Happy Birthday Gerhard

Cologne, 1992

We all loved the meal.

This is one of the best Turkish restaurants on Zülpicher Strasse in central Cologne. Twelve of us. Five guys and seven women. All women are German except Mila who is Italian. Three of us males are African and two are German. It looks like a normal mixture of male and female until lurking and glowing tension surfaces because of a casual remark.

Gerhard is 30 today and we are happy to be here with him. I have never heard anyone say a bad word about Gerhard in the six years I have known him. Dinnertime was set for 6 p.m. Since today is Sunday and being very serious about time work plus tomorrow morning, the Germans were all on time. Rajab and I came ten minutes late because we couldn’t find the restaurant. But the joke is Yousouf who arrived five minutes ago. It is almost 8 now and we are about to finish the food. Dessert orders are been made.

Yousouf comes in a lousy mood saying he feels sleepy. He had a gig last night and this is “too early” for him. Of course Yousouf does not do a nine to five job. He works odd hours. He is your typical musician.

“African time” Ada jokes, smiling at him.

I watch Yousouf’s face and he seems pissed off about something. Yousouf is a volatile guy. One moment he is brilliant, the next he is exploding. Today he is happy the next he is down and withdrawn.

He is facing me, his two fingers creating the shape you make when you are smoking a cigarette. He has this odd frown. I know what it is. He wants to know if I have a spliff. Before I say anything, Elke interjects loudly:

“Yousouf, are you not well?”

“Leave him alone. He is alright”

Gerhard wants everyone to be happy. It is his birthday. Yousouf did not bring anything. Unless he has something hidden in his pockets. We have all handed our presents. There is a minute’s pause then Ada bursts out again.

“Your daughter Rashida is growing up quickly !". Ada seems to drill into Yousouf ‘s cool demeanour.

“She is beautiful,” he says looking at me, proudly.

“He never visits his child” Elke who is seated next to me, tells Helmut on the opposite side of the table. She speaks in German and since Yosouf hasn’t bothered learning the language he does not get it. His frown has turned into a grimace. Coupled with a distant expression in his eyes.

“Rashida resembles you so much Yousouf !” Ada is still digging.

Yousouf is going to explode any minute. Later I learn that Ada shares a flat with Yousouf’s ex-girlfriend, Andrea, who is the mother of Rashida. Andrea is not here tonight.

“Ah…!” sighs Yousouf as if in pain.

He stands up. “Come on Yousouf you are not going now”, Gerhard looks concerned.

Yousouf is twisting one of his dreadlocks, like a child needing attention. Ada and Elke exchange glances.

“Eat something Yousouf”, Gerhard ever hospitable still pleads. But Yousouf is walking out of the restaurant.

“That is his birthday present to you Gerhard”, Ada says scornfully in the terse air left by the man known around Cologne as an excellent musician.