Bereit zur Landung
Teil 1: Erfahrungen und Geschichten aus dem Asylzentrum im Flughafen Zürich.
Flughäfen sind ein Sinnbild für Mobilität, Tore in die Welt aus Glas und Stahl. Seit dem Bau des ersten kommerziellen Flughafens 1922 in Königsberg hat sich das Erscheinungsbild und die Funktion dieses Stücks Verkehrsinfrastruktur stark gewandelt. Selten wirkt ein Flughafen auf jene, die in seinen glänzenden Hallen warten müssen, alt. Flughäfen stehen seit jeher für das Neue. Sie sind daher auch von Grund auf provisorische Orte, deren Lebenszeit im Vergleich zu anderen Bauten der Moderne sehr beschränkt ist, da sie stets erweitert und umgebaut werden müssen, um den Anforderungen einer schnell wachsenden Flugindustrie zu genügen. Mich interessiert der Flughafen als Raum dazwischen. Zum einen auf der symbolischen Ebene, im Spannungsfeld zwischen Gegenwart und Zukunft, dem Hier und einer fernen Destination. Zum anderen auf der realen Ebene, als Aussengrenze mitten in der Stadt, wo täglich Menschen anhand von ihren Dokumenten und Reisegründen sortiert werden. So verkörpern sie nicht bloss eine neutrale und universelle Form von Mobilität, sondern eine sehr ungleiche Mobilität, welche stark abhängig ist von der Herkunft und Situation einer Person.
Die folgenden Gespräche versuchen einen kleinen Eindruck von der Vielfalt an marginalisierten Formen der Mobilität, die an Flughäfen zusammenkommen, zu vermitteln. Es besteht kein Anspruch auf Vollständigkeit oder Allgemeingültigkeit, vielmehr sind sie eine Einladung, sich mit den Widersprüchlichkeiten und Lücken vertraut zu machen, sie gehören unweigerlich zu Geschichten von Flucht und Migration dazu. Sind nicht alle unsere Geschichten wie Pfade durch eine breite Landschaft, einige verlaufen gerade und andere schlängeln sich an einem Hang empor. Einige werden in ihrem Verlauf von Grenzen durchschnitten und andere verbinden zwei benachbarte Dörfer. Ich selbst teile auch eine Verbindung mit dem Flughafen Zürich. Eine biografische, denn meine Familie ist von dort aus in ein neues Leben in Chile aufgebrochen, und eine funktionale Verbindung, durch meine Arbeit als Aushilfe in einem der Cafés hinter der Sicherheitskontrolle. So habe ich Victoria und Zaher kennengelernt und dank meines Zugangs zum Transitbereich konnte ich Filmon im Asylzentrum am Flughafen besuchen. Zusammen mit der Geschichte Shannets ergibt ein buntes Bild von diesem Ort, wo auf engem Raum ein Kaleidoskop von unterschiedlichen und sehr ungleichen Realitäten existiert. Farben und Schatten entstehen, wenn individuelle Schicksale auf die scharfen Kanten von Gesetzen und gesellschaftlichen Strukturen treffen.
DAS FLUGHAFENVERFAHREN
Ganz versteckt hinter einer unscheinbaren Tür befindet sich das Asylzentrum im Flughafen Zürich. An diesem Ort werden Menschen untergebracht, welche nach ihrer Ankunft bei der Flughafenpolizei Asyl beantragen. Dies kann sehr formlos geschehen, eine Person muss lediglich den Wunsch äussern, in der Schweiz Schutz suchen zu wollen. Anschliessend werden die Schutzsuchenden zum Asylzentrum gebracht, wo sie von den Betreuenden der Asyl Organisation Zürich empfangen werden. Die ersten zwei Tage dienen zur Identifizierung der Personen, welche durch die Flughafenpolizei durchgeführt wird. Dabei werden die Fingerabdrücke und das Gesicht erfasst und mit EU-Datenbanken abgeglichen.
Ist die Identität der Person geklärt und ist sie bei den Behörden registriert, bekommt sie eine Rechtsvertretung zugewiesen und wird von einer Gesundheitsfachperson zu ihrem Gesundheitszustand befragt. Die Rechtsvertretung informiert den*ie Gesuchsteller*in über den Ablauf des Verfahrens, was sie oder ihn bei der Befragung erwartet und was für Rechte sie oder er besitzt. Ab diesem Punkt dürfen maximal 20 Tage vergehen, bis der erste Entscheid über das Gesuch vorliegt. Danach haben die Gesuchstellenden 5 Tage Rekursfrist, um vor dem Bundes Verwaltungsgericht eine neue Beurteilung ihres Gesuches zu fordern. Wurde nach 60 Tagen seit dem Eintritt in das Asylzentrum noch kein endgültiger Entscheid getroffen, kann die Person vorläufig in die Schweiz einreisen. Die Schutzquote am Flughafen, schätzt ein Betreuer, liegt bei ca. 30%, die anderen Antragsteller*innen werden entweder in ein anderen Schengen Staat zurückgeführt oder direkt in das Herkunftsland ausgeschafft.
SHANNET
Ich treffe Shannet bei ihrem Zuhause in Zürich. Sie wohnt in einem mehrstöckigen Einfamilienhaus zusammen mit anderen Migrant*innen. Das Quartier scheint mir ruhig, als ich aber Shannet darauf anspreche, lacht sie nur: ganz im Gegenteil! Shannet empfängt mich bei der Haustür und führt mich zu ihrem Zimmer in einem oberen Stock. Im Zimmer befindet sich auf der einen Seite ein Bett, in der Mitte ein Tisch und auf der anderen Seite eine braune Ledercouch neben einem roten Plüschsessel. Shannet macht es sich im Sessel bequem und zündet sich einen Joint an, während ich mich mit meinem Notizblock und dem Telefon einrichte.
Als ich die Aufnahme auf meinem Telefon starte, sprechen wir bereits über Heimweh. Wir sprechen über unsere Sehnsucht nach den bekannten Dingen, das Essen, die Musik, das Wetter. Shannet graut es vor dem Winter und sie schwärmt von der Tropischen Wärme Jamaicas. Ich merke hingegen, dass ich wehmütig werde, wenn mir der Herbstwind ins Gesicht weht. Es erinnert mich an den Wind, der zu jeder Jahreszeit durch die Strassen der Stadt wehte, wo ich im Süden Chiles aufwuchs. Wir sind schon mitten im Thema, meine anfängliche Nervosität ist bereits verflogen, als ich die erste Frage stelle.
When did you come to Switzerland?
On November 29 in 2019. It was cold. I remember our plane landed here at 1:30 am, and I was looking outside, I was in flip flops and a little tiny sweater. Then we had to walk from the plane to the airport. I thought, what the fuck did I do by coming here? But I think I'm kind of getting used to it. But I still feel like I'm not getting used to it at the same time.
Was Switzerland your destination or did you just have layover her
I wanted to freestyle around the world a bit. I first went to Panama. I spent like three hours there and got bored, so I went to Cuba the same day and spent two weeks there. Then I went to Tel Aviv in Israel for one month. I was supposed to transit from Switzerland to go back to Jamaica.
I was in the plane from Tel Aviv to Switzerland. I don't know, something just said, don't go back home. I didn’t know nobody here. I didn’t know nothing. Something said, don't go back home. Stay in Switzerland, and I was like, Switzerland? I remember I went into the bathroom at about 1:00 in the night, and I tore up all my fucking itineraries to go back home. I tore up everything, flushing the toilet, and I was going to rip the passport, but something said, you know what, in case anything happens, I can go back home.
I was nervous when my plane landed, because I didn’t know what to expect. I remember when I reached the airport, I was at this little place looking out, and I started to cry. I thought, what the fuck am I doing? But it felt right, you know? And then I remember that I saw a man with “security” written on his back in German. I stopped him and asked, where I could find the airport police, he said, I had to take the train to the other side of the airport and stuff. I saw everybody going into this train and I went in too. I saw it stop, everybody going out, and I went out, too. I saw a group of policemen and I told them that I don't want to go back to my country, because it's not safe for me there, because in my country it's one thing when you are gay, but when you're trans, it's a whole different line.
The police took my passport, and I remember they brought me into this room. They did the stuff to see if you're running from your country, if you murdered somebody, you know, they have to do these checks. They didn't see anything. They asked me, why do I have so much money and this and that. I told them that I'm gay and they didn't believe me, because I came here as a boy, and I think they were expecting to see this (pointing to herself) and these gestures of gay people, you know. It was when they searched my phone and my laptop, when they saw pictures of me in dresses and all of that. I said, where I'm coming from, I can't dress how I want. I can’t be myself.
Then they took me up to this asylum center. It was really nice. It wasn't awful, being honest. It was more like a little Airbnb situation in the airport. You have people there who take care of you, sleep overnight, make sure everybody's okay. Food is always there and stuff. When you have your interview with immigrations, they take you there and tell you before, so you can prepare your mind. They were really nice. I think the only thing that I didn't like was when it was time for me to leave, to go to the place to register. I didn’t know English; I didn’t know German. They just gave me this map and a ticket and said, find this place. I never liked that part.
I didn’t know shit, you know? It was this lady that I saw and asked, if she could help me find this place. She was an air hostess, and she was on holiday, so she was just coming home. She called her husband and said, hey, somebody needs help and I need to help them, so I'll be late. She brought me right where I was supposed to go. Wow. I'll never forget that. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't know what to do or where to go. After I registered to this place, they placed me in a center in Oerlikon at Regensbergstrasse.
So, you took the decision to stay in Switzerland while you were on the plane?
Yes. I just made that decision on my own right there. When I have a gut feeling, even when it looks stupid, I go with it. I came here and it was very new for me. I was still scared of getting attacked. I used to walk with knives when I went out and stuff like that, because I still was paranoid. I didn't even know that transitioning was possible for me. When I saw the opportunity, I just took it, because that's how I wanted to be, you know? I'm happy here. I feel safe. But on the other hand, you feel empty, you know, like nothing around you is familiar. You have to learn everything on your own and all these things. But I got to meet some really great people. Sometimes I feel like they were here waiting for me.
It also was very abrupt. You didn't have time to say goodbye.
I didn't even understand it then, because my parents are diplomats. I remember they said to me that I was gonna need a lawyer to represent me and my case. I said, okay, no problem. What I didn't know at the time was that, when they sent in my fingerprints my mom got a call immediately. I've recently heard this from her. I thought I did everything on my own. She told me that when she got the call, she was about to get in a plane to come for me, but my dad said, let him stay. If he doesn't want to come back, leave him alone. We’ll just keep an eye on him from here. I remember a lawyer came one Wednesday morning and said that she would represent me, that she would come back and talk to me. So, when that day came, another lawyer came. I thought they switched the lawyers, but I didn't know that my mom was the one who provided that lawyer for me.
How long did you stay at the airport?
I arrived on the 29th of November, and I came out the day before Christmas Eve. The interviews were very intense. They want to know when you came out to your mother, and you have to dig up a lot of shit. I had to take breaks because I kept breaking down, but I had to get all that out. They heard my story, but what kind of made everything believable was what happened to my brother. He got attacked in Jamaica. Now he lives in Spain. They stabbed him 98 times. That news was all over the world at the time. I was telling that story, and the immigration officer turned around the computer and said, is this you in this photo with your brother? I said, yes. How did they find that? How the fuck did they find it so quick? I didn't even finish the story! I think I kind of sealed a deal with them then.
Police came in the asylum center every day for people, a lot of people went home. I remember this one guy there, he’s from Cuba, and we became really close. I remember the day when I was leaving, it was the day when they were going to put him in a plane to go back to Cuba, and we were crying. I wish he had gotten through; you know? But if your life is not threatened, they don't give you a positive answer. So, for me, probably because my life was in more of a danger I got a positive answer, I don't know. It was hard to see some people leave.
What were your days at the airport like?
Oh, I wanted fresh air. I remember they had a balcony that we could have gone to, but at that time they were working on it. I wanted to breathe so bad. It's like I'm dying. I asked my lawyer, is it okay if you take me outside a little bit, but when she opened the window I said, close it back! I don't want to go. That wind hit me, and she said, welcome to Switzerland. It was crazy. I was glad when I came out.
How old were you when you came here?
I was 29. I spent my 30th birthday here. They kept a birthday party for me in the asylum center with cake and everything. It was really nice. I never expected it. I don't know how it is there now, but when I was there, they had nice people working there.
How was life after the airport?
It was new. It was fun. I was excited, but at the same time sad. I remember when I was at the airport, a guy who was taking care of us told me that two Jamaicans had just left the week before. And I'm like, really? Do you know their names? He said, Jaffar. I said, that's Latina, and then he said another name and I knew both. I said, when I leave, can you send me to the camp where Latina is? And that's how me and Latina reconnected, because we have been friends for 15 years or more. We know each other from when we were ten years old boys.
I didn't know she was here. I went to the center, and I saw her. That made me feel comfortable, because at least I had somebody who I knew and who could show me around. If it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't have been so open at that time. I wanted to go to the city, but I didn't want to take the train. I'd never taken a public transport in my life before. I've never gone to a public school before. I took myself out of that bubble. And because I wanted my own life and everything, I was willing to do whatever it takes. Yeah, I miss my family and all of that, but I'm kind of glad that I did what I did, because if I never did what I did, we wouldn’t have gotten as close as we are now.
How has your relationship to your parents changed?
Now it's better. I didn't tell anybody that I was transitioning. They didn't think that I would really go and do it. One day my mom was calling me, and I had makeup on. I'm like, Jesus, what am I supposed to do. I was wondering, should I take it off, and answer the phone, but at the end I just answered the phone. She said look, if you're going to do this, you better do it correctly, and she sent me a ton of clothes. I think she got to know me more now. I feel closer to her now because I don't have to hide. I don't have to pretend. I guess her knowing this side of me kind of brought us closer. I know it's not what she wanted for me, but she respects me and that's all I want.
I had everything I wanted. But when I became myself, it's like I lost everybody. Even though I still had a roof over my head, when this side of me started to come out, I felt abandoned, because nobody liked that side of me. You know? So, it was really hard. I just woke up one day and I said to myself, you know what? Fuck it. It's like I need to be myself. And when I saw this opportunity to leave, even though it wasn't planned and stuff, I would say this is my greatest accomplishment. I get to be myself.
I hate feeling like I'm stuck. Everybody's moving on and growing and I can't be myself. They brought me to so many shrinks, so many psychologists. They spent so much money trying to fix me, trying to take the gay out and whatever was there. But the more I grew, the more this personality just wanted to get the fuck out. I just couldn't. I was willing to lose everybody, just to be myself. I was willing to do that because I didn't give a fuck who wants me to be happy or who wants to not talk to me again. Sorry, but I need to be me.
And how was it being a child of diplomats?
My mom had us followed all the time. Especially me, because deep down my mom knew that I was gay. I reached a point where I hated my mom. I couldn't stomach her. It was just always, be a man, this and that. I was supposed to get married when I was 19. And I said, mom, I can't do it. I'm gay. She was like, do it until you get used to it and continue to do it again until you get used to it. I just stepped out of the fucking church. I said, I'm not going to do this. I couldn't do that, you know? I explained to the girl, and she understood. We’re friends and she's happily married now. I even planned her wedding.
It's great to have people like that.
Yeah, it's nice. But being here, it's kind of growing me up. I've never lived with strangers before. I'm not used to living with people outside the family, but I like the thing that everybody here is from a different culture. You learn from each other; you can share things. You know, sometimes I miss the accessibility that I used to have, but I'm happier now. I would say I may not have all the things that I used to, but I'm happy. I'm contented with myself.
One of the reasons why I left my hometown in the south of Chile also was because, there was no community in my city. It's a small city, in a very rural part of the country. And I wouldn't say it was extremely dangerous for people to be queer and out there, but it just was not a thing, like, people were invisible.
In Jamaica they shoot you. To show you how bad it is. When you want to go outside, you have to make sure the road is fucking clear, because you will be outside, and you just see men coming from all angles with guns. You know how many times I've been shot? I still have a bullet in my leg. I've seen many friends shot or get slashed in front of me and all these things.
I remember in 2020, I had a bad breakdown, because I wasn't in Jamaica anymore. When I was there, I was in survival mode, and then, when I started living here and started settling, all those things that happened before started filtering. I would wake up screaming at the airport many times. It's like I was seeing everything vivid as daylight again in my head, replaying and replaying. I didn't want to go outside. I didn't want to go to school. Latina asked me, girl, what the fuck is wrong with you? Crying every day and stuff. I couldn't stop the tears from coming. I needed to go and get help, because when I'm like this, I don't trust myself. In Jamaica, you'll see people dying in front of you last night and you just move on in the morning. It's like nothing happened. I still struggle with flashbacks, but every time I feel that coming, I go out of the house to change the mood. I mean, I still have bad days, I have good days, but I would say it's better now.
You made a film about your story. What was that like, being so public about your story?
I don't know. I just wanted to get a message out that it doesn't matter where you're coming from, you can't let the past make you stay in one place, you know? But filming it, the part that I had to struggle to bring out in the film was the part when I got raped, and I had to bring myself back to that day to bring that thing out in front of the camera. So, I told them, listen, if you see me crying and stuff, don't stop. Just let the camera go. Don't stop. I want it to be as real as possible.
It got premiered at the Locarno Film Festival in August and now it's on a little tour. I did it for Urša, because it was her last year at art school, and they had to make a film. We never expected we would go to places. I just did it because she is my friend. She's done a lot for me. I said, use my story and make your movie. And it won the bachelor's degree award.
That's really cool. So happy that it is such a success.
I just never expected that. I remember it was a Friday, I was coming home from school, and I got this email and it said, your movie has been selected out of all of Zurich, I'm the only one who got picked, from all the movies. And when I got the email for Locarno, I don't know, I saw the email and then my heart started to beat. I said to Urša, look at your email! And then we started screaming on the phone. I couldn't believe it. I used something terrible and turned it into something positive, you know? So that for me was good. And I'm happy that people like it, too.
You said you're going to school. What are you doing?
Um, this German course. I tried to start back, because I want to start working soon at Check Point.
Cool.
Yeah. I'm a nurse. I was a nurse back in my country for eight years. When it comes to the work, I thought transitioning would make life easier. Well, it's the opposite. I really thought when I transitioned, people would get it, but I just feel like it's worse. Once you're trans and you want to get a job, it's a thing. That scares me. I see how they deal with Latina at this place because she's trans. They don't want her using the girl’s bathroom, because this and that and blah, blah, blah. And these things scare me, you know? And I know me. It's like you just say something the wrong day, and I react. That's why I smoke so fucking much, to keep me calm, to be honest. Because when I smoke, I don't react. Those situations scare me. Me and Urša would be walking on the road and people would just stare. I can't stop people from staring, but don't make it so obvious. Bitch, I'm looking at you. It's crazy.
Since when did you feel that you were living, that you had arrived in Switzerland?
When I met my friends. When I met Urša. She was the first friend I had. Since I've met her, I started feeling relaxed and okay. I think if I'd never met these people, I would have probably gone back home. They're like kind of family. But It's not easy to make friends here.
No.
When you do meet good people, you try to keep them around. I had so many fucking friends in Jamaica and all they did is take. Here, if they see that I need to deal with something, they kind of know and they help me. I don't have to ask, you know? It's like it's a different level of friendship. This feels more meaningful than the friendships that I had back home.
Have you ever been back since you came here?
No, my family doesn't live in Jamaica. I was the reason why they always came back to visit. I was working in Jamaica, so they always came to keep an eye on me. Now that no one of their kids is in Jamaica anymore, they don't need to be there.
I feel like I have the confidence to go back home. Knowing the country, the history of it, you want to go back. But Jamaican people are not predictable, that's the thing. If I would go to Jamaica, I know where to go and where not to go. I feel confident that I could go back now, because I look nothing like I used to look like. Not even a spitting image of what I used to look like. Nothing. [End of the recording]
Das ist die letzte Frage. Danach sprechen wir noch weiter über unsere Transitionen, übers Trans-Sein, über verschiedene Hormonpräparate. Es tut gut, mit einer Transperson zu sprechen, die schon ein bisschen weiter ist in ihrem Prozess als ich. So unterschiedlich unsere Geschichten sein mögen, konnte ich mich in gewissen Elementen wiedererkennen. Unsere Verabschiedung ist herzlich, ich verlasse ihr Haus und denke über Shannet und ihre Geschichte nach, als ich in Richtung Tramhaltestelle laufe. Ich bin hoffnungsvoll und erschüttert. Unser Gespräch hat meine Sicht auf das Asylzentrum im Flughafen wieder geöffnet, ich blicke nun meinem Besuch dort in ein paar Tagen erwartungsvoll, jedoch ohne genaue Vorstellungen entgegen.
FILMON
Sergio, der Betreuer des Asylzentrums, öffnet uns die Tür zu einem fensterlosen Raum. Drin steht ein Schreibtisch, dahinter ein Bürostuhl mit hoher Lehne, und davor zwei niedrigere Freischwinger. Filmon zögert kurz, bevor er sich auf einen der Freischwinger setzt, ich tue es ihm gleich. Wir nehmen beide als erstes einen Schluck Wasser aus den Mehrwegbechern, die uns Sergio gebracht hat – Sicherheit geht vor.
Sergio hat mir im Vorfeld noch gesagt, dass Filmon zuerst nicht sicher war, ob er mit mir sprechen möchte. Seine Geschichte sei nicht so wie die von anderen Menschen, die Geflüchtet sind – ich frage mich, ob es überhaupt die eine Fluchtgeschichte oder die eine Migrationsgeschichte gibt. Wie viel ist Schicksal und wie viel ist System? Zum Glück kann Sergio Filmon erklären, dass es genau darum geht, um seine ganz individuelle Geschichte. Dennoch bleiben gewisse Fragen offen, ist es z.B. für Filmon sicher, offen über seinen Weg zu sprechen? Aus diesem Grund ist Filmon ein Pseudonym und das Gespräch aus meinen Notizen rekonstruiert, anstatt aufgezeichnet.
Filmon heisst eigentlich meines Gesprächspartners bester Freund aus Eritrea, der jetzt in Äthiopien ist. Der Vater dieses Freundes lebt in Norwegen und hat ihnen das Geld geschickt für ihre Entlassung aus dem Gefängnis im Sudan. Nach der Freilassung sind sie zusammen zurück nach Äthiopien, von wo aus Filmon in die Schweiz geflogen ist. Nun wartet er seit 18 Tagen auf einen Entscheid. Dies ist jedoch nicht sein erstes Mal in der Schweiz, bereits 2015 hatte er einen Asylantrag gestellt. Jenes Mal kam er über das Mittelmeer. Zuerst aus Eritrea in den Sudan, vom Sudan nach Libyen, von dort aus übers Meer nach Italien und schliesslich bei Chiasso in die Schweiz.
Auf meine Frage nach seinen ersten Eindrücken von der Schweiz antwortet er, es seien viel zu viele gewesen. Er hat damals im Asylzentrum viele Leute aus den verschiedensten Ländern kennengelernt. Hätte er diese Leute nicht getroffen, wüsste er heute, nicht wie es in Afghanistan oder in Sri Lanka ist. Als ich ihn jedoch nach seiner bisherigen Zeit am Flughafen frage, sagt er, dass es sehr langweilig ist. Er fühlt sich wie im Gefängnis, ohne viele Beschäftigungsmöglichkeiten, ohne freien Zugang zur frischen Luft und ohne Kontakt zu seiner Mutter. Die gesamte Situation ist sehr stressig, da er das gesamte Asylverfahren erneut durchlaufen muss, alles, weil seine Papiere während seiner Abwesenheit abgelaufen sind. Tagsüber schläft er und nachts kreisen in ihm die Gedanken.
Als er das erste Mal den Flüchtlingsstatus in der Schweiz erhielt, kam er nach Zug. Dort fing er 2017 in einem Restaurant an zu arbeiten und konnte ein Jahr später in eine Privatwohnung ziehen. Zwischendurch war er kurz arbeitslos und begann danach bei V-Zug in der Produktion zu arbeiten. Zuerst lackierte er an einer Maschine Türen für Waschmaschinen, später montierte er Mikrowellen. Er habe gehofft nach seiner Rückkehr weiter bei V-Zug zu arbeiten, nun ist fast ein halbes Jahr vergangen seit seiner Abreise und seine Zukunft ist sehr ungewiss. Ich frage mehr über seine Arbeit und seine erste Zeit in der Schweiz, doch Filmon lehnt ab, er habe viel vergessen, vor allem während seiner Zeit in Gefangenschaft.
Ende April ist Filmon nach Addis Abeba geflogen und von dort aus in den Sudan, wo er seine kranke Mutter treffen wollte. Seine Mutter ist 2019 schwer erkrankt und braucht dringend medizinische Behandlung, die es in Eritrea nicht gibt. Aus diesem Grund reiste er in den Sudan, um die nötigen Medikamente aufzutreiben, geriet jedoch ins Gefängnis. Als er nach mehreren Monaten zusammen mit seinem Freund und mit der Hilfe dessen Vaters wieder aus dem Gefängnis kam wütete bereits der Bürgerkrieg im Sudan.
Sie bezahlten 300 Dollar an Schlepper, die sie in einem kleinen Auto bis zur äthiopischen Grenze bringen. Filmon erzählt mir, wie sie mit dem kleinen Auto durch Konfliktzonen gefahren sind. Die Fahrer tauschten sich regelmässig untereinander über die Lage aus, manchmal mussten sie in einem Dorf ausharren, bis Kämpfe weiter vorne auf ihrem Weg vorbei waren. Es gab immer wieder Checkpoints, wo man stundenlang warten musste, um durchgelassen zu werden. Wertsachen wie Smartphones, Uhren oder Schmuck blieben auf der Strecke.
Als sie dann endlich bei der sudanesisch-äthiopischen Grenze ankamen, hatten sie kein Visum und strandeten mit weiteren Geflüchteten an einem Camp bei Metema, einer Stadt auf der äthiopischen Seite der Grenze. Zwei Monate mussten sie warten, bis Filmon schliesslich illegal ein Visum für 940 Dollar kaufen konnte und es damit bis Addis Abeba schaffte, von wo er in die Schweiz zurückflog.
Ich habe ihn gefragt, ob es etwas gibt, dass ihm im Moment Hoffnung gibt. Die Gespräche mit seinem Anwalt stimmen ihn positiv, auch die Erstbefragung ist einigermassen gut gelaufen. Er wiederholt oft, dass die Betreuer*innen sehr hilfsbereit sind und auch gerne Fragen beantworten, wenn sie können. Dennoch spüre ich viel Frust bei Filmon. Ein Satz hallt in meinen Gedanken lange nach: Er sei in die Schweiz gekommen, um Schutz zu suchen vor Haft und Militär und nun fühle er sich auch hier wie ein Tier im Käfig.
Dieser Käfig mag grösser und zeitlich begrenzt sein, dennoch ist es einer. Es ist ein Käfig aus Glas und Gesetzen, Käfig und Hafen zugleich. Nach knapp einer Stunde beenden wir das Gespräch, Filmon geht vom fensterlosen Zimmer zurück in den fensterlosen Schlafsaal, ich verlasse das Asylzentrum durch die nicht beschilderte Milchglastür. Ich betrete den Gang, der zur Swiss Lounge führt, gehe aber in die entgegengesetzte Richtung, am Transit Hotel vorbei, durch die gläserne Sicherheitsschleuse, vorbei an der Passkontrolle, durch die Gepäckausgabe, durch die Ankunftshalle, hinaus in den Abend. Ich rieche Herbst und Zigarettenrauch. Aus dem Augenwinkel sehe ich das Schweizerkreuz auf der Heckflosse einer Swiss Maschine im Licht der Abendsonne. Als letztes habe ich Filmon nach seinen Hoffnungen und Plänen für die Zukunft gefragt, seine kurze Antwort lautet: Deutschkurs und Ausbildung.
Contributor NICOLA SCHÄFER