A few weeks ago, as I was walking around my school, because I had nothing to do, and listening to some music with headphones in my ears and phone in my hand, I saw a small old man of about 50-60 years of age, with a hat, wearing a dark-colored jacket and jeans, who politely, almost reluctantly, stopped me, asking me in broken German where the “/ee-beh/ Kurs” was.
I thought he was searching for the IB, the International Baccalaureate, hoping to study in a high school…
After figuring out the spelling, I still couldn’t fully understand what he was looking for. I asked what language he spoke. He replied, “Persisch.” I pulled up Reverso, put on English-Persian, and asked what he looked for. A language course around the block — that’s what he looked for!
I Googled where the courses were and showed him on the phone. I pointed at the street and told him to go right and right once again, before quickly interrupting myself and saying in German, “Let’s go together, I can show it to you!”
And so we went. “Are you from Tehran? Tabriz?” I asked. Those are two of the biggest cities in Iran. “Uhh, no… I am from Afghanistan,” said the man. That struck me, forcing me to recall that Persian is not only spoken in Iran, but also in Afghanistan and Tajikistan—those are two dialects of Persian. I said, “Oh, right, because one speaks a dialect of Persian in Afghanistan, right?” He replied affirmatively. I smiled and asked, “Oh, then, you must be from Kabul, right?” The common geographic knowledge and recognition of his hometown by a foreigner made the man smile and say yes. “Ah, very nice, beautiful,” I said.
While having the small-talk, we quickly walked to the courses around the corner. The man sometimes overtook me, thinking that I’m walking quickly because I’m running late, not wanting to disturb me. I, in my turn, instinctively feeling the aforementioned, slow down, as to calm the man, so he knows I’m not late.
The sweet slouching grandpa and I quickly arrive, shaking hands while smiling and exchanging our gratitude and thank-you’s.
After coming back to the front of my school, where I was originally standing during the recess, and greeting my three classmates, and telling them about my encounter with the Afghan grandpa, I was met with racist remarks. Not me directly, no, but to that grandpa. As I told them about the German language course he was looking for, and they scornfully said, “Haha, he didn’t speak any German, isn’t it? Right.” Another one laughingly snickered, “Of course. Classic.”
And then some other ridiculous remarks…
The old grandpa of about 60 years old — a very polite & "sweet" old man, I must note — was going to a German course, to learn the language.
He was very respectful, smiling both sincerely and out of politeness when necessary.
Thousands of kilometers away from his home.
Away from his culture. Away from the familiar… faces, language, culture, and people.
About 60. Slouching. Old. Decaying body, biologically speaking.
In his new home. Learning a new language. Around new people. Surrounded by a new culture.
Unfamiliar with everything.
Two lessons to extract from this story.
I will not even make anything out of the disrespectful remarks which were anything but spineless, contemptible, superficial, petty, and extremely atavistic. That is left as an exercise for the reader.
Lesson one: intelligence dictates. Excuse the vanity, but one must say the truth: one would not have ever said anything of that sorts about me—the thought wouldn’t even have crossed one’s mind, I dare say. Reasons are thus stated above.
Lesson two: it’s never too late. If a 60-year-old old man with a decaying body can do any wild thing he dreams of, so can you. You have time. You have the brains (if you’re reading this blog, this post, or this sentence here, you definitely do — don’t even ask me for the line of reasoning therebehind, it’s too long). And also: you have the life, you’re still living.
So go ahead and do it, whatever you were putting off. Because if the old chap can pull it off, then so can you!
Wishing love and success,
- Nihad Badalov