The Terminal Band

Sometime in June I sent an application to the Max-Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle/Saale, Germany. I have written a bit about the research I am interested in so I don’t think I should go on and spell it out again here. I sent the proposal to them, along with an application for a PhD position. Sometime in August, I got a mail in my mailbox that said that I was going to be interviewed for the position. My head felt a bit woozy. When you send out blind shots you certainly hope they’ll hit some game, but when the game is so good that it is unexpected what do you do? Well, you simply pause for a while, type a reply and then go on as if nothing happened. And that was precisely what I did. I made a reply to the sender and said that yea, I was happy that they got in touch with me and wondered if the interview would be over the phone. No, she replied, the interview would be held at the institute, and I would have to be physically present. So, in these parts of the world where getting a visa is some job I went with some notes from the institute to the German embassy in Nigeria, got the visa without any hassles (believe me, hassles are a commonplace when you are trying to get a European visa in Nigeria) and I flew to Berlin Tegel airport. That was my first time in Germany, but I was able to get the directions to the hauptbahnhoff, and from there took a train to Halle. I got myself to the guest house where an apartment was reserved for me. A pretty nice apartment, really. Someone even remembered to put a coffee maker with some coffee there.

This is the part where I tell you how nervous I was about the interview. Yea, quite a bit. I was going to face a panel that I knew would comprise of professors of long standing, and I am just an MA degree holder, hoping to be accepted into the PhD programme of the institute. I couldn’t sleep so well so I spent time going over my proposal, trying to see where I didn’t do very well and trying to prepare a defence. The day of the interview I went into the institute and I was given the direction to the interview venue. I got in, and the one of the directors of the institute, and the director of the department I applied to, Gunther Schlee, was the chair of the interview, and Jacqueline Knörr, Peter Finke, and some people that I cant remember now, were in the panel. I was questioned about the proposal and I answered them. The interview went really well; all I had to do was to answer the questions to the best of my knowledge. At about the close of the interview a member of the panel asked if I knew what I was getting into if I took the offer. I would have to learn German, become an anthropologist in one year since I had never studied Anthropology before, go to the field the next and then return to Germany to write it up the third year. Gunther Schlee said they could actually give me the first six months as months I would spend learning German, not counting it as part of my PhD years, and then I would start counting after then. In my reaction, I asked if there was anyone who had ever done that before. They replied yes. I said that that meant that it was possible then I could do it. I left on a pretty nice note, feeling that if I didn’t get the position it would be because there was someone who was better than me. Funnily, that thought was consoling.

The following day there was a public lecture that I was asked to attend. After the lecture, I met a Kenyan/Dutch couple who came to be interviewed for a post-doctoral position. The two of them were interviewed for the same position. And then Jacqueline Knörr came over and told us that they planned to go to a café that evening. We tagged along and had a pretty nice time at the café. I was asked when my return flight was and I told them that it was 10.05 the following morning. I was advised to leave home as early as 6am so I could get to the train station on time, and then the airport, so I wouldn’t miss my flight. When we left I was reminded of that again. But still I missed my flight. Below I have copied what I wrote at the airport. I don’t think there is any other way to write how I felt at the point than to actually paste what I wrote at the moment.

this is the kind of thing you never think could actually happen to you. I have seen “The Terminal”, it looks really good as a movie. The whole story sounds interesting, but like something that could never happen. Ok, a guy may not be without a country for a while, but a person could actually be caught in the airport, with virtually no money, nowhere to go and nobody to call! Yea, this is practically what is happening to me now. I am here at the Berlin airport, with no money at all. I have used all the money I have to pay the fees I had to pay for changing to another flight. Ok, wait, it is not like I wanted to change a flight. Maybe I should actually tell the whole story so that you can understand it better.

This morning, I woke up a few minutes before seven o’clock and I knew I was in trouble. It is not that there is anything wrong with the number 7, or that I have anything agains it in particular, it is just that that meant that I was going to be late for my flight. Stupid me, when I was setting the alarm last night with my phone (I had not changed the time to German time) I got it all mixed up so that the alarm that I meant to go by five didndt go until a few minutes after I woke up. I cleaned up, tidied the house a bit and ran out for the train station. I was supposed to take the train from Halle to Berlin at 7.07 but I had to take the one that left at 7.57. The train got to the Berlin train station at 9.19, I got to the bus stop and found out that the bus ride to the airport takes about 21 minutes, so instead of waiting for the bus I went and took a taxi. The taxi driver said that she could not accept visa card so I had to run into the airport at about 9.45 to get an ATM machine from which I withdrew 20 euros. I then ran to the gate and found that it was not only closed but there was nobody at the counter. I ran to the KLM point at the airport and I was informed that I would have to get another ticket. There was no flight to Lagos tomorrow and the next flight was on Friday, and I had to pay 132 euros for the transaction. OK. Again, I gave my visa card. The addition of the monies I charged on the visa card was now up to 152, the last time I checked I had about 180 euros on the card. So I decided to call my frind who is in Germany. She didnt pick the phone. I had to find a way of sending an email to them so I went to a T internet machine dropped some coins and it gave me some minutes. I then sent an email to two od my friends, both Germans, one in London the other in the South of Germany. I tried calling Anja (the one in Germany) later and I was able to get through to her. There wasnt much she could do than to tell me that she would contact her friend who lives in Berlin. I was to call her back. At that moment I still didnt feel any panic. Even when I noticed that my visa would expire today, and I had to go to the police to report and get an extension I did not panic. But the panic began when I discovered that I might not be able to call Anja back beccause when I went to get some money again from the ATM machine the machine told me that I had exhausted the amount I could withdraw for the day. Now, that could mean either that I could not withdram any more money today and so would have to wait till tomorrow, or that there was not any money on the card anymore. So here I am, stuck at the airport with no money, no food (havent eaten today and it is now 18.00), and no hope of getting any help, except I beg for some money, and that is an art I have not been able to master. I mean the art of begging. There was a black guy I might have been able to ask for help but I saw the look on his face when I told him that I was a Nigerian, and I have not even seen him since then. Now, I could do without food – I am already doing that now aint I? – but the idea that one is helpless is really challenging!

Now that is what I wrote, unedited. I don’t think I could have written that after the whole stuff. Anyway, you got the whole story as it happened. Let me add the rest of the day, and the following day.

Just after I wrote that, I went out of the main terminal and sat on the bench outside. The airport was getting empty and there were only about three of us out on the bench. One of us stood up and then there were two left. I looked at the other man and asked if he spoke English, he replied yes. I told him that I only wanted to talk, that I hadn’t talked the whole day. We started talking and I told him that I was stuck at the airport. He suggested that I go into the city, described a youth hostel to me and told me that I could get a room there. I then told him about the no-money situation. Oh, he was really sorry I didn’t have money but he was also sorry he didn’t have much either. He said he had gone shopping so he gave me some cashew nuts and banana. That was my first meal of the day, not counting the nicotine and the caffeine, and it was about 20.00. I thanked him and he left. I walked into the small terminal that would be open for the night and prepared to read for a while before the I felt comfortable enough to try to sleep.

21.30 an Asian-looking guy came into the terminal, an obvious back-packer. We got talking and he told me about how through all his travels to European cities in the past ten days he had never slept at a hotel or hostel. He always slept at the airport. Kenji Yamamoto – his name – is Japanese. We shared some of his bread and I offered some of my banana. We slept on the floor that night. The next morning we met a Russian violinist who got to Berlin late and decided to spend the night at the airport, and then a Lithuanian girl who was coming from Portugal and going to Lithuania by bus. Irina, the Russian lady, was going to Moscow by train. We had a lively discussion about a wide range of topics, and then she we took a picture, exchanged addresses and then she left. I also met a Nigerian lady. More about her later. Irina suddenly returned and offered me five euros. Don’t die, she said. I took the money and thanked her. Now, she was gone, and I was again with Kenji. I sighted a beautiful girl who obviously would not mind some company and then we got talking. She is Emilija, from Lithuania. We made jokes about the Terminal movie and decided to form a band, The Terminal Band. Suddenly, things had changed, I was having fun! The Nigerian lady met I earlier, Lola, came back later in the day and took me to her house. At about that same time Emilija had to leave for the bus station. At Lola’s house I was offered food, and I took a shower. She asked if I would like to say over but I said I would love to go back to the airport, sinc Kenji, who had gone into Berlin, would be coming back for the night. It would not be nic if he came back and didn’t find me.

Yea, the day after that was the day I would have to leave. It was nice being at the airport afteralll. I met really nice people and I promised to keep in touch with them.