Anja english
A few minutes later the train is completely empty, only to be filled anew in short order. A Mediterranean looking couple distributes several paper bags with culinary specialties on the storage surfaces above our heads, with the man calling the shots. More and more people push themselves and their luggage through the aisles; meanwhile the hand on the electronic clock already shows a delay of several minutes. A young woman of sturdy build wearing tight leggings, pitch-black hair and tattoos on her bare arms is wheeling a hip-high suitcase in front of her, followed by a multitude of mothers and children. Through the loudspeaker in the ceiling comes the announcement,”We are at capacity on this train so please remove any pieces of luggage from the open seats in order to accommodate as many passengers as possible.”
In order to calm myself down, I activate my blue-tooth headphones and get lost in my new audio book by Diana Gabaldon. The multi-cultural din of voices swells, just like the number of people in my train compartment. Resigned to my fate I hit the pause button after a few minutes and eventually take the headphones off. In close proximity a young girl, whose outline I notice out of my peripheral vision, calls out “Four!” in Russian and holds up 4 fingers to her family in order to inform them of the number of available seats. Simultaneously new instructions ring out through the loudspeaker, “Please vacate seats so everyone can sit down!”
Awakened by the invisible female train conductor I squeeze my backpack between my legs in order to comply and make space. The gentleman on his cell phone sprawled out across from me continues unabashed and visibly makes himself comfortable across BOTH seats. Next to our table for 4, a woman of about 38 years stands busily looking around and directs her two daughters towards seats in Russian. Soon the gentleman opposite me scoots over to the window without taking his eyes off his cell phone and a dark-haired girl sits down diagonally in front of me.
Sitting up straight she watches every move of her mother who’s standing in the aisle and clutches a cell phone on her lap. She’s wearing a jogging suit and a black down winter coat on top of it with her braids falling down over her shoulders. In my head thoughts swirl. How often had I heard about Ukrainian refugees over the last several weeks, mainly mothers with children, whose husbands and fathers stay in Ukraine in order to defend their country against the Russian attacks. Something stirs inside me and so I ask in English whether they’re from Ukraine, which she immediately confirms, adding, “South of Kiev.”
Reflexively I inhale through my nose and see before my mind’s eye pictures, photographs, videos of bombed cities, rubble and ashes, a destroyed children’s hospital and a woman giving birth in an air raid bunker. My mouth goes dry and a shudder runs down my spine. The very thing nobody thought possible anymore in these modern times has become a gruesome reality. The Ukraine war has moved into tangible proximity because the Ukrainians are our neighbors and their country is just 1700 kilometers from ours.
Remembering my manners I introduce myself,”Menya zovut Anja!”, to which she impishly replies,”Ya tosha!”, which means “me too”. An invisible bond is created and we smile at each other. It’s one thing to see anonymous reports of death and destruction on TV and another to personally encounter someone. A strange feeling is creeping up in me as I look into Anja’s dark eyes, who reminds me so much of my own teenage self, with her braids, narrow face and gangly, still growing frame. How would I have done in this situation? I didn’t have to flee a war zone when I was 15 but I did live in a dictatorship in East Germany with my family. The German Democratic Republic was not a country that tolerated free thinking and the Christian faith. The wrong word spoken to the wrong person could cause retaliatory measures. Thus I already learned as a child to live in 2 worlds, and my instinct would tell me what was safe to share at school and what was not. Critics of the state were under surveillance by the omnipresent Stasi (“state security”) or locked away at the penitentiary in Hohenschönhausen. Their children were sometimes even placed up for adoption. I saw documentation on this with my family years ago in the Berlin Wall Museum. Deeply moved we left the building after a couple of hours and tried to shake off the oppression as we stepped outside. Seeing Putin and his actions awakens memories in me about our life in the GDR, the flag ceremonies and “socialist education” through citizenship classes and Marxism-Leninism, of a friend who suffers to this day from repercussions of his internment at Hohenschönhausen. But likewise I remember the Monday demonstrations which started in the churches, spread like a brush fire and eventually led to a peaceful revolution. How much do I wish for the Ukrainians and Russians an end to the madness and for Anja to get her childhood and youth back.
Her mother found a seat behind her. With eyes red from crying she looks in my direction and for a few seconds our eyes meet. The deep despair and hopelessness that speak through them connects with my soul. I turn back to Anja who tells me that they’re going to Augsburg to see acquaintances and that her father is fighting for freedom in Ukraine. Something is going seriously wrong with this planet. Teensager sshould be meeting up with their friends, goof around, dream about the future and not flee from bombs and be separated from their families.
Shortly after, the digital info display on the train shows me that I have to get off. I pull down my suitcase from the baggage shelf, put my backpack on and look at Anja one last time. I don’t know what to say and then go on to say the only thing I can and want to say:”God bless you, Anja!” In passing I brush against her mother’s jacket, awkwardly hand her a note with my contact information and tell her goodbye with another “God bless you!”. As I step off the train, get a hug from my father and the train slowly picks up speed, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Anja and her mother, traveling into the night toward the south.
Translation: Karin Allison