Brief history of Africans in Germany Introduction - American ...

separate paths. They lost contact and after nearly three decades of searching were
reunited in Cologne in the 1960s.
Yes, It was a life of ups and downs
Juliana: My foster parents were of different backgrounds. She was German and he was
Moroccan. Naturally, they behaved in a manner, shall I say, that did not put them in
conflict with the National Socialist regime. At that time, it was still possible to behave in
such a manner as to not come into conflict with the government. We were in the circus,
so we were always on the road. We worked in a variety of circuses. This alone pulled us
apart. James had to leave early on to work with a group of acrobats. Theo [Theordor] and
I had to stay with those people because we were the youngest ones. My older sister was
in another circus. In 1935, however, she went to France. I left in 1937. First, I was in
Circus Ammah, which was a rather large French circus. When the war came, it was
necessary for me to leave. Then I ended up in a menagerie and these people were also not
a good sort. I was 18 years old. In 1937, my sister had sent for me to come to be with
her.
So, I went to France and, as it happened, I remained there for 27 years. Due to the war, all
of us lost touch with one another. In the meanwhile, my sister died of pneumonia in 1942.
She had two children who still live in France. Her name was Christiana.
“Black Germans do not exist.”
James: We decided to go by ship to Africa, to Morocco. But there is something else I
want to tell first. That was in 1937. We were in Paris and had just pulled down the circus
tent. My passport had just run out, so I went to the German consulate to have it renewed.
I went in and said: “Good morning.” It was early in the morning when I entered. They
told me: “Here we don’t say, “Good morning”, we say, “Heil Hitler!” Had I again done
something wrong? So, good, as I didn’t have any other choice, I also said, ‘Heil Hitler.’”
What do you want?” the clerk demanded. ‘To renew my passport’, I answered. “Your
passport!” he said. “What are you, are you German?” “Yes, here is my passport,” I
answered. He examined it. “Born in Berlin on 2 October 1916 and so on and so forth”.
Then he took my passport and went away with it. A quarter of an hour or more went by
before he returned - but without my passport. I said: ‘I thought you were going to give
my passport back to me.’ He said: “No, we are going to keep your passport. You are no
longer German. Black Germans do not exist.”
Then, I was really angry. What was I supposed to do without identity documents and
such? Nothing! How could I prove that I was really born in Berlin? This was the worst
moment in my life.