It takes a village.

I have been hoping to be able to write a post with this title for over a year.

Several times, as things were dragging on, I started, trying to write a comprehensive and understandable report of what was and had been happening, and failed. And things weren’t finished yet… This all sounds mysterious, and I still don’t know whether I will be able to put this into coherent writing. But it was an imminent part of my (terrible) past year, and I feel the need to get it out of my system. In fact, it was the beginning of the series of catastrophes that made last year so awful, and as we have now reached a point where it looks like things may be on the mend, I will give it another try.

Over the years I have repeatedly written about my work helping refugees, and one Senegalese refugee in particular, trying to find ways to get them a visa, residence, work permit, job, whatever. A means to get on with their life which they had uprooted by leaving their country, either fleeing from a civil war (Syrians), catastrophic political conditions after years of foreign interference (Afghanistan), economic hardship (African countries). 

 

One of my posts was even titled ‘Victory’, because I had thought we had ‘won’. Little did I know…

In mid-February (last year, 2024) things shattered. A small mistake was made when my Senegalese protégé changed jobs – the HR person for the new employer did not notify the authorities of the fact that he was now working for this new firm. We had told her twice that it was necessary, but she ‘thought it wasn’t’. Of course, she didn’t have to pay the price… I did notify the authorities, but not within the two-week period prescribed, and it would have had to be a form filled out by the employer. The result was that my friend’s work permit was revoked, they wanted to deport him. Long negations with the immigration office followed – partly through my husband, who has a very good way of dealing with authorities, and without him it wouldn’t have been possible. My friend had to find a new job, fast. He was extremely fortunate in finding a small family-run business with a strong record of really caring for their people, and the owner has been fighting alongside me like a lioness, because she wanted to secure a qualified and reliable worker for her firm. Thank you, Julia, for employing L. and thank you for joining in the fight!

There followed several setbacks when oral agreements weren’t kept by the authorities, they kept pressuring my friend to get a date to apply for a working visa from Senegal - he would have had to leave the country and re-enter in a new status. This is a favorite scheme of Bavarian authorities, who are adamant that former asylum seekers should not (easily, if at all) get a work permit and qualify for residency from within the country. Once an asylum seeker, always an asylum seeker, it seems. There were several weird instances which I won’t go into detail about, but which stressed me beyond all possible limits - and all of this happening as my father was ailing, finally passed away, my job problems, my husband’s decision to change to a different congregation, my son leaving for university, my mother’s accident and broken hip, my mother-in-law slowly fading and then, too, dieing – until, in January of this year, we finally found a lawyer who agreed to take L.’s case.

Her entry on the stage has made life easier again. She found out some more atrocities that we didn’t even know about – for example, the embassy in Senegal had at least twice asked the Immigration authority to please just make it possible that he receive his visa from within the country (which is a possibility, called a “discretionary decision”) because they don’t know their head from their toes due to the number of visa applications from within Senegal. The authorities’ last demand that he leave the country to apply for a visa from Senegal, which finally caused us to decide to get a lawyer, was issued a couple of days after they had received the second suggestion from the embassy in Senegal to just give him a visa and let him stay.

It's a long story, and certainly my attempt to describe all the shit that was happening can’t give full credit to just how shitty it all was. It’s a tale of bureaucracy and hostility towards foreigners, turning against employers who are desperately searching for well-trained workers – which he is, and the Bavarian state paid for his education. What’s the point of doing that and then shipping him back, or making life difficult for him?

As somebody who has been banging her head against the walls of immigration office doors trying to achieve some positive results based on human intelligence, pragmatic dealing with situations and just basically smart moves I have come to an understanding of asylum seekers who radicalize themselves, pick up a weapon and just go and shoot or stab some people. I don’t approve, but I understand.

In any case – the current situation is that L. has received a temporary work- and residence permit, then had to go to Paris and get his passport renewed (including a bribe of €550 to get an quickly enough appointment before the other one expired) and has been able to officially change his address and thus his immigration office. Perhaps that helps? He now needs yet another application for a longer-term work and residence permit, which would allow him to participate in schooling and training the employer wants to send him to. And to travel and visit his sister, who has had her share of personal tragedies alongside all of this. It’s been a very hard year for him, too.

The African proverb of the title clearly fits L’s situation. I have been fighting for him for almost eight years – and I couldn’t have done it alone. My family helped a lot with their patience, and by taking him into their hearts and including him in many family activities, my husband with the recent negotiations, my son by calling him a ‘big brother’. Mr. G., former mechanical engineer, spent many hours helping L. with his studies for the mechanical school he went to. Friends helped find him a job, other friends let him live in their basement apartment when he was finally allowed to move out of refugee dormitory. Friends gave him a temporary job while looking for a job as mechanical worker. And now his new employer, who has taken over for accompanying him to immigration office appointments which I can’t do any more after my move north. Thank you all for your help, you have been a wonderful village team, I could not have done it with out you.

My eagerness to help immigrants that was once abundant (and brought me many many interesting and wonderful experiences and friendships) has evaporated to just close over zero. I will make sure the L. gets settled, and I will always be there for any of his needs in that realm. But the Bavarian state has managed to break my momentum in this area. I know we need immigration, I think we could have achieved what Angela Merkel meant when she said “We can do this!” 

 

But too many people did not agree, and …

I won’t write about my involvement with refugees again, I think. It’s too frustrating.

 

Reichstag, Wrapped, or chances missed...

It was 30 years ago that Jeanne-Claude and Christo started wrapping the Reichstag building in Berlin, after many years of planning and a long discussion in Germany, including a debate in parliament. At that time, the representatives were still convening in Bonn, the move to the newly (re)declared capitol Berlin had not taken place and refurbishing of the Reichstag building, which had been sitting unused in the middle of borderline country for the years of existence of the GDR had not yet begun. I really wanted to go and see that, after the wrapping was done. I would have taken the train, joined the crowd, taken a sleeping bag and some warm clothes and somehow passed the night and then taken a train back home the next day. I am not a night person at all, and it would have been neck-braking for me, would have set me ‘out of service’ for a few days. I thought it was such a great project.

However – I was in love with a Greek at that time, he thought it was a highly stupid thing to do, both, the wrapping as such and the visit on my part, he was visiting from the States for a few weeks, he did not want to go and refused to spend two days on his own or visit other friends, and I was insecure enough to let him talk me out of that adventure. (I really should have understood at that point, if he couldn’t go along with me on this, he was not the right person to be together with, but it took me a bit more time before I finally realized how little respect he had for me.) Let me tell you – I have regretted that decision to not go see the wrapping ever since. It’s a burning hole in my personal history.

Next attempt was the “Magic of Trees” exhibit of wrapped trees at the Fondation Beyeler inBasel, Switzerland. A friend lived a mere 15 minute walk away from the museum, the train tickets had been bought, I wanted to visit on the last scheduled weekend of the exhibition.

The wrapping had to be taken down a week earlier than planned because the leaves had started falling earlier than expected and it was feared that the weight within the translucent wrapping would damage the trees. I did visit the friend, but I had missed another chance at seeing an exhibition of Jeanne Claude and Christo.

I did get to see the installation in the Oberhausen gasometer, and I was determined to and did go to see the wrapped Arc de Triomphe, as I have written about a few years ago.

But when I heard last week that a light installation on behalf of the 30^th anniversary of the wrapping of the Reichstag is taking place is Berlin until June 20^th, I got itchy. 

 

I thought I would be passing by Berlin in the car to go see my husband – how would it be possible to perhaps fit this in…? On Thursday afternoon I called three people, every single one of my contacts in Berlin whom I felt comfortable enough about to ask if I could spend a night on very short notice. Every single one was either going out of town for the weekend or had visitors that Friday night. Because we have just bought a house and need to be very prudent about finances, staying in a hotel was out of the question. Eventually, I decided to forego the light installation. I tell myself it may be an interesting event in itself, and perhaps it may indeed be illusionary enough to give you the impression of looking at the wrapped Reichstag. But I know watching an ABBA concert performed by avatars is not going to be the same thing as a real concert with the real people on stage and therefore would never pay for a ticket for that, this is a similar situation of creating an illusion - so I probably would not be entirely happy looking at the light installation. A missed chance from 30 years ago just can’t be righted, I have to live with that and look at the picture on the wall that we have. And I do have the memories of a wonderful trip to Paris with my son.

“What advice to you have for younger women?” is one of the questions Sam Baker asks everyone of her guest on her podcast. Mine here? If you really want to do something, don’t let anybody who is not burning for it as ferociously as you are talk you out of it. (And I did go to New Zealand for my bike trip after breaking up with that boyfriend, another thing he had considered absolutely unnecessary. But that’s a different story.)

Stitching? I am spending hours seed stitching the background of the Blue NuDenim…

 

To be continued... 

June 17th

 

Going for a bike ride in the afternoon I saw this solitary rape flower in the field...

On June 17, 1953, an uprising took place in the Eastern part of then-separated Germany, people went on strike and protested against the regime, unfulfillable raising of quotas of production, political conditions. At least 50 people died when Russian troops intervened. (Find historical notes in English here. Find historical notes in German here.)

Subsequently, June 17^th was declared a National Holiday in the West, called “Day of German Unity”. It was scratched from the list of holidays when German reunification took place in 1990, and October 3^rd became the new National Holiday.

In a way, the events of June 17, 1953, influenced my family’s history.  Shortly afterwards a brief period of family reunifications began and my grandmother and her two younger daughters (one of them would become my mother) could legally leave the GDR to join my grandfather, who had left the country by swimming through a small river after he had been told that Russian authority were planning to arrest him. Without that uprising, who knows what would have happened?

As the day came and went this year I read several newspaper commentaries on the fact that Germany currently does not have a Memorial Day for victims of GDR-rule, and only this year a first (temporary) memorial was created in Berlin. The history of Germany as a divided country is still very present in my mind due to the fact that my mother’s eldest sister stayed behind because she was already married when her mother and sisters left, and her husband thought he could not leave the small business he had taken over from his parents – only to be disappropriated a few years later. I always thought it would have been rather appropriate to keep June 17^th as a national holiday. Or choose November 8 or 9 as a day of national remembrance, because so many historical events took place on that day, it would have made much more sense than taking October 3^rd.

After the last couple of rather emotional weeks and a lot of work I have gone to be with my husband for a few days and could use the not-anymore-holiday as a quiet day. Yesterday and the day before I had finally sat down to work on my newest piece for the next 20 Perspectives challenge. The topic is “3D”, which is not my piece of cake at all, but I just had to go along with the group’s decision. Which resulted in me putting it off for much longer than was wise, except for a little bit of planning a few weeks ago.

 

Using denim – which I never expected to be doing in quilts – I am working on an appropriated version of Henri Matisse’s “Blue Nude”. Attaching the denim bits on the background fabric was relatively quick and easy.

 

Now I wonder why I had the idea to use seed stitch for the entire background…

 

 Listening to an audio book, sitting on the balcony and enjoying the sunshine time passed pleasantly enough, and I already got a lot of the stitching done.

Fortunately, reveal date was pushed back by 2 weeks, so I will be relatively close to finishing, I hope, by the time that date rolls around.

Musings? Off to Verona!

 

My last post grandly announced thoughts on approaching the age of ‘senior citizen’, but after I had posted it, I realized that that promise was not fulfilled. This happened probably mostly due to the fact that, as is so frequent now, the post was composed over a few sessions, a few days apart, and then thoughts wander and the text turns out differently than planned, thoughts get lost, connections disappear, and it all is still supposed to make sense, have meaning. And sometimes it doesn’t, or at least not enough.

Upon the realization that I had not delivered, I wondered, do I still need to offer grand thoughts on turning 60? Being (only) a philosopher’s daughter, not a philosopher myself (although I did take a few courses in philosophy while studying at the university), I may not be fully entitled to do so. My cousin sent me a congratulatory image “60 is the new 40”, only a few weeks ago I myself had congratulated a now 75-yr-old with “75 is the new 60”, so it still seems that the age number is something that we feel needs belittling, or redefining?

I sometimes listen to two different podcasts on ageing, or being wise, I follow @ageingdisgracefully on Instagram, … and when I tried to write something about my thoughts on ageing it turned into rambling, so I have scrapped it all and will not bother you with it. When I compare myself to my grandmother, whom I only got to know her when she was 64 already, and try to picture her as “her, then” and “me, now” there is a noteable difference in appearance. She would never have dressed the way I do now, she would not have ridden a (man’s) bike at that age – not sure whether she ever rode a bike at all - and there are probably a lot of other things I (still) do that she would never have done. Wouldn’t it be interesting to talk to her-aged-64, now that I am getting close to that age! In any case, it didn’t feel terribly different being 60 than it had felt being 59 on the day before. One thing I do hate about getting older is the changing vision, glasses just don’t seem to be able to cover for all my needs and I am juggling several different pairs, constantly shifting the multifocals up on my head when looking at the small screen or even changing to a different pair when writing on the computer. Perhaps I may feel differently ten years from now, when the next decade has passed. But I won’t try to write about that anymore, it’s not the topic I want to pursue here.

I went to Verona last weekend, visiting Verona Tessile, with the ultimate mission of picking up EQA’s member challenge ‘Birds’ which will be shown at Patchwork Gilde’s AGM and Patchworktage in 9 days. Tiziana from Quilt Italia and I were a bit concerned whether a courier would really get the shipment to me a) on time and b) to the right place. 

 

A friend of mine and I traveled together, equipped with three suitcases, and took the opportunity to combine a bit of touristy sight-seeing with visiting the textile exhibitions spread out over downtown Verona.

As it happens, I also had two quilts/works on display at Verona Tessile, namely my contributions to the EQA challenge ‘Birds’ and the Swiss challenge for Round Bobbins.

A view into the entire Round Bobbin Exhibition that was aptly displayed in a theatre.

The yellow one is mine...

 

I loved seeing SAQA Europe/Middle East’s “Oue Heritage”, which, unfortunately I had not had time to participate in. 

 

And it was fun to see “Ein Quilt für München”, a collaborative piece with contributions from all partner cities of Munich, Verona is also one.

 

 And it was fun to see quilts from former students of mine, in this case Paola Zanda - who was a master seamstress before she took a class from me, so she probably knew more about sewing then than I did, we are good friends now.

Il ballo en maschera by Paola Zanda

 

Befittingly, just after returning from this trip I finished my contribution to the celebration of the city partnership Nürnberg-Cordoba, which will be on display in Nürnberg in June, and in Cordoba in November. International relations...

Der Anfang vom Ende von der Legende von der flachen Scheibe
(The Beginning of the End of the Legend about the flat disc),
2025, 40 x 60 cm