"I had invited my niece Uschi over on the Day of Repentance 1989 and went to the Reichelt supermarket to do a bit of shopping. The Kaiser-Wilhelm-Straße was packed with people from the GDR. They were visiting West Berlin, going to see friends and, last but not least, picking up their DM 100 'welcome money' from the issuing offices. The Reichelt shop was quite full when I walked in. And on the left of the entrance, a woman was standing crying, but not sobbing. She was staring at the veg stall. I approached her and said, 'Do by all means go through the barrier so that you can take a closer look at the goods.' She asked me, 'What do you make with the vegetables? I've never see such carrots in our shops. With fresh green tops and looking so appetising and inviting!' But then it occurred to me, 'They're washed before they're transported.' She answered, 'We were treated like animals in the GDR. Nobody gives a damn what their food looks like.' I asked her where she came from. 'From the Valley of the Clueless', she said. 'Where is that?' I asked back. 'Oh, you wouldn't know it. It's in Saxon Switzerland. We can't even receive Western television.' 'What's the name of the place?' I asked again. 'Pirna!' she said. 'I've been there. We went there on a school trip,' I said. She struggled to believe that someone from the West had, as a child, travelled freely in the area with their school class. 'When did you leave to come here?' 'Last night, when my husband came off the night shift.' I invited her to come and have a cup of coffee with me, but asked her to please accompany me round the supermarket first while I did my shopping. I heard a man's voice from the other side, 'Can I also come? I'm her husband,' and not much further away, a boy's voice said, 'and I'm her son.' And that's how we all came to go shopping together and then go back to my place. On the way, they introduced themselves and wanted to show me their ID cards to confirm who they'd said they were. 'I believe you without,' I repelled. 'Are you not afraid? There's three of us and only one of you.' I answered in the negative. 'What'll happen, will happen. I trust you.' We had coffee together and got chatting. During the course of the conversation, I found out that she was a nursery teacher. Her husband worked in uranium mining and their son was currently serving in the People's Army on the border, 'but not in Berlin'. He had a day off and that's why they'd driven up. 'Have you already collected your 'welcome money'?' I asked, 'and dare I ask what you've bought with it?' I was curious to know what the most important thing for this family was – what they would spend their first Western currency on. 'Yes, we wanted to buy a video recorder but we don't have enough money to get one with. That's why we're coming back with our relatives on Saturday.' They wanted friends who lived on the Western border to video things from Western television. 'Where have you seen a video recorder?' - 'We got some good advice in the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Straße.'
While we were talking, we heard on the news that new border regulations were going to be introduced in the GDR as of the day after tomorrow. It was the Day of Repentance tomorrow and still a public holiday in Berlin. Should controls be tightened, it was possible that they'd encounter some difficulties when returning to the GDR on Saturday. I therefore suggested giving them the missing DM 100 for the video recorder. Initially, they resisted but I then explained that I could come and see them when I next came to Bavaria on holiday. That made everyone happy. We went to the shop together and I requested that a couple of tapes be included too. We said goodbye and they left to go to Tempelhof to pick up their Trabbi. They had had to leave it in a field by the border because Berlin's roads were full of cars. A fortnight later, I received a very kind letter. For me, it represents something of a contemporary document. (...)
I then drove down to their house between 25 December 1998 and 2 January 1999. When I approached the town, a heavy cloud of smog hovered over the area, which came from the pulp mill. It wasn't long before I started coughing. I quickly understood why the local children were sent to the Baltic Sea each year. The family greeted me heartily up on the hill. The built-out house was comfortable and the family truly hospitable. I was even taken along to a relative's birthday and could witness how close the family was. Everyone discussed the current political situation. People's joy at the prospect of a unified Germany seemed to override all else. They were eager to travel abroad without restriction, and to encounter other people, cultures and landscapes. They wanted to explore the big wide world. They associated a freedom to travel with the European Community – and that's what they wanted to be a member of."
Gisela Stange
(Extract from Gisela Stange: "Nur eine Berlinerin. Band 4: 'Ruhestand-Unruhestand?' Erfahrungen 1989 bis 2004." Books on Demand Gmbh, 2006.)
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