Going West: Slow death in an East Berlin apartment
It was four years ago that I moved into the almost-mystical Frankfurter Allee in Berlin’s Friedrichshain. In Berlin, that is east as east can get. The infamous Stalinist buildings became my home.
My house is a mix of old ladies, some surviving husbands, and new Berliners who just moved here in their American Apparel head-to-toe.
One of my neighbours is Frau Fritsche, who lives one flight down on the fifth floor. She receives my packages in case I’m not home, so I see her once in a while. She’s six, 75, and looks like a hunchback. As soon as the door opens she starts yelling at me about the world. She’s somewhat bitter, which, I would say, is more than understandable, after getting fucked by the Nazis, the Communist and now the Angie government.
She has nothing. She can’t even afford a phone. When I asked her what she would do in case she needed to call family, friends, or simply for help, she answered in her rough tone: “All dead.”
Another time I saw her getting back into the elevator after picking up her mail, which is mainly advertising (as you know, there are no more friends or family to send letters). Again, she was yelling: “All these people are moving in and out all the time. In my time, we moved in once and moved out in a box!” I thought – ‘Damn right Frau Fritsche, and what a nice way to begin the day.’
Now that I know her a little, I try to talk to her whenever I see Hunchback just so she gets the chance to talk to a human being once a month. I don’t even take her insults personally anymore. I even touch her when I say goodbye, and wonder when she last had that sensation.
I feel this whole East neighbourhod is somewhat polluted by this suspicious loneliness. Stasi after-birth. I mean, try to get “hello and good morning” or a smile picking up bread at the local bakery after waking up hung-over. Good luck!
The East is mute and has no manners whatsoever. They call it ‘Beliner Schnauze’ – Berlin Mouth – and they are proud of it. I want service and give a fuck about the realness of people when going to the supermarket.
I’m moving west to Neukölln. Mainly Turkish neighbourhood. They chat, smile, and even give you something extra, and – believe it or not – say goodbye without exhausting themselves.
The next time I visit Frankfurter Allee, the name on Frau Fritsche’s door will have changed, and some British or Swedish dude will have moved in, super-excited about living in the East in it’s full realness.
Text: Can Oral, AKA Khan of Finland
Images: Ian Ritterskamp