In the October sun I trudge through the colorful foliage. Through the window I watch my neighbor making jam. Children are picking apples from the tree when a squirrel hisses past them and climbs the tree trunk.
Autumn, a month that is practically non-existent in Syria, always sees a stark break between summer and winter. In hindsight, I feel like a bear who didn’t see the fall leaves fall because hibernation came too abruptly. I only knew squirrels and chestnuts from children’s programs on television.
The flight to Germany took me and my companions via Serbia to Hungary. We spent three days and nights in the forest and in the fields. In search of something to eat we discovered a pumpkin patch. Using our hands, we dug a hole in the orange fruit and removed the pits. We felt like foxes trying to eat a watermelon. And we ate chestnuts that fell from the trees. Was that a squirrel looking at me angrily? Did we feast on his meal?
I’m lucky that my escape ended successfully – and that I’ve been living right on the edge of the Ebersberg Forest in Kirchseeon for many years now. Twelve-year-old Luis was there the other day with a box of nuts, sunflower seeds and fruit. Luis mumbles something about Oachkatzln. In German: squirrel.
Of course, I wasn’t spared either. Like almost every newcomer, I should first say the word “Oachkatzlschwoaf”. A kind of baptism of fire for Upper Bavaria. I made them happy. The good thing is that you just have to try and not succeed, with the pronunciation. Ideally, one fails miserably, making the natives all the more happy.
Many trials and hurdles in life later, I stood next to Luis and watched how five Oachkatzl and their tails quickly scurried in our direction. Luis and his nut box were good. I had never seen squirrels this close. Did I catch myself finding them extraordinarily cute? Especially their bushy tails and the way they nibble their nuts. Unfortunately, the animals are so shy that you can’t pet them.
But don’t catch either. So squirrels are like a living symbol of freedom. The animals, October and its scent let me in for one of my last autumns Syria forgotten, almost at least.
Unlike the Kirchseeon squirrels, I was captured several times. Once the guards brought half-cooked pieces of pumpkin on small plates. Me and my fellow inmates literally wolfed down the meal. But the gourd pieces were mixed with tiny pebbles that caused mouth sores when eaten. A kind of humiliation and torture.
Now I tip fresh pumpkin cream soup into bowls and garnish them with dark oil, a cream topping and dip farmhouse bread into the soup. With each fall in this country, my connection to pumpkins has grown stronger. Which is not due to the grimacing shell of the Halloween friends, but to the content. When the weather is cold and leaves are falling, I stand in the kitchen and prepare the deliciously colored soup. The dungeon is far away, I get a feeling like baking cookies at Christmas time. Life tastes better when you look behind the shell.