Berlin

Nesrin Sefer offered me his patented Cheshire Cat grin. That was his way of saying that he was happy to see me again. Of course, it was accompanied by a torrent of not-so-intelligible German words. There’s no doubt about it: he remembered me from my last visit to Berlin. He also remembered that I’m a journalist from Nigeria.

Beside him Frau Mann looked questioningly my way. But her memory obviously needed to be refreshed. So Nesrin did that in Turkish. After all, they served hordes of customers daily and it should really be a compliment that they recognised me at all. The aroma, wafting my way from behind the counter, reminded me that I was getting hungry and of my mission here. That was despite my gargantuan buffet breakfast at my Alexander Platz-based hotel. The amiable Turks run an eatery at Rosenthaler Platz. They share the space with a Chinese-looking man. During my previous visit to Berlin I hardly looked his direction or patronised him. No hard feelings. I’m just not a fan of Asian cuisine.

There’s a good reason to make here the first port of call of my thank-you rounds. I found solace here during the chilly last weeks of my first visit. Nesrin had not forgotten that I love my Hähnchenschnitzel with chili. So he pushed a bowl of chili over to my side of the counter. It’s on the house, he told me about the order. And – boy! – was I touched by the gesture! Yeah, Berlin is welcoming me back with wide open arms. The weather has so far been clement and it offers me a breathtaking spectacle with trees shedding their golden leaves for winter. This really isn’t the wrong time in Berlin!

This time at Berlin’s Tegel Airport no stern-looking customs officer bothered me. Rather placard-bearing dark-haired lady awaited me as I sauntered into the arrival hall. She’s Evelyn Reitz, she said. A PhD student of Art History at Humboldt University. The bus ride to my hotel was her idea. The Bus number 168 doesn’t really stop in front of my hotel, AGON am Alexanderplatz, but it gets close enough. Evelyn’s accompany took the pain away from what could have been an arduous to the hotel. The check-in formalities took little time and we were borne upwards in a lift to one of the upper floors, where my room is located. She needn’t have apologised for the hotel’s old communist-era architecture. My room pleased me. Besides, this building could have been a beauty in its prime. And there is of course the fact that the hotel is close to Berliner Zeitung, where I have come to spend the coming weeks as a guest journalist.

Monday morning found me at Berliner Zeitung’s office at Alexanderplatz. I arrived here with Evelyn in tow for my first day at work. Boris, my young mentor, welcomed us at the 12th floor entrance and did his best to show me round to his colleagues. But more introductions followed during the editorial meeting at the cultural editor’s office.

Returning to Berlin nearly nine months after is like walking into the embrace of a long-lost friend or brother. Tracing my way back to my former lodgers at their Oranienburger Straße-based residence opened wide a floodgate of memories. Something was astir within me. Was it nostalgia? It tugged my heart and threatened to open up my tear duct, as I breathed the familiar air of the neighbourhood side streets: Auguststraße, Linienstraße, Große Hamburger Straße, Gipsstraße. One thing about the city remains unchanged: it is still that work-in-progress construction site I knew last time. The only difference this time is that newer areas are being reconstructed. Rosenthaler Straße is partially closed to vehicular traffic. Ditto Auguststraße.

This wet Tuesday night evoked the last weeks of first visit. Kulturbrauerei could have been the ideal place to round it off was I not too far from the stage. A pang of regret gnawed at me as I stand at the rear end of the not-so-large hall behind a sea of humanity watching the transfigured five-man pop band belt out soul-stirring songs in English.