Later, Haley asked me for my phone and I told her to go get it out of my purse. She looked and said it wasn't there. I didn't think much of it since the kids often don't see things that are right under their noses. Later, Dan left the house to go on a tour of Berlin given by a former homeless person (maybe I will have time to write about that later) and we had made plans to meet at a store in town and do some shopping afterwards, so I thought I should get my phone in case he needed to get in touch with me. Haley was right, it wasn't in my purse. It wasn't in my backpack. It wasn't in my jacket pocket or the car or lying on the kitchen counter. I tried several times to call it to see if I could hear it ringing, but I usually keep it on vibrate so it's hard to hear. I looked in every room, even though I was pretty sure I hadn't been in most of the rooms of the house. I became convinced that I didn't have the phone. I thought back - I knew I had it when I left the consignment store, because I had texted Dan, and I knew I had it when I arrived at the grocery store because I looked at the phone and saw his response. But that's the last I remember of it. Did I set it down on the checkout counter at the grocery store? Did I set it down at the strawberry stand? Did it fall out of my car into the parking lot? I rode my bike back to the store and realized that I knew the words to ask the cashier "Finden Sie ein gelbes Handy?" "Nein, fergessen Sie heute?", she asked? (Did you forget it today?) No luck there. It wasn't in the parking lot. And the street market was over and most vendors had packed up and left. Now I'm thinking, oh no, I will never see my phone again.
I emailed Dan to let him know that I couldn't find my phone and it might make it difficult to coordinate and meet up later. Thank goodness for my tech-savvy husband who immediately looked up my phone on the app "Find my friends" and sent me a picture on the map: "my phone thinks your phone is 'here'" he said. The 'here' was near an S-bahn station about 10 or 12 minutes from our house. Argh, my phone has been stolen and it's making a getaway, I thought. I asked him if the phone's location was moving and after a few minutes he replied that it wasn't. In fact, he said that it looked like there was a police station near the pinpoint on the map and he wondered if somehow they had the phone. I don't know how he could see that, because when I zoomed in on the map it looked like a residential area and even doing a search for "police station" in the area turned up 0 results. But I got in the car and headed over. I didn't know what I would find - maybe the street market from my neighborhood had moved to this neighborhood and I would find the strawberry man. Or maybe I would find a police station and by some odd stroke of luck they would miraculously have my phone. Or maybe the Find My Phone app was wrong and there would be nothing there.
When I got close I indeed saw a sign for a police station! I found a place to park and was buzzed inside the locked building. I asked expectantly if they had my phone and lo and behold! They did! I tried to ask who found the phone and turned it in, but I didn't get much information - only the name and phone number of the person who had found the phone, so after I got home I called him. I read from the script I had prepared using Google Translate: "Thank you, thank you for turning my phone in to the police. You are a nice man! I am so happy." I felt a bit foolish using these babyish phrases but the call absolutely had to be made. I still don't know where I left my phone and who this man was, but thank goodness for honest people.
I hadn't planned to spend half the day looking for my phone, but that's how it worked out. By the time I got back from the police station it was time to go meet Dan at the store. We found him some non-baggy Euro-style jeans and pants that Dan said felt like he was wearing tights! And then it was time for our evening activity. The American Catholic and Protestant churches have joined together to form a combined youth group with monthly activities. This month the activity was Iranian Night at the Iranian Mosque and Cultural Center.
We walked in a little late, unfortunately, and a man was singing the ritual prayer (think of what you think of when you think of Islamic prayer - lots of undulating voice and kind of an eerie sound). I could not have been more out of place in this setting with my blonde hair and blue eyes and it had never crossed my mind to bring a head scarf to wear, like so many of the other visitors remembered to do. I consider myself a very open and accepting person so I was surprised when I felt a twinge of fear. I didn't realize that my stereotypes of Islam ran so deep until I found myself looking around during the prayer to see if we were safe in the room. The thought crossed my mind that maybe we Christians had been lured here with our children for a suicide attack. HORRIBLE, but if I'm telling the truth then there it is. I don't know too many people of Islamic faith and I've only ever known one Iranian, so I'm sure these feelings stem from unfamiliarity. I'm really glad we had the chance to spend some time with these people to dispel some of the fear.
After the prayers was a presentation which unfortunately was in German so I didn't understand most of what was said about Islam and Iran. But it was immediately clear that this was a peaceful, friendly community. The women of the community had cooked for us, and they served us tea and these coconut fig ball things. Later there was a buffet with small sandwiches and tons of other sweets. The imam addressed us in Persian but was translated into English. He basically attempted to address and dispel stereotypes about Islam: he talked about Islam's acceptance of other religions, the positive role of women, and the peaceful nature of the religion. He invited us all to join worship or just hang out at the center anytime! I was really overwhelmed with the hospitality of these quiet women draped from head to toe in fabric, and their leader, a kind, scholarly man who has published dozens of books. The woman who led the presentation, like many people I have met in Berlin, impressed me with her language skills: fluent in Persian, English and German (and who knows how many other languages she didn't have the need to use that night). A male church leader sat at a table and patiently and beautifully scripted everyone's name in Persian. I picture Iran as a desert, but I learned that there are mountains with heavily forested slopes and there are even jungly rain forests.
Afterwards we reflected on what we learned. Haley was probably a bit too young to get much out of the evening, but Carter said that he would never look at Muslims the same again. When we asked him what he meant, he explained that he too had a negative view because he associates Islam with terrorism. (Clearly we need to work on our parenting message of "love for all people".) He sees now that most people are kind and actually quite interesting, although he didn't care for the rice pudding or the fig balls. I personally had never spent time with a group of Muslims, let alone Iranians, and I'm happy to say that they aren't scary and they don't necessarily agree with their crazy government, just like we don't always agree with our sometimes crazy government. I am grateful for the chance to learn more about a place I knew almost nothing about, and for the kindness of these strangers.
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| Carter with his name in Chinese (red banner - created at school with 2 Chinese-speaking parent volunteers) and Persian |
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