How to help the less privileged citizens of Munich
“Pink,” wrote Peter Ustinov’s Russian mother in the section marked “Skin Color,” when applying for an entry visa to Great Britain in the 1920s. And an acquaintance filling out a German marriage license, unsure of what to put under the heading “Religious Denomination,” wrote “unglaublich.” If only all our bureaucratic faux pas were as charming and inconsequential as these. Unfortunately they seldom are, and many of you reading this text will have had to deal with the knock-on mechanism that ensues when you fill out an official form incorrectly, or overlook a deadline. Now imagine that you speak neither German, nor English, but perhaps only Hindi or Urdu. What do expressions like Beitragsbemessungsgrenze or Arbeitsentgelt mean to somebody who has spent years living under a totalitarian regime or surviving on a pittance in a Third World country? If you will cast your mind back to the December/January 03/04 issue of MUNICH FOUND, you might remember that in the editorial, I had searched all over the city for ways to put a little more goodwill in to the festive season. However, every attempt to trace addresses of volunteer organizations or charitable institutions, which I could pass on to readers, was thwarted, either by bureaucracy or an apparent lack of demand. Ok, I thought, if there really isn’t anybody in Munich who could use a spare pair of hands, then that’s all to the good—though I didn’t quite believe it. Then a couple of weeks ago, leafing through the Süddeutsche Zeitung, I came across an interesting article about an adoption scheme, in which individuals or families living at subsistence level are “adopted” by somebody who can help them in, for example, bureaucratic matters. The piece, by journalist Bernd Kastner, looked at one case in particular. Two years ago Oliver Klein, a chemist working in Munich, became “godfather” to Shata, a florist, and her husband, Esho, a carpenter, both political refugees from Iraq. Shocked by their living conditions and seeing how helpless they were when faced with any form of red tape, Klein set about unraveling the mysteries of Bavarian officialdom for them, while encouraging the couple in their efforts to learn German and become more independent. “Patenprojekt München,” through which Klein came into contact with Shata and Esho, is a voluntary program run by the city government. Officials at the town hall are aware of the difficulties faced by foreigners arriving in Munich, especially those with little or no visible means of support—often the dividing line between a dignified existence and destitution is very fine. Though many of you reading this may be asking yourselves whether your German is good enough to help someone adjust to life in Germany, the “Patenprojekt” offers any number of tasks to volunteers. The Website, www.muenchen.de/Rathaus/lhm_alt/mde/referat/sozial/11wohn/43871/11_org9.html, outlines all the tasks that a “godparent” can undertake, from a visit to the zoo or babysitting to helping in a search for accommodation. You can also call Heidrun Holzer, who heads the program, directly at (089) 23 34 05 29. By no means are all the “godchildren” foreigners: there are plenty of elderly Germans and families who need help. Anyone who applies to join the scheme is invited to meet the project’s managers for an introductory chat, which allows both sides to clarify what their expectations are. The godparent is then allocated a person or family. For those who aren’t able to give any time, the “Patenprojekt” is happy to accept financial donations—the bank details are listed on the Website. When I mentioned this initiative to a friend who works for the Catholic charitable organization Caritas, she told me that they have a similar project. The volunteer section of Caritas, “Das Freiwilligen Zentrum München,” offers a wider spectrum of work than “Patenprojekt,” and is always glad of volunteers. Call them at (089) 67 82 02 34 or visit the Website www.caritas-f-net.de. In some cases work of this kind will result in lifelong friendships. Kastner reports in the Süddeutsche Zeitung of godmother Anne Druba, who began helping Bella and Lev, Jewish refugees from Uzbekistan. Druba, formerly the manager of a publishing company, said that she now spends a lot of her free time with the couple. All three are retired and enjoy visiting exhibitions and taking long walks together. “It was love at first sight,” says Bella of her first meeting with Druba, who described her reason for becoming involved in the “Patenprojekt” by saying, “I wanted to do something that was enjoyable for me as well.”