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Cultural Migration in Autobiography Grundtvig Partnerships 2009-2011

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

e-mail: kszia@komesnet.com.pl http://cma.internetdsl.pl

45

Rainy, but solid Anđelka Križanović

That rainy day I arrived in Germany. I was nine and I was fearless. Fear is like any other resource, like money or gold, you put reserves on a bank account and you draw the fear out whenever you need it or you think it's appropriate or you're told to. And I had used up all my fear.

The government occasionally reminded us to be afraid and instantly I would turn into a fearful and obedient citizen, at the age of seven or eight or nine. Sometimes fear was a natural thing, because dangerous things actually happened. But most of the time we were afraid of stupid stuff. My mother was afraid of poodles. A cousin was afraid he'd have to have his appendix removed for the second time. I for my part was afraid of wild and furious...sows. I was afraid of mad wolves and foxes and particularly murderous wasps that could kill you in an instant.

Our president told us stories like only a father would do. „Be afraid of Italians, Austrians and Bulgarians. Don't fear the Russians...“- „Only the cannons of our victorious army are standing between us and the bloodthirsty hordes who can at any moment invade our country...“ Germans were particularly nasty people. They were notorious troublemakers in our school books. They were pale, had bloodshot eyes and an evil look.

Soon I was afraid of the police and that they might get my parents and my sister one day. How convenient for my uncle to pick up the phone and pretend to make a report to the police when I was misbehaving. Later I was afraid of uniforms and special news reports saying our city will soon be occupied. I was afraid of sirens that made us jump out of our beds in pyjamas and run to the bunker through the cold, wet night.

So when I got off at that bus terminal in Stuttgart 18 years ago, I had seen it all. Used up all my fear. Overdrawn the account. I was a nine-year-old Asterix and now only the sky could fall on my head. And the sky over Germany was rainy, but solid. What else could possibly bother me? With the fear of a lifetime gone in nine years, I was standing there, in amazement.