30 January 2025

By Alexander Kuuskoski

Having lived in Germany for going on 12 years, I have had the pleasure of experiencing a wide range of different visits to various German Behörden: from the first temporary work permit to permanent residency; or the various Ummeldungen from moving to the next shared apartment, to finally getting married and settling down. These moments, and the stamps and signatures they bring with them, are a fundamental part of life in Germany, and for a cultural outsider longing for integration, a front-row-seat to perhaps the most German stereotype of all: Ordnung. While there are those who would say, “Nay! The pinnacle of stereotypical Germanness be efficiency!” To them I would reply, “Ah, yes. I remember a time when I hadn’t yet had to submit a translated, notarized copy of my foreign birth certificate. So sweet and naïve I was then.” Certainly, my experiences in Germany have taught me that, as cliched as it is, Ordnung must be, but it is nothing for impatient souls. Much like Gottes Mühlen, the wheels of German bureaucracy turn slowly. And yet, they turn. As long as your proverbial ducks are in a row, and you are patient, you will be rewarded with the highest honor a German Behörde can bestow: an illegible signature overlapping a fresh, crisp stamp. All in good, albeit a long time.

Patience is, indeed, not only a lofty virtue, but an integral part of settling down in Germany and embracing the Ordnung, even if it means unwillingly confronting the meaning of Kafkaesque at times. My desire for integration made this proclivity for orderliness a part of my being, and such was my state-of-being when I had the opportunity to visit Botswana for two weeks. I jumped at the chance to visit Africa for the first time and quickly reached out to colleagues at our partner university. After a pleasant first exchange, I was directed to other colleagues in the department to have my questions about teaching answered: what courses could I teach? When do they take place? How many students should I expect? No reply. After a few weeks, once flights were booked and accommodations made, I made another attempt: when and where should I turn up once I’m there? Will there be a space for me to work? Also, how big are the classes I’ll be teaching? No reply. It turns out the patience I had practiced so far would serve me well.

So, I boarded the plane on a cool, rainy October evening in Frankfurt and arrived in the desert-like heat of Gaborone the next day. Without a ride from the airport, I took a taxi to my rented apartment and plotted out my first day at the university. Navigating the university’s website to find out where the English department even was took at least an hour. Frustrated, I sighed: ‘Why couldn’t somebody have just told me where to go….’ Then: focus. No time for that. On to Google Maps to figure how best to get there. Luckily, the apartment was walking distance from the uni, so I made my way on foot, seemingly the only pedestrian in a city of cars. The heat oppressive, the sand everywhere, and the cars always coming from the unexpected side (they drive on the left).

Sweaty and a little sandy, I made it to campus only to find that it is walled-in. My reaction: ‘Great, how do I even get on campus?’ Squinting into the distance, I saw gates for cars and a little farther down, turnstiles for visitors on foot. ‘Okay, that’s where I should go,’ I thought to myself. Walking, now with a clear purpose, I made my way towards the turnstiles only to see that everyone entering on foot is scanning their ID cards to open the gates. In my head: ‘You gotta be kidding me? No one told me I needed an ID. Do they even know I’m coming?’

Sweaty, sandy, and a little frustrated, I approached the turnstiles in the hopes that someone who might be able to help was there. As I got closer, I saw a security guard on the other side and thought to myself: ‘Okay, good. You’re a little frustrated, but it’s not his fault. Be nice and ask him where you should go and I’m sure he can hel..’

“Do you need help, sir?” He asked before I could finish my thought.

“Um, yes. Thanks. Uh, I’m a guest at the university and I’m wondering how to get on campus…”

The security guard glanced down at my feet, and then at me. “You’re actually already on campus,” he said, his smile disarming.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“No problem, sir. You can come in here today. Tomorrow, just tell the guard. He’ll open the gate for you... You’re a guest? For which department?... English? Okay, just go up this way. It’s just around the corner. You’ll see a sign on the right,” he added.

“Oh… Great, thank you very much,” I said, surprised at how easy that was.

“Have a nice day.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Sweaty, sandy, and a little ashamed at my low-grade frustration from before, I made my way around the corner and eventually found the English department. I went up the stairs and found the door to the secretary’s office ajar. I knocked quietly and peered in.

The secretary beamed: “Ah, you must be Alex! Welcome! Please come in.”

Hearing this, the head of the department poked her head in from around the corner: “Alex! You’re here! We’re so happy that you could come!”

The warmth of their enthusiasm rivaled the heat rushing in from outside, their dispositions as sunny as the clear blue sky that would spread out from one horizon to the other every day. After a few minutes of friendly greetings and chit-chatting, the secretary said, “You must want a place to work. You can use the office next door. Take this key so you can come and go as you please. Oh, and here is the Wi-Fi password. Please tell us if you need anything else.” No Antrag, no signature, no stamp.

Sweaty, sandy, and a little stunned, I plopped down into the chair in my temporary office and thought to myself: ‘Well, that was easy.’

This was one brief example of something that dawned on me much later. The patience necessary for a life in Germany was secondary in Botswana. There, something else was much more important: presence. The pace of life and work is not dictated by a desire for order or efficiency. In fact, few things are done in advance, and plans change anyway. But when you’re there, you’re looked after. Since then, I’ve tried to add this virtue, the one I’ll call presence, to my life lived abroad.