Hey, Cupid...

Let me get this out there early: I'm a huge fan of Valentine's Day. I think it's a silly little holiday that allows people to do things that they should do normally for people they care about. Sure, it's over publicized, overloaded with ridiculous amount of wholesale chocolate and conveniently timed "romance" flicks that would never live up to likes of Westside Story, Casablanca and Gone With the Wind. Honestly, I just imagined Humphrey Bogart pulling his best Denzel impersonation, looking at Channing Tatum, and roaring starkly, "The Vow ain't got SHIT on me!"



But back to the point, Valentines Day is a wonderful, sappy, creative marketing scheme that has robbed each and every one of us who's ever bought in to the idea that there should be a day to celebrate pure emotion and feeling for someone else. Okay, the more I talk about it the stupider it gets. Eh, but this is not a critique of the wonderful american holiday Valentines Day, nor is it an evaluation of the Top 50 Romance Movies of All Time--even though I'm sure I'd be up to the task--this is about Germany's strangely siblingesque infatuation with the "american" celebration of holidays.

Now I can tell you, confidently, that our lovely Brüder & Schwestern over the pond are quite the romantics and any misconceptions of this manner should be eschewed. The funny thing is...I didn't feel out of America in the weeks leading up to Valentines Day. Chocolate stands with heart boxes; roses with balloons; red, red, red. This is all stuff I could have walked into Wal-Mart and seen. I expected something new, something original--okay, okay, counterarguments are always welcome: "Well Cliff, they do have Herzen and those are cute. How dare you say there's nothing German about their Valentines Day?" 

Well I say that, witty friend of mine, because 1) If anyone actually ever bought someone a heart like that for V-Day (abbreviations #winning) then they deserve to be shot. It's like the most cop out of cop out gifts. 2) It's not just Valentines Day. Halloween, Christmas...the holiday seasons here are so strikingly similar I sometimes feel like I'm in an episode of the Twilight Zone or maybe True Life: Germany Holidays are American/American Holidays are German.

This isn't a condemnation. It's just an observation. I got to wear a Santa Claus hat on for the weeks leading up to Christmas. Santa Claus. Yeah, yeah, Weihnachtsmann, Schweihnachtsmann. I know a Santa Claus when I see him. I got to carve a pumpkin for Halloween. That "Kotzende Kürbis" that Andreas and I made would have sat very nicely on my front steps of 103 Quarry Place. Christmas trees, trick or treating, dressing up, roses, chocolate. Holidays in Germany are GREAT! The only question is: why in the world are they so similar?

It's a chicken or the egg thing for a lot of them. I'm like 117% sure that we jacked Santa Claus from German's Weihnachtsmann. Christmas trees were in Germany before America had even been conceived. Before it was even a sparkle in Puritan expat's eyes. But you're not gonna actually argue that Germans came up with the disgustingly genius idea of marketing Valentines Day like it was Christmas. Or carving pumpkins, nahh those are better left for soups.

It's just a cool little thing to see. How cultures borrow from one another.

That girl in powerfully walking her way down the street with roses in her hand? Power to her. How about the one biking with a teddy bear stuffed in her backpack? That's true dedication. And it's not even something bad. Germany took a little piece of my heart on Valentines Day, making me realize that as corny and ridiculous as it seems, we came up with one hell of a way to market love.

Cupid, your work here is done.

The Mistress Theory

When someone, who you care about or are close to, does something bad to you there's usually an expectation that you will receive something. Be it an explanation, an apology, or even a headache, you at least want some things to be explained to you. I mean, they did something bad something egregious, something that can't, for the love of reason be explained without cursing to the high heavens and watching the tears roll down your face in the mirror while eating ice cream with chocolate liqueur on top and a glass of straight vodka--the $5.99 kind you find in those run down liquor stores on Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd-- to chase. Well I did one of those egregious things. And the person who deserves an explanation is you. It has been almost exactly a month since the last time I wrote something in this blog. That in itself deserves a condemning, but to put it in greater perspective, it has been almost exactly 20% of the time that I've been in Germany since I've wrote something.

That's right, it's past the six month mark. I'm still ecstatic to be here. I love Germany, the people, the culture, the language (even though I still want to rip my hair out when my brain has to constantly run through a proverbial checklist of things to do quicker than my mouth spits words out), the towns, the proximity to other beautiful European nations, just an overall solid place. But that also means I've been six months away from America. Let's not jump the gun here...I may well be on my way to becoming an expat, but in no way, shape or form am I there yet. The simple truth is, I love America too. I don't know if I've already written about the wife and mistress analogy but it's a fitting one for my life.

America is my wife. I love her, I need her, she has always been there for me; but she's far away and her ever lasting appeal has worn off the longer I spend away from here.

Germany is my mistress. She's fresh, new, exciting, always longing for my attention and welcome to try new things. But like any mistress (like any 22 year old I'm an expert in all things marriage and mistresses.) there are things that she cannot help me to forget.

And now, after 50% of my time here is up, I want to do a type of mid-year preparation for the post-test I'll be taking, it won't be as comprehensive or multifaceted but it'll be a nice little study guide.

So here we go.

The Thing I Miss Most About America

My Car. A 2005 Toyota Camry XLE.

The so called "Silver Bullet," I can't explain exactly what about it I miss so much. The feel? No. The smell? No. The touch of the wheel as my fingers wrap gently around it? Now we're getting on to something. The sound of the engine gently purring as a tap the accelerator with my big toe? Ooooh. How about the freedom of going wherever I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want? Bingo. 

If I had any influence, the sales of
Sweetwater would increase exponentially overnight.

Above all that's what I miss. We're a free-spirited country, America. We don't think about what we can't do, what we shouldn't do, or why we shouldn't do it as much as other countries. I think even if I had access to a car here I would probably not have the same carefree, grab-my-keys-hop-in-the-car-and-drive attitude here. But seriously, I miss how easy it was for me to hop in the car, head to the grocery store and grab a six pack of beer. Not that bad stuff, the stuff I've been trying convince Germans exists in the States...you know, good beer. Sweet Water, Shock Top, Dogfish, yes German beer is good, but the everyday German beer has nothing on a good Sweet Water 420 Pale Ale.

Alas, I digress. I miss my car. Maybe it's in relation to gas prices? Or maybe I simply cannot fathom driving anything other than the Silver Bullet, but there's a huge void in my heart--and don't doubt me it's huge, otherwise it wouldn't be the first thing in this blog post--that cannot be filled in Germany.



Or maybe I'm just terrified to drive on the Autobahn...

The Thing I Will Miss Most About Germany

Münster/myhostfamily/myfriends/potatoes/freshvegetables/snow/readinggermanbooks/pickingfunatrandompeopleonthestreetsforwearingridiculousoutfits/beer/funnyaccents/stupidquestions*/sparklingwater/sexycars/beautifulpeoplewhoareinshape/theabsenceoffastfoodoneverycorner/spiralstaircases/bikelanes/doeners/frankfurt/cologne/münster/munich/hamburg/berlin**/germanmusic/diebundesrepublikdeutschland.

Preeeetty sure that's the one thing I'll miss the most about Germany. It was really hard to decide on just one thing but I nailed it on the head. If you asked me exactly why I would miss...this one thing, I would tell you the answer is simple really. The Mistress Theory.

Oh don't you DARE go away, I've still got a whole 'nother thought to expound upon. This is the consequence of missing a month of blogging. Perhaps you should remind me next time to split my thoughts.

The Mistress Theory (As seen on Cliffipedia)

The Mistress Theory, created in 2013 by world renowned Blogger Extraordinaire Clifford D. Mpare, Jr states that anything second similar concept (e.g. land, person, sport, food) that an individual has positive exposure to will automatically magnify the undesirable aspects of a primary, already well-known concept (e.g. land, person, sport, food). Yet the secondary concept cannot resolve discrepancies between itself and the primary concept leaving it vulnerable to becoming an ancillary.

The concept was created by world renowned Blogger Extraordinaire Clifford D. Mpare, Jr. as he sat in his bed in Münster, Germany during his one year excursion. In particular, Mpare was gauging the merits of his country of origin against the merits of his current location. He noticed a major discrepancy in the things he deemed enjoyable about about the aforementioned country and wanted to examine the phenomenon on a deeper, subsupermetaconscious***  level. It has since then been evaluated and considered for the Nobel Prize.

Unfortunately, Mpare was unable to stake his claim for the concept because he was too busy driving his 2005 Toyota Camry XLE.

FINALLY found a reason to slip some Sotfcore into my Blog! 

*These will certainly be encountered on every face of the earth. I myself ask them at least once a day to keep people guessing.

**I have yet to be to this city. It is just an assumption made by word of mouth.

***This word was created by world renowned Blogger Extraordinaire Clifford D. Mpare, Jr. in 2013 shortly after his Mistress Theory was created.

As Plain as Black & White

Well, I took an extended holiday in literal and physical senses. In the literal sense, I had no desire to blog about anything for about three weeks. To you loyal readers of mine who have been yearning for a blog post from me, have no fear, I'm back on the keyboard. 

In the physical sense, I spent time with my uncle and family in Frankfurt before heading over the border to Hungary to check out Budapest. Now, trust me, I could dedicate a solid three or four blog posts to the beauty and wonder of the historic Hungarian city but that would spoil the interesting phenomenon that I need to touch on now. And trust me, it will be rewarding so please stay tuned. This post will be so long, so detailed, so wonderful that it will make up for my lack of posting. For your convenience I'll break it up into the block form of an essay so that you can easily take a break, check Facebook, eat something, grab a beer, and come back for the next part. 

Es war einmal das Leben...

I. Introduction

For any of you who know me outside of the virtual world, there's one thing that you notice pretty quickly about me, it's something that no matter what I can't avoid divulging to people and of course it's something that defines me as a person. 

I'm black. 

Nooo Way! 

Yeah, I know, shocking, as monumental and ground changing as a "Bruce Wayne is Batman" reveal. But hey, I can't reveal every one of my secrets at once so for now, that's all you get. Patience is a virtue. Now before I digress and this blog post devolves into a stream of consciousness rant about nothing (See: The Blog Post About Nothing) I'll get to the point that I wanted to address. Here I am just casually chilling in the train station after my Eurotrip successfully ended, preparing to grind up for this last couple of weeks of school back home in Münster. I got to the train station a bit early, but it was no biggie, I had already had a brilliant plan in motion: find somewhere to sit, listen to music and read for the project I have to present in a couple of weeks. It was going to be a brilliant and thorough dissecting of "The Duchess of Malfi" so that I could meet with my partner with insight and genius to provide her. 

II. Rising Action

Like some brilliant person (Allen Saunders) at some point in time (1957) said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." So I sat down in a vacant chair, not at all turned away from the vulgar smell of urine and body odor of the homeless man a couple seats beside me. I quickly placed my headphones over my ears and zoned out. Offering a smile to the lady to my right and a friendly nod to Stinky on my left. Then something fairly expected happened, a homeless man came up to me, asked me kindly to hand him the empty water bottle behind him. Of course I obliged. You see, in Germany most plastic bottles have a deposit placed on them, this deposit is included in the price of the bottle (kind of like a tax) and it usually ranges from 0.08 to 0.25 euro (as of 2:48 PM German time this has been edited thanks the wonderful sleuthing skills of my German homie Robo!) . It's a simple incentive to encourage recycling and it seems to work, especially when the homeless see it as a way to earn a couple euros for diligently preserving the world. 

My seemingly unconscious act spurred Stinky on my left to go on a rant about homelessness in Germany and all the opportunities to life a sustainable life without walking from trash can to trash can hoping that someone threw a plastic bottle away (cue the "one man's trash is another man's treasure" analogy RIGHT now.) At this point I zoned out, my headphones blurring the sounds of the German language to the point that they transformed themselves into indiscernible white noise drowned out by the hard bass pumps of Big Boi's Vicious Lies and Dangerous Rumors. I maybe got through a song and a half before I saw Stinky's eyes fixate on me and as great and brilliant I am at lip reading German, I missed every piece of white noise he directed my way. Confidently, cautiously (in case he was asking for money) and curiously, I removed my headphones and said a simple word with such confidence you might have thought I was a native German, bitte? 

III. Climax

The lady next to me kindly repeated his question. "How many children do Africans have?" 

What? 

My brain acted as quickly as it could and I said simply, "I don't know, what do you think?" she answered with a timely three or four (compared to what she said was a 1.2 for Germany), simply because of the familial responsibilities they are expected to uphold. This lady was old, but that answer was so 1900s. I smiled gently, getting ready to respond before she corrected herself and said "Well of course that's different for different people" The conversation moved quickly into the realm of immigration and all other things but at this point their words were drowning back into white noise. 

I stayed and chatted for another fifteen minutes, they were nice people, well intentioned I believe, but I think I'd had enough of Stinky. Kindly I said my goodbyes and left. 

I barely was away from this first exposure, this first assumption that I knew something about African family childbirth rates because of my skin color before I was approached by a man of my complexion. He smiled gently, shook my hand and asked me if I spoke English. For future reference, Clifford, put on your thickest possible German accent scream something at them, and look at the person like they're crazy. The man, from Nigeria, told me his Spiel, (Cliffsnotes version:  he's from Nigeria, lived in Italy for a couple of years and is now looking for work in Germany.) He asked me to raise money for him, because:

 "I am black and I know the struggles of Africans" 

IV. Falling Action

True Life: I'm Black in Germany

This was like a sick joke. Was I on some kind of reality TV show? How does one possibly respond to this? Well I have a practice: if you ask me for money, after telling me a story about your fleeing to Italy, constantly reiterating that you must be a good person because your Italian citizen passport is only given to "good people" I'm probably not going to give you the money you ask for. And by probably I mean you have a better chance finding a water fountain in Germany (See: Water, Water,Everywhere)

Train, gotta catch it. Bye. 

V. Conclusion 

Now I understand the innocence and naivety of assuming that a dark skinned brother, in Germany, could be from Africa but I cannot express how foreign the feeling is. People here don't know what I am. I have always taken for granted that I am easily identifiable as an African American. Perhaps it's a very silly assumption to have but I have always thought I carried myself in a manner that screamed American. This thought process has since been eschewed, stripped, discredited, in my time in Germany. So many times I have been approached by Africans and spoken to in the mother language of Ghana, so many times have I been asked questions about Africa that I am not qualified to answer. 

It's an interesting enough phenomenon though, the treatment I receive in Germany because of my skin color. No negativity, I've yet to experience anything I'd consider offensive or anything of the sort but it's definitely something that I keep note of on a daily basis. It's something that usually occurs in the most innocent of manners, like the one before, asking if I know something about African fertility habits, or asking a brother for help simply because he's a brother, but it seems to be a wholly different beast. I know I'm a foreigner and I know there are plenty of other foreigners that I encounter every day and that I'm not the only one who's identifiable as a foreigner but it's so different being approached under the assumption that I'm something or that I have a certain understanding of the world. 

Maybe it's the same in the US but I have never thought about it in such a manner, I've never been mistakenly identified as something else than what I self-identified with and now that it happens so frequently it's really made me interested to discover how exactly others think about the issue and what false lenses with which we examine people.

Now i understand the vast majority of Germany is of a lighter complexion than myself and it would be "logical" to assume I'm from a continent that doesn't lay across a massive body of water, but please, before being so upfront, just ask me a simple question and the answer may be shocking for you.