- 18 Posts
- Age 20
We are sitting at the corner of the supermarket in town. People are passing us by and stare at us as we wait for a friend. My back is leaning against that grey window-less building and my friends talk about Germany. We share grapes and energy drinks and I feel a little bit like a gangster, because I wouldn’t usually be one of “the kids of the block” who would have nothing to do but to sit there and joke about life.
At least I must make the impression like I am one. Even when reality is different.
A mother and her child are passing us, and I see her tugging at the child’s shirt, dragging him away from us. “Hurry up” she mutters. She looks disgusted and afraid. Some cars follow after her and the drivers look down at us from their seats for a little too long. And then a woman comes out of the supermarket and yells at us across the entire parking area: “?#!&$%# you! You belong in jail!” And half the town stares at us until we stand up and walk away.
Maybe they would have treated us differently if they had known who my friends were. One is a dentist. One is an emergency doctor. One is a political scientist.
But that’s not visible.
What is visible is their skin colour.
They are refugees.