist, and how she said if I come back, I’ll be stronger to handle Berlin’s bite. As wonderful as it is, the city faces many issues like housing, job shortages and political divide.
I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to Berlin, as that depends on a lot of factors. But I still feel weirdly hopeful – and even confident – that I’ll be back soon.
Jana Salama is a Reporter with Youth Journalism International.
