[This photograph was taken by a German woman in Kassel, upon our request.]
I met Omar when I first reached Kassel, on the last day of the documenta 14 public programme Parliament of Bodies.
I had walked down from the apartment to the pizzeria, where I could not read the menu, and he was kind enough to translate to the Ethonian man behind the counter, having learnt German at the Goethe Institut.
Omar is from Egypt. He is studying Electrical Engineering in Kassel. He takes me for a walk through the city to show me where the Hercules monument can be seen.
He seems comfortable, as he points out a tiny speck at the horizon, but I am wary of the people who move away from us when we walk, the eyes that avert our line of vision.
A week later, I meet him again, after I have returned from The Eternal Internet Brotherhood/Sisterhood residency, just outside of the city.
He takes me through one of his favourite parts of the city. He observe the park from above. He says he is confused when he sees people perform music in public spaces. "Are they musicians? Should I give them money?" he asks. I tell him they are probably playing the guitar recreationally. He doesn't understand this privilege.
We pass by some graffiti. He points to it and asks me what I feel about it. I tell him that people are expressing themselves. He asks why it needs to be done on buildings that serve other purposes. I tell him that it may be a resistance to institutions. He does not agree.
We find a structure that has columns and a dome. We enter it. I ask him to find the qiblah. I am curious to know whether it falls on an open space or a column. It points to a column that has a graffiti of a tiny triangle with a circle inside it and a little sketch of a campsite.
One of the columns seems to read "refugees come home". We observe it closer. It seems that a conversation is taking place on this column. I try to make him see that this form of expression may be useful.
What we notice is that the original graffiti might have read:
rape
fugees
go
home
The 'ap' had been painted over,
the 'go' had been replaced with 'come'.
"How do you fight racism?" he asks me.
We sit at a park bench in front of a man-made waterway. He tells me about how it made him sad to realize it was man-made and not a natural phenomena.
I ask him, "How would you feel if God was man-made?"
He did not want to follow the logic.
Instead, we sat and observed how passers-by would react to our presence.
Some look away just as they pass our bench.
Some study us, head to toe, and pass by.
Some meet us eye to eye, if only for a moment.
He asks, "How do you identify a racist?"
I tell him, "Maybe, it is those who cannot meet us eye to eye"
Of course, I am not the one who has to live the reality that he experiences. So, I tell him to stick to his middle path, and I will follow my winding path.
We wish peace upon each other and part ways.
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