Life past 45 starts getting to be one big anti-climax. Everything gets a little saggy as gravity kicks in, and on the horizon there is just one long string of breakfasts to be eaten. Or at least this is how I explain the strange lack of euphoria I feel at getting my German citizenship. What was I expecting? A letter from Angela Merkel? A fanfare of trumpets as I walked down the steps of Berzirksamt Pankow?
It started all so auspiciously. I was given a time and a date to go pick up my Citizenship Certificate – I was even asked if 8.00 wasn’t a little too early, which must be such a rare utterance in German Behörde that I wondered if Frau D. wasn’t being a little sarcastic. But if she was, there was no trace of it on her beaming face as she came out of room 119 to greet me at punkt acht Uhr. We went into her office, she whipped out a green certificate, my Einbürgerungsnachweis of which there is only one, this one, and no other, which can never, ever be copied or reproduced so God forbid I lose it. Then she asked me to stand up and walked around the table towards me, so quickly and purposefully that I thought for one moment that the Einbürgerungsritual was going to involve a Socialist kiss in Honecker-Brezhnev style. But no. She merely held onto my green one-and-only-in-the-whole-world certificate and asked me to repeat after her that I knew the laws of the land in Germany and would do my utmost not to break them. I repeated her words, thinking that technically, they weren’t true – I don’t know all the laws of the country – and wondering whether I was already committing an offence in my barely 2-minute-old existence as a German. In any case, once that was over, she squeezed my hand fiercely and wished me a happy life, or words to that effect. And I left.
But today, the anti-climax took a teeny-weeny upturn: I was on my way to collect my German ID card (for which you have to have a separate appointment and shell out some more cash) when I decided to stop for a coffee to pick me up on the way. I stopped at a market stand in Weißensee. The coffee man was already making me a cappuccino, when two things happened, almost simultaneously: first, I realised I had left my purse with my money in it at home. Second, two girls in Radio RBB windcheaters stalked up and asked me if they could buy me my coffee in return for a quick interview. I was cornered. They saw me fumbling about in my pockets for loose change and slyly grinned at each other, while the coffee man narrowed his eyes at me. “Go on, then,” I said, and was frog-marched over to the RBB van to meet Diana, who had been on her feet since half past seven and therefore wanted me to hunker down with her in the van. “So, you’re from Weißensee?” she asked me expectantly. “No,” I said, “I’m from England.” “Janice, I need someone from Weißensee!” she yelled over my head. I sipped the coffee I was now no longer entitled to and added quickly, “But I’m also German! I’m on my way to pick up my German ID card.” “Oh!” said Diana, suddenly all ears. “Well, do you live in Weißensee?” “Almost,” I lied. “Close, anyway. Prenzlauer Berg.” She eyed me appraisingly and said. “No, now you’re Lucy from Weißensee, OK? The story’s too good. Oh, wonderful. Let’s do it.” Other people lured with promises of free coffee were being schlepped towards the van and following a flick of Diana’s wrist, were unceremoniously shooed away again.
“So, Lucy,” said Diana, really getting into her story now. “Tell me, why do you want to be German?” “So I can vote here,” I said. And added “All my German friends ask my why I want to do that.” “Ha, ha!” she laughed, “That’s too good.” I smiled, not having a clue why it was too good and drained the rest of my coffee. “And so I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re not going to mention you live in Prenzlauer Berg, OK? The questions are: do you like your neighbourhood? Do you feel safe at night here? And do you separate you garbage?” Not wanting to be a stickler for detail and ask her what the last question had to do with the first two, I nodded, as she had been doing too after asking me her questions, making it clear what my answer should be. “OK, Lucy?” “Fine,” I answered, “and anyway, the last question came up on the Citizenship Test.” I winked at her as I said this. “Oh, oh!” screamed Diana. “That’s too good! You’ve got to say that, OK?” “OK. Diana. I’m Lucy from Weißensee, I love my Kiez, I feel safe here and I separate my garbage.” “Perfect,” she said. The mike went live and I obediently lied through my teeth to the Berlin public. I have to say though, I felt a little bit of adrenaline at the end.