14 JULY/AUGUST 2015
ARTICLE TAG
At 12:30pm on a Saturday, a security guard scans the check-in
card of Abou-Zed*. A piece of paper is signed with the date and
hour of arrival. This is rou-
tine for the 26-year-old Syrian, whos lived at the refugee home
on Rohrdamm 22 in Spandau since last October. In the courtyard,
people listen to music on mobile phones, chat or smoke mostly
asylum seekers from the Balkans. Inside, kids run around on a
filthy red carpet. Abou-Zed makes his way through the hall into the
kitchen, where doz-ens of men, women and children are already
queu-ing to receive their chilli con carne todays meal, available
until 2pm. He decides to skip lunch after a woman responsible for
distributing meals whis-pers that it is worse than usual. Abou-Zed
spent the night at a friends flat in Lichtenberg, as he does often.
Ever since the facility was quarantined
for two months due to cases of scabies earlier this year, he has
been regularly sleeping at friends. But never for too long. He
returns every three or four days to Spandau for fear of losing his
space at the Heim. A few weeks ago, somebody removed the sheets
from his bed: They thought that Id moved out, so they gave my bed
to a Serbian guy.
Abou-Zed sits on the wooden bed of his small abode a 21sqm room
located on the first floor of the building. Underwear and socks lie
on the radiator; packs of multivitamin juice, given at meals, are
lined up on a small desk underneath the window, along with a food
package contain-ing cheese, ham, a tomato and a slice of cucum-ber.
A broom and a pail lean next to the door. When Im here, I remind
myself that I have to find a flat, I really have to, says Abou-Zed
in excellent English. Not quite the life this trained
The accidental refugee
A telecommunications engineer trained in Damascus and Barcelona,
Abou-Zed did not expect scabies and Heim life to be awaiting him in
Berlin. But German bureaucracy made him a refugee, just like the
thousands of other Syrians who live here. By Luigi Serenelli. Photo
by Francesca Torricelli.
FEATURE
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15
an MA at the Universidad de Catalua in Barcelona. In spring
2014, the university hosted the Forum de les Telecommunications i
lElectrnica, where international companies hunt for qualified job
seekers. Abou-Zed was especially drawn by the stand of the
Bundesagentur fr Arbeit, Germanys federal employment agency. They
were giving us flyers about the most sought after professional
fields in Germany. Along with aeronautics and microelectronics,
these included information and communications technology
engineering Abou-Zeds degree. He still preserves the brochure in a
folder: Germanys International Placement Service (ZAV) sup-ports
German employers filling their vacancies with job seekers from
abroad, as in those occupa-tions where there are too few candidates
on the German labour market.
It seemed like a golden opportunity for Abou-Zed to move forward
in his career and, at the same time, reunite with his brother Husan
whod already been living in Berlin for two years. His student visas
imminent expiration reinforced his decision. Once you graduate, you
have three months left to extend your residence permit in Spain,
says Abou-Zed. I finished my Masters at the end of June and I wasnt
allowed to work full time because Spanish companies prefer people
with a work permit. Thats when his brother advised him to come
here. If you have a chance to get together with your family, you
take it. And wasnt Germany the best coun-try to find a job, after
all?
A week after his arrival in Berlin in July, helped by his
brother, Abou-Zed set about looking for a job. I expected to find
work in two, three months and I did find a company through a
recruiter that was interested in me. But then they said they
wouldnt commit until I had a work permit.
A lawyer at TBB, the Turkish Union in Berlin-Brandenburg,
advised Abou-Zed to apply for an EU Blue Card, a residence permit
designed for highly qualified workers that would allow him to work
in Germany. He was sure his degree would qualify him for it. TBB
classified Abou-Zeds degree in telecommunications engineering as
H+, meaning that it is recognised in Germany. His IT qualification
was also categorised among those highly in demand. Unfortunately,
other condi-tions for receiving the card such as having a work
contract for at least 48,400 per year or having a gross salary of
at least 37,752 per year werent fulfilled. Abou-Zeds attempt to
acquire a work permit ended in an all-too-familiar Kafkaesque
situation. The Auslnderbehrde told me that I needed a job to have a
permit, while the companies I was applying with needed a permit to
hire me.
As a matter of fact, it is extremely difficult to obtain a Blue
Card in Germany; Only 527 non-EU migrants were granted one in
Berlin last year, compared to 4182 permits distributed for family
reasons and 2282 on political or humani-tarian grounds. Stats from
the national office for migration and refugees confirms the trend:
Only 439 Syrians received a Blue Card in Germany, compared to the
50,000 granted another type of residence permit mostly asylum due
to political persecution. In short, it is very hard to get a Blue
Card, but easy to end up in a refugee home.
Thats exactly what happened to Abou-Zed. Turned down as a
qualified worker, he was advised to apply for asylum along with the
40,000 Syrian citizens who did so last year. According to the
lawyers he consulted, it was his best chance.
So after months of hesitation, Abou-Zed finally headed for the
Office for Migration and Refugees in Berlin in October last year. I
remember think-ing of bringing a copy of a job offer a company was
looking for RNO (Radio Network Optimisa-tion) engineers, exactly my
field of expertise. But then I didnt. It felt useless.
In January, Abou-Zed was granted a three-year asylum residence
permit.
Hes now resumed his job hunt but its not easy. Ive applied to
dozens of jobs, but they often ask for more experience. Abou-Zed
did spend a year in Syria working for the telecommu-nications
company Huawei, as the war there was starting in 2011.
I worked for a year under shelling, but I can-not find a job in
Germany. Of course, his poor German is another serious
handicap.
So when hes not applying for jobs or dealing with bureaucracy,
Abou-Zed takes the U-Bahn to attend his language classes in Wedding
five days a week, four hours a day. The remaining time is spent
between the Heim in Spandau and visits to his brother in Karow or
his best friends Mustafa and Manar in Lichtenberg.
Mustafas flat lies on the ninth floor in a high-rise painted in
turquoise, pale blue and vanilla. The space contains the
essentials: a guitar, a TV, a Playstation. Its morn-ing, and a
folded duvet on the sofa speaks for a long sleepless night. Manar,
a Syrian IT student also on a refugee visa, relaxes after finishing
his uni assignment. Abou-Zed takes his bag with the grammar books.
Time to go.
On the train, a recruitment agency calls to discuss a potential
job. The recruiter asks about Abou-Zeds salary expectations.
Without thinking, he replies that it does not make any difference.
I made a mistake, I should have been specific about the money, he
says regretfully after hanging up. Then, another call: his German
class is canceled today. In Spain I was mentally stable and
healthy... I knew what to do. Here things are frozen, he says with
a sigh. Tonight hell spend another night at the Heim on Rohrdamm
22. But one day, hell succeed. I thought that Germany was the land
of work... I guess I have to be patient. n
*Name changed
Abou-Zed was sure his degree would qualify him for a Blue Card.
TBB categorised his IT qualification among those highly in demand
in Germany.
telecommunications engineer was expecting when he moved to
Berlin, wooed here by Ger-manys employment office.
After earning a five-year degree in telecommunications
engineering at the University of Damascus, Abou-Zed took
Ever since the facility was quarantined for two months due to
cases of scabies, Abou-Zed has been regularly sleeping at friends
places.
14-15 accidental refugee 140.indd 15 23/06/15 18:47
