Once on the subway, a beggar approached us, paper cup in hand. As she came nearer, she noticed another woman standing with a cup in her hand, “I saw your cup and I thought you were begging too.”
– “No, I’m just having my coffee”, the woman said.
And they laughed it off. I was screaming inside, trying to contain myself. I found that interaction hilarious.
We, immigrants, especially the ones who come from the same country assume that we are in similar conditions. But obviously migration experiences vary. First of all, there is a group of us who try to convince themselves and others that they’re expats. No Tugba, you’re not an expat. You didn’t come here through work with a decent salary; you are not from a favorable country either. You had to wait in line at dawn, in freezing cold for your visa appointment, argued with the embassy security and convinced the visa officer that you can be trusted with a temporary residency permit. I’m sure expats had their own difficulties but they took a different path.
Secondly, some people have money, a lot of money. And things can be easier for them. Take the “Wohnungskrise” in Berlin. There are not enough available apartments for rent in Berlin, which are affordable. But “affordable” applies differently to some. So there is no “Wohnungskrise” for a small group of people. It doesn’t even occur to some people. Once in a Whatsapp group with expats (see, what am I doing there?) a woman asked how could someone afford those expensive, luxury apartments. Another woman didn’t even understand the question and started explaining how to find and rent those luxury apartments. Thanks for the tip Sherri.
As my cousin 30 years ago and my aunt 60 years ago, I moved to Germany with “family union” visa. Our conditions were too very different. My cousin was just 18, moved from her village to another village thousands of kilometers away. She had to live with her in-laws, she didn’t have even a single room for herself. My aunt came to Germany in the 60s as guest workers with her husband. She had to leave her two kids behind with their grandma. After she gave birth for the third time, the baby was only 3 weeks old when she traveled to her hometown to leave him with his siblings. She had to go back to work. She couldn’t visit her dad in his sick bed, she couldn’t go to her funeral. After I moved to Germany she once asked me “but you can travel back whenever you want, can’t you?” And I could.
This went to a sad place but none of those stories are exceptions. Stories of immigrants vary, as I said before, and it great that they do. There is so much to tell. The cup might look similar but the content is different.
