The One- way Street: Part I

(Story of a man who left)

The time was the 1920 s. There lived in the Bavarian town of Wasserburgh a young man named Franz Maikäfer. Franz strongly disliked his surname; for, Maikäfer was the name of a bug. Its picture was drawn into the red walls of his modest house in the heart of Wasserburgh. But the name was at the time the last of Franz's worries.

Post World war I, Germany was plunged into a deep economic crisis . The nation experienced hyperinflation in 1923 and chronic high unemployment throughout the 1920's.The death knell of the Weimar republic was ringing. And, Franz could hear it from the first floor window of his family house in the quiet town. I imagine him sitting with his unemployed friends in a pub downtown, where they met each evening,worry lining their prematurely old faces. One evening, banging his fist on the wooden counter in frustration Franz shouted "I need to get out".

Across the Atlantic another series of developments was underway. Six decades after the colonial rule ended, Brazil had finally declared the end of international slave trade. It took another three decades and a great drought in the 70 s for the plantation holders to finally loosen the hold on their captive labour force. The authorities sought to address the crisis of the workforce by encouraging immigration from the European nations.In the racist logic 'One white man was equal to ten slaves'. The waves of migration continued up to the 1960 s.

Back in Europe Brazil was advertised as the nation of opportunities. Where, land was plenty and all you need is a will to work hard. There was nothing in the advertisements of the unfamiliar tropical terrain. There was nothing also of the fact that the land in offer already belonged to a population of indigenous communities that had lived there for many a generation. Then, when did they ever matter?


So Franz's way out came as a middle man, a hawker of dreams, who strayed into Wasserburgh one fine day. And he decided to pawn all he had to seize the opportunity in offer. Now, this is not your text book colonizer, driven by the lust of gold or religious zeal. Those already had their say in Brazil. Portuguese colonialism had not only drained the country of its resources but also of its diversity. A nation with dimensions larger than India, now spoke the single language of the colonizer. Shut down in the high walls of straight jacketed villages the Jesuit missionaries forced the native population into civilization. Franz's generation on the other hand came with a broken back and all they hoped to was to stand up straight.

We reached Wasserburgh one winter afternoon- Eliza, Daniela and me. Bruno picked us up at the station. Bruno and Betty are family friends of Daniela and among the friendliest souls I have ever met. The stay with them and Oma (grandmother), was the best of our week-long winter trip. But more on that later. There, from a vantage point uphill, I saw Wasserburgh. The lake clear as crystal laced the red and yellow houses. The roof tops and streets were covered in soft cotton snow. A sight of such beauty that I could hardly breathe. And I saw Franz standing at the same point, roughly a century ago, taking in his town and his red house. For never again would Franz set his eyes upon Wasserburgh...
(cont..)