ARTICLE TAG

FEATURE

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.

14

t 12:30pm on a Saturday, a security

guard scans the check-in card of AbouZed*. A piece of paper is signed with
the date and hour of arrival. This is routine 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 dozens of men, women and children are already queuing to receive their chilli con carne todays meal,
available until 2pm. He decides to skip lunch after
a woman responsible for distributing meals whispers 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 containing cheese, ham, a tomato and a slice of cucumber. 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

JULY/AUGUST 2015

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Ever since the facility

was quarantined for
two months due to cases
of scabies, Abou-Zed has
been regularly sleeping
at friends places.
telecommunications engineer was expecting
when he moved to Berlin, wooed here by Germanys employment office.

fter earning a five-year degree in

telecommunications engineering at the
University of Damascus, Abou-Zed took

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) supports German employers filling their vacancies
with job seekers from abroad, as in those occupations 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 country 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 BerlinBrandenburg, 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 conditions 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 humanitarian 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.

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.

hats 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 thinking of bringing a copy of a job offer a company
was looking for RNO (Radio Network Optimisation) 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 telecommunications company Huawei, as the war there was
starting in 2011.
I worked for a year under shelling, but I cannot 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.

ustafas 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 morning, 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
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