From Asylum to Immigrant: My Years in Germany(1984-2010)

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2012 by Nana Kwaku Kurankye Kwatei. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means

without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/13/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4678-8510-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-8511-9 (ebk)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being

used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may

have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are

solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher

hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Foreword

Acknowledgement

Glossary

About The Author

DEDICATION

Dedicated to my late sweet mother Nana Abena Nyarko (alias Abena Bour), who died peacefully at her home town, Adeesina near Antoa (Kumasi), in the Kwabere District of Ashanti, Ghana. She died in June 2006. She was 105 years old. It is also dedicated to my dear wife, Mrs. Mercy Kurankye Kwatei, with whom I have struggled for a long time—both in Ghana and in Germany, since 1963. Not forgetting our dear children, Adelaide Nana Yaa Frimpomah, Richard Nana Kurankye Kwatei Jr. (Nana Yaw), Mrs. Evelyn Oppong Boadu, Kwadwo Kurankye Kwatei and the youngest amongst them, Michael Kwabena Kurankye Kwatei of Kobi Rock fame; he was born in Hamburg on 28.06.1988. The rest are Richard Kwesi Kurankye Kwatei and Rahael Awuraba Kurankye Kwatei. Our Grandchildren are: Nana Ernest Asamoah (Nana Kwame alias Paa), Kervin Oppong Boadu, Pamela Oppong Boadu, Kwadwo Oppong Boadu, Frema Oppong Boadu, Huldah Yeboah & Nana Kwame Yeboah. Finally, I dedicate this book to the Ghanaian Pioneers (Adikanfo) and all Africans including African-Americans who braved themselves to come to this part of the world and endured the fiercest resistances/hardships, humiliations and sufferings, but persisted to stay to pave a way for some of us to follow suit. To all of them, I say AYIKOO–that is Asante Twi (Akan) word meaning, well done.

FOREWORD

The book in front of you is one mainly composed of the recollections of a man who as a young person left his country of birth in the pursuit of freedom, justice and democracy, virtues for which he felt it was worth temporarily saying Goodbye to his homeland. This book is a personal account on migration. As a sign of how the times have changed, that same man now had to leave his adopted home for his country of birth, now described as one of Africa’s most promising stars in terms of democracy and economic development, to finish the publication and printing of the account of his sojourn to Europe.

Today, there are 214 million estimated international migrants in the world; migrants make up 3.1% of the world’s population. They (migrants) are enough to fill the world’s fifth most populous country. Migration’s benefits to the economies of the countries of origin and destination can hardly be exaggerated. Not only individual migrants are actors on the international scene; these days the tendency is for them to group into migrants’ organizations, through which the interests and rights of the migrant communities in the destination countries are pursued and development projects in the countries of origin are carried out. In today’s globalized world, both skilled and unskilled persons have left their home countries to destinations in Africa, Europe, North America, etc., to put their skills to use and to earn for the upkeep of their families, both in their new home and in their original home.

The African-German Youth Arts, Culture & Science Association (AYACSA e.V.) is an example of a migrants’ association. It is committed to equipping migrants with the knowledge and skills needed to ensure successful integration in modern German society. Nana Kwaku Kurankye Kwatei, the author, is a founding member and Vice-President of AYACSA e.V. He has played an instrumental role in getting the association’s message to the broad community of Ghanaian migrants in Hamburg.

All who know Nana Kurankye will testify that without him, efforts to establish the Ghana Union Hamburg e.V. in 2002 would either have failed or at best been protracted way longer. An indefatigable paper warrior, he conducted all the correspondence with the ethnic, religious and social groups as well as with the diplomatic representations in Berlin and Hamburg. After the founding of The Union, Nana Kurankye worked hard to ensure that it got a deserving image and established an enviable reputation for itself.

When I met Nana Kurankye slightly more than an Internet decade ago, he struck me as an unusual Ghanaian immigrant in Hamburg. He embodied the values and ideals that characterized the first generation of young scholars in the immediate post-colonial period of Africa’s history, namely the 1960s. Characteristic of the Ghanaian scholars of that time was their ability to embrace the European quest for knowledge, while keeping traditional and customary practices of their (African) ancestors. That group had the benefit of interacting with Europeans sent to Africa as teachers, merchants’ agents or administrators. Further interaction with him proved my hunch to be correct: he evoked reminiscences of the quintessential Ashanti scholar, with Western training and African traditional views (founded on firm roots) well imbibed in him. The more I got to know him, the clearer it became to me that within the Burger (a term used in Ghana to refer to anyone resident in Germany, especially in Hamburg) Community, he epitomized Kwame Anthony Appiah’s work on Ashanti intellectual culture "In my Father’s Home"

During our first meeting Nana Kurankye told me of his desire to pursue a master’s degree in social work, despite having done his undergraduate studies in that field over two decades ago! When a common acquaintance or ours murmured over what use a postgraduate program would be to him (Nana Kurankye), he was quick to retort that it was never too late to learn; Nana Kurankye’s tenacity of purpose and dedication to achievement of his goals were at play. The next thing he revealed to me was the importance of getting at least one book published before the end of one’s life. Although he managed to qualify for admission into a reputable program in The UK, Nana Kurankye could not realize his first dream due to lack of funding. Not the person to easily give up, he immediately committed to pursuing the second dream, living testimony of which the book before you provides.

My wish is that you the reader will find this book interesting and that it will help you gain a better understanding of the challenges that face both citizens of host countries and migrants in the just quest for a globalist community of world citizens in the most cosmopolitan sense of the expression.

The Foreward was written by Ohenenana Bonsu Kyeretwie, MBA, HHL, Leipzig, Germany & Dip. Ing—and founder & President of The African-German Youth Arts, Culture & Science Association’ (AYACSA)—a Hamburg based NGO—with a mission to seek harmony, dialogue and intergration between immigrants and hosts.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Without the extraordinary support and sacrifices of some people, this book would not have been possible. I therefore want to express my profound appreciation and thanks to all those who in diverse ways helped to make this my long cherished dream of writing my Memoir about my stay in Germany since 1984 to seek for political asylum and my subsequent stay as a legal immigrant a success. I have to express my profound gratitude to Eric Adorme, Henrietta Manu, the grand niece of my late uncle, Mr. S.K. Manu, one time Ghana Football Association Chairman (GFA) and Patrick, who voluntarily and under the direction of AYACSA’S Executive Secretary, Ohenenana Bonsu Kyeretwie, typed and re-typed the manuscripts. I must congratulate and praise Mr. Eric Adorme who was called upon on several occasions to meet me at the AYACSA Office even on weekends to work on the book. There was no occasion that he turned me down. I am very grateful to him and the rest. I also thank Mr Jürgen who took the trouble to scan and work on the pictures in the book. I want to express my gratitude to the following great personalities as well. I would like to begin with my younger brother and partner at AYACSA, Ohenenana Bonsu Kyeretwie, for offering his computer literacy and expertise at my disposal and in coordinating all the stages of the book project. He has also written the Foreword to the book. He deserves many thanks and appreciation.

I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to Mr. Osei Piesie-Anto, Dean, Strategic Studies African University College of Communications, No.2 Jones Nelson Link, Adabraka, Accra, Ghana, for the initial editing and formatting of the book. He is himself an author and has many published academic articles to his credit. Additionally, he wrote: About The Book. He was recommended to me by my good friend, Dr. Samuel Twumasi, a Lecturer in Chemistry at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science & Technology/KNUST, Kumasi, Ashanti, Ghana. Indeed he also deserves tons of congratulations.

In addition, the entire executive and the staff of AYACSA, NGO, must share the honor for placing AYACSA’s resources at my disposal and considering the book project as an AYACSA project. I have not lost sight of the great contributions of our strong AYACSA lady, Frau Sylvaina Gerlich. Apart from serving in advisory capacity as far as the book project was concerned. She also dished into her own personal resources to help the book project. She made the initial introduction of the book to great personalities like Mr. Jojo Cobbina, a prominent Ghanaian journalist and writer based in Frankfurt, Germany, and some prominent German journalists, Senators and Government officials. I am very much indebted to her and do appreciate her financial contributions, encouragement and frequent telephone conversations we had when I was in Ghana in the early part of 2010 to get the book initially edited. I must also show my profound appreciation and thanks to Mr. Stephen Atta Owusu, author of an interesting and best selling novel:Dark Faces At Crossroads (1991), who did the final editing of the book. He was also recommended to me by my partner at AYACSA, Ohenenana Bonsu Kyeretwie, his mate and long time friend from Adisadel College, Cape Coast, Ghana. I owe him tons of gratitude simply because despite his tight schedule, he (Stephen Owusu), wholeheartedly and readily accepted to help me free of charge when Ohenenana appealed to him. He did a nice job and deserves congratulations. Last, but not the least, I sincerely thank my brothers and friends, most of whom have lived in Hamburg before for a long time: Nana Appiah Kubi, Mr. Kofi Agyemang, Mr Kwasi Anhwere—some of them have offices at Tip-Toe Lane, and Mr. Dei-Kusi, the Proprietor of the famous St. Pauli Beer Bar at Kwame Nkrumah Circle (near Rons Forex Bureau)-also an old Hamburger for their pieces of advice and encouragement in writing this book.

January 1984 saw me in Hamburg, in the then Western Germany. It was winter time and the weather was extremely cold and very uncomfortable for me. My mission was simple: I had come to apply for political asylum to save myself from the military dictatorship at home in the 1980s. My life was very much in danger. Why did I suddenly leave Ghana? I fled Ghana suddenly because of the impending danger. A week after a big students demonstration against the atrocities being meted out to civilians by the Peoples Defense Committees PDCS) and Workers Defense Committees (WDCS), militias and military personnel. We were mercilessly beaten by the defense committee members who accused us (my friend and I) for leading and organizing student demonstrations against the Provisional National Defense Council (PNDC) military government in power. We were also accused of being anti-revolutionary. The beating continued until some men among the group felt sorry for us and decided to save us from being lynched. The following day, a group from the PDC and some policemen came to the university campus, heavily armed and asked for our heads, my friend and I. I saw them from a distance and rushed back to find a hiding place. They caught my friend in the outskirts of the university campus. They beat him mercilessly and injured him in the leg. I feared for my life and decided immediately to leave the shores of Ghana. I told my story to a Good Samaritan who helped me to come to Germany to seek for political asylum.

Before I proceed further, can we educate ourselves about the origin of the word asylum? We have to bear in mind that people have been forced to flee ever since they began forming communities centuries ago. Historians and other academicians have affirmed that, the act or tradition of offering sanctuary is almost as old as flight itself-this is referred to as asylum; a word of Greek origin meaning, without capture, without violation, without devastation.

As said by Plato: The foreigner isolated from his fellow countrymen and his family should be the subject of greater love on the part of men and of the gods. In addition, according to the Collins Dictionary & Thesaurus, asylum refers to shelter, refuge, sanctuary and a safe place. According to international law, it is a refuge offered to a person who is being persecuted by his home government or whose life is in danger. It also refers to one seeking political asylum and wanting to be kept safely in another country from persecution. On the other hand, an immigrant is supposed to be a person who has been settled in a country of which he’s a non-native. So, my seeking for political asylum in the then Western Germany, was not an isolated case; I was not the first Ghanaian/African to apply for asylum as others had done so already in the late 1970s or early 1980s. This is how my search for asylum began in 1984.

I flew out of Ghana on the 13th of January 1984 by Egypt Airlines. I spent the night at a posh Airport Hotel in Cairo, Egypt. It was a very nice hotel—big and airy. Food, especially bread, was in abundance. This was the time when hunger persisted in Ghana. Food was very scarce at that time because of the severe Harmattan which caused many farms to burn.

We were seven Africans in transit to Frankfurt—two women and five men. I was asked to pair them at the hotel to pass the night. Obviously, the women got one room and I paired the four men so that I could get one room for myself. But I could not sleep very well that night as I was thinking of conditions back home and the plight of my family. More so, I was anxiously thinking about what was waiting for me at my final destination—Hamburg.

The following day, we took off from Cairo in the morning and arrived mid-day at Frankfurt. It was a very smooth and interesting journey. In the plane to Frankfurt, I sat quietly and listened attentively to a conversation between the two Ghanaian women who were directly seated in front of me. They boasted in Twi (Akan Language) that, if their boy friends (or husbands?) failed to pick them from the airport with the cars they had bought for them, there would be trouble at home that day. I asked myself, Ei! Hmm! So these women have cars even in Aburokyire? They might be very rich over there, I opined. After going through immigration formalities, I stopped by the women as they dragged their luggage with difficulty. Can I help you with some of your luggage? I addressed them in our local Akan (Twi) Language as I offered to help them. One of them said as they all turned to look at me., Hey! Man, are you an Ashanti, a Ghanaian? Judging from the way you have dressed, one would think you are a Jamaican! You were not talking to us at all in the plane. Little did they realize that this was my first time in Europe; a Johnny-Just-Come, an Ashla-coined from Auslander, a German word for Foreigner and was later seen to be very popular amongst the Ghanaian community in Germany. I concealed my real identity for a purpose. I told them I was on my way to Hamburg.

Frankfurt Airport was big and beautiful, It had enough space for more international planes and airlines. I did not have sufficient time to see the place very well. We had only few hours to board the small Lufthansa shuttle plane for

Hamburg—my final destination. I was very much anxious to reach Hamburg. I enjoyed the palatable food and drinks served in both planes especially, from Accra to Cairo and from Cairo to Frankfurt. From Frankfurt to Hamburg with plane was just a short flight. We landed at the Hamburg Airport in the evening. Since it was an internal flight, I realized that there was no immigration checks again. It will be interesting to know how I managed to come to Germany to seek for asylum through Frankfurt, the gateway to Germany without being arrested. I received enormous help from a white man whose nationality I knew nothing about. A fellow university mate introduced me to him. You will learn later in the book about how the asylum system affected me and my family; and also about how the process tossed me about. I will also write about my experiences as an asylum seeker and as a legal immigrant who had passed through both difficult and happy days in Germany. This my memoir about my asylum days and legal staying in Germany is full of drama, suspense, excitements, disappointments and other interesting episodes, amongst other stories. My valued reader, just remain focused and read on as I chronicle my experiences which, I think, may interest you.

Some fellow asylum seekers talked of how they came here for the first time. Some said they passed through former DDR and also through some of the former Soviet Union’s satellite countries. According to some inmates, as soon as you landed in the former DDR, you would be directed to go to the then Western Germany as they were not prepared to grant anybody asylum in their country. This was an open secret. The fact is, when one’s life is in danger and wants a way of escape, one doesn’t mind the eminent dangers one would face to reach a safe destination since a drowning man will clutch at any straw. The following scenario will help to explain the point I wish to drag home.

It’s alleged that during the struggle for political control in the early 1980s between President Robert Mugabe and Joshua Nkomo, the latter was forced to flee Zimbabwe to avoid being arrested and perhaps imprisoned or killed. Joshua Nkomo, is purported to have traveled without any passport or any traveling document. At Heathrow International Airport, he was asked by the Immigration Authorities for his passport or traveling documents else, he would be sent back to Zimbabwe where he came from. Do you know what Joshua Nkomo, sometimes described as Father of Zimbabwe, said? He told them that: I’m Joshuah Nkomo of Zimbabwe, I don’t have a passport. My face is my passport! You may contact your Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher that she has a visitor in her country in the person of Joshuah Nkomo. It is alleged that consultations were made with the Prime Minister and we are told the Interior Minister at that time was instructed and he came personally to pick him to safety. I brought in this episode to buttress my point that in matters of trying to run away from danger, big or small people like me, known or unknown, rely on somebody or on a route that can help him/her to escape from that danger. The good thing in my case was that, the man managed to bring me to the then Western Germany which is another leading democratic country in Europe.

On arrival in Hamburg, I found myself a complete stranger as I didn’t know where to go and what to do as I did not know anybody. The first three white people I contacted, hoping they could direct me to a refugee home told me they could not speak English. This was a big surprise to me. What came to my mind was that, maybe they didn’t want to mind me and therefore the only excuse they could give was to say they didn’t speak English. I was lucky to meet the fourth white man who helped me. He directed me to one refugee center where he said there were a lot of Black people who may be in a position to help me. He told the Taxi driver to take me to an asylum house in Wandsbek Markt; and he mentioned Kattunbleiche to my hearing.

Arriving on that fateful 14th day of January, 1984, it pleased my eyes and heart that, despite the cold wintry weather, the city of Hamburg was very delightful to watch at night. Right at the Hamburg Airport, I felt the cold weather and, oh, the snow! It covered the trees, roads and buildings. Everywhere looked just white. I quickly remembered a song we used to sing at the elementary school in Ghana which went like this; In the bleak mid-winter… . snow has fallen, snow oh snow… . We sang about snow, but we never knew how it looked like. I saw it for the first time in Germany so I was very much delighted. It may however interest you to know that I was afraid to touch that white thing. I was really marveled but didn’t want people to notice my bewildered reaction. I further noticed that the powerful city lights made the snowy night of my arrival look more like daylight. Needless to say, I did not feel the seeming unfriendly weather conditions too much when I was being transported in the taxi to the Refugee center in Wandsbek Markt, Hamburg. In fact, the cold winter weather numbed my ears, hands and lips when I alighted from the taxi. I found myself in a different climatic environment. What I had learn t in books about cold winters and snow was now staring me right in my face. My greatest relief was that, inside the taxi was very warm. That was however temporary since the few meters walk to the gates of the Refugee center was bitingly cold. My mouth was virtually departing from my chin. A new experienced I had about the pricing in riding in a Taxi in Europe was that, unlike in Ghana, the meter fixed in front of the driver’s seat read the price which was in the region of about 50DM; the driver pointed to the price from what the meter indicated so it was not necessary for me to negotiate the fare as it is done in Ghana. I was holding a 100DM note so he gave me my balance and showed me the entrance to the refugee center. The center was a big mansion. The taxi driver pointed to the camp and added, Kattunbleiche 30, Hamburg 70. I later on came to realize that naming of houses and streets in Hamburg and the rest of Germany were a matter of course and quite distinct from what pertained in my country where most houses had no house numbers at that time.

As I climbed the stairs, I could hear deafening noises as I approached the inside of the building. My first impression was confirmed when I climbed the stairs higher up to an unknown apartment. I could hear the sound of familiar music. Those inside were shouting at the top of their voices. I felt I was in Ghana. They were conversing with each other as I entered the room where drinks were sold. They were all from Ghana. Two men came to ask me if I also came from Ghana and from which region. They also asked if I knew somebody in Germany. The fact was that, I knew some of my cousins and my junior brother were in Hamburg, but I did not know exactly where they were. Luckily, I got to know later on that some of them who interrogated me at first were my first cousins. I had heard much about them in Ghana, but we were not very much familiar to each other. When I met them for the first time, they offered to accommodate me for that day and promised to help me trace my junior brother Mr. Opoku Sarpong. Thanks to a good friend of one of my cousin’s. He helped me to speak with my brother on the phone that very day. My brother appealed to my cousins to take care of me and that he would come to see how to handle my situation in three days time and they agreed. True to his promise, he came at the appointed time and as custom demanded a small welcome party was organized to welcome me.

It turned out to be a tumultuous one. My brother, cousins and their friends were there to offer me the traditional Akwaaba (Welcome) ceremony. Those I vividly remember now were my late cousin, Kofi Abudu, and Yaw Fosu (now in USA), George Boampong, Wofa K. Manu, the late Isaac Boakye, Oduro Asamoah, Opoku, Kwadwo Owusu and his nephew, Jimmy Osei Tutu, who died a couple of years ago in Canada through a very tragic motor accident. A great celebration ensued with food, meat and drinks flowing in abundance. Some people had come specifically to listen to fresh news from home. Those days were the most difficult and brutal military rule in Ghana led by Flt. Lt. Jerry John Rawlings. He was a military dictator and ruled Ghana with his cronies as they liked. They messed up things as peoples’ lives were in danger. It was very unsafe to oppose their obnoxious policies during those bloody days.

Ghana, my beloved country, was indeed experiencing turbulent times in its beleaguered history. Food shortages, lawlessness, molestations and killings were rampant. Near anarchy hit the once peaceful country very hard. A curfew was imposed and fear gripped the citizens culminating in the unwelcome slogan, Culture of Silence. No free speech whatsoever was entertained by the ruling Junta. That was the news some Ghanaians I met at that place were eager to hear. Most of them who were very eager and anxious to hear my news were former Fifth and Sixth Formers who had left Ghana because of persecution by the Rawlings regime. In the course of the conversation, we talked about old classmates with feelings of nostalgia. This instant and healthy conversation greased our friendship the more. I told them I was a student political activist during campus politics days and off campus days and got involved in national political activities. I was able to tell them about the latest happenings in Ghana with illustrations and evidence from the Ghanaian papers I brought along with me. I gave them vivid and refined reports about Ghana that very night. Four of them were former students of Tweneboah Kodua Secondary School, Kumawu, in the Ashanti Region, Ghana. In the course of the conversation, I asked them if they knew one John Kwarteng—popularly known as John Pro or Progan. who was at the University of Ghana with me and was my very, very good friend. They answered in the affirmative and became interested to hear more news about him especially concerning John Pro’s academic progress.

They, in turn, told me how John Kwarteng clamored for extra food (the left-overs) at Tweneboah Kodua Secondary School, especially from the girls—hence, the nickname Progan. They confirmed my view of John Kwarteng that he was an academic germ, or wizard and at the same time, a very good-natured person. I told them he had not changed at all. I made an interesting point about how two eminent professors and Heads of Departments at that time—the late Professors Albert Adu Boahen (History), and Professor Folson (Political Science) were both wooing him to do their respective subject—history and political science. He opted for Political Science before I completed my course in Social Administration and left campus in 1980. He had to continue with his third year degree course in political science as indicated earlier on; however, we still got in contact until he left for USA around the middle the 1980s after his national service to do his masters degree. We have lost contacts since I came to Germany. I yearn to meet him in Ghana one day; he was such a good and interesting friend. I miss him a lot.

That day was a red letter day for me. It was very delightful and we chatted and drunk into the late hours of the night. In my encounter with them, I detected some amount of frustrations. As former Sixth Formers, they could have had the chance of entering universities in Ghana or abroad, but for the bad situation at home, which forced them to flee to Nigeria and later on had to find their way here. I mistakenly pitied them in my mind at that time not knowing mine would be worst than theirs in the subsequent years. Poor me! I made a wrong judgment in my mind!

Perhaps, these former secondary school lads were overjoyed when they saw an uncle or a senior brother who had passed through the University of Ghana, coming to join them in their regrets and frustrations as refugees or asylum seekers waiting for their fate to be decided finally by the German authorities-either to be granted asylum or to be sent back home eventually or to run away to another country. Perhaps, some were agitating in their minds and hearts that: Oh this man is coming to join us. he would soon realize that he had wasted his time. By the time he may realize, it would be too late by then. They might have guessed correctly as subsequent regretful events truly unfolded in my case, hence, this book. When I woke up the next day, I discovered that I was sleeping alone in the room, though we were about four in the apartment. I wondered where all my cousins had gone to. I forced myself to sleep again, but it was not possible. I wanted to beat time with the television staring right in my face. Unfortunately, I had no urge to watch the television at that material time.

I felt like opening the door to peep out. However, an inner voice advised me not to. Going to the flat of the Tweneboah Kodua Secondary School boys where we had the buzzing session the previous day was also not advisable since I didn’t know them very well. I rationalized they might have also gone to work. I assured myself that even if they were there, they might be sleeping. In my anxiety and confused state of mind, I heard the crackling noise of a key at the door. Somebody was opening it. The person did not ring the bell as I was instructed to do when coming from outside. That meant the person had a key. Marco, are you awake? I heard Ben my cousin asking me from the door-way. Guy de Marco was my nick-name at Tarsco (Tarkwa Secondary School, Tarkwa in the Western Region, Ghana). Ben might have heard his two senior brothers who were my age group, and we did things in common during our secondary school days in the 1960s in Ghana. We were sleeping in the same room during holidays when we came to meet from our different secondary schools. Those were the good old days in Ghana as people use to say. That was where and when Ben who was far younger than us, might have picked my Guy name from and he still remembered it. This showed how intelligent and retentive memory Ben possess.

At the breakfast table that day, Ben told me about how all of them had to leave early in the morning. They had to go to their cleaning jobs. Narrating the story further, he said some of my cousins will continue to go and do their other regular tasks and come home late in the evening or night. He drew my attention to the fact that, that is, how life goes on for them in abroad especially, in Germany for asylum seekers. He assured me that, very soon, I would get used to the system. More tutorials about asylum seeking process was delivered to me by Ben. He spoke about how I was going to write a statement before presenting myself to the Foreign Police for political asylum. He told me about the increase from one year to two years before one gets the two-hour working permit. One only got the permit, if one was lucky to survive the asylum system beyond the mandated two years as one’s case kept on pending at the court. When his time was getting nearer to go to the next job, he took me to one Akwasi Gyawu’s flat where he and his wife Abena Mansah sold drinks and food. He advised me to take cover if there was an alarm or information about police presence in the house. This, as a matter of fact, frightened me; it dampened my spirit totally. Hei! is that how this Aburokyire is? I asked myself. I silently pictured in my mind that it would be a bad situation if I was arrested and sent back home so early. Somehow, my fears were alleviated by Ben when he added that, in case they bumped into me and controlled me, I would have to surrender and apply for political asylum. However, I had to try to avoid such an embarrassing situation and take my time to apply for asylum voluntarily.

At Akwasi Gyawu’s Beer Bar, all manner of people met there to transact business-to drink and enjoy themselves. High-time ladies came there to dance, smoke, and chatter heartily and make merry. There were well dressed men and women who cast furtive glances at me. Probably as an Asala—a newly arrived person, I looked different both in my behavior and dressing. After the general introduction by my newly found cousin, to those who were in Gyawu’s parlour, the bold ones asked some few probing questions about the situation in Ghana. My cousin Ben told the bar owner and his beautiful middle-aged wife Abena Mansa, to give me food and drinks so that he paid them on his return from work. Mr. Akwasi Gyawu offered me two tots of whiskey and two bottles of Astra beer for free. This is a welcome drink for you, he said amicably. I engaged in a conversation and interaction with the customers until the evening when my cousin returned from work to take me from the place. I enjoyed the conversation a great deal. How time flies fast! Very soon, whether I liked it or not, the time drew nearer and I was to prepare myself well to go through the rituals of the dreaded asylum application procedure, a.k.a Aduro in the Twi parlance. That idea set me thinking. I began to reflect on what such an action would bring. Am I not going to hang a chain around my neck by taking this step that I’m about to take? I soliloquized at the idea of going to seek asylum the next few days! This line of thinking kept on ringing in my ears. I had sleepless nights. I kept on lamenting, By this action, am I not going to jeopardize my future career? That was a moment of hard decision-taking coupled with anxiety and uncertainty.

If I don’t go in for political asylum, there was nothing I could do to stay even temporary in Europe. That was the reality. Honestly speaking, I found it a bitter pill to swallow. For me, it was a necessary evil! I was determined not to go back home. As I listened to some of the horrible and pulsating stories from people and other asylum applicants, it made me more afraid. But, that was the only option, given the circumstances prevailing at home at that time. What could I do? I was already in the spider’s web! I found myself in the deep sea of political asylum. I had already fallen into a bottomless pit hard to climb to the top. My people say that, If you dip your hand into an old woman’s cold soup, you have to finish drinking the soup with her. There was hardly any choice. Though, I could visualize that the asylum application road was going to be rough and bumpy; there was nothing I could do. I was compelled to bear the consequences by swallowing that bitter pill as I had braved the storms to land on the German soil. It is often said that when one goes to Rome, one is expected to do what the Romans do. I therefore resolved to adapt to my new situation by applying my social work techniques and methodologies; rationalizing that my period of asylum application and the anxious wait for the decision of my fate, would be completely hinged on survival mode; it would be a do-or-die affair. I would have to rely very much on my strong personality and my adaptable character and more importantly, my sharp instincts. To buttress my point, I would like to quote my favorite sociologist and essayist, Alport’s (1937) definition of personality. According to him, personality is the dynamic organization of those psychological factors that determine an individual’s unique adjustment to his environment. Alport has my full agreement with his definition concerning the situation circumstance had forced me to bring myself into at this stage in my life.

As a trained social worker with much experience in human behavior, that was all I planned to do. In Germany, I was very much aware that life was not going to be easy. It was really not going to be all that rosy. It was going to be a life-long learning process. Some days after my arrival, some people had always wanted to take me to town to see some of the big super markets and other interesting places. True to their word, one fateful Monday morning, immediately after breakfast, they said to me in a very joyful tone and a happy mood: Senior, get ready to go with us for window shopping as promised. They said I would also have the chance