Why this invitation? Because of the occasional kindness I showed her along the way? No one thought either of us traitors for talking to or helping each other. No suspicious looks or fear of me being an informer. We will never know each other’s names, yet I’ve got to trust myself to her. The last guide we were to have has left us. His responsibility to us is over. We are now on our own. I am fortunate that this woman has decided to befriend me. Does she see me as a brother or as her young son grown up? Does she think me another political asylum seeker, one who has escaped the detention camps after the revolution? What about her husband? Probably here already in Germany. Must have arrived earlier, prepared the way for her, sent her money to get across. What a reunion they will all have. But what about me? I know the realities. Just as much as the others do. The safe houses. Old dilapidated buildings. Bullet holes still pock mark some of the walls. Peeling plaster. Endless spiral stairways. Bunks. Blankets hanging as room dividers. Rooms full of immigrants. Refugees. See them passing by. Some of them look as if they’ve assimilated the new culture. We’re not wanted here. We’ll have to be illegal workers and merge among the others. Don’t want to be noticed.

The woman, the boy and I get into a taxi. The woman speaks one word:

‘Saarbrucken’

We travel a thousand kilometres away from Berlin. We arrive at the address she gave. On her arrival she and her son are greeted and welcomed by their own people. As soon as they see me they decide that I should be among my own. How can they be responsible for me?

Again, numbers. They make calls. My people arrive in a taxi. The first question they ask, is, ‘Machan, how did you get here?’ They sound incredulous.

I am handed over to them. I feel at home in their presence. They give me a cup of tea, some food. I have a hot bath and change my clothes. They are generous. My beard has grown and I look different. My eyes have a more worldly look, my recent experiences, the risks, tensions and dangers, mirrored in them. My journey has been no ordinary one. It is not a mere adventure story. I have made my pilgrimage on this road. But this pilgrimage, this journey has not yet ended.

The red tape involved in granting asylum must now begin. I am taken to the place where I have to register myself. Official matters. I have to give all the details about myself. Then the trial will begin. I want to stay here. I don’t want to be deported. But I am not a political asylum seeker. What legitimate reason then do I have to remain here?

What can I say?

The truth?

I Am an Innocent Man