Family at the other end of the world
Cornelia Breuer with Mumta and Moritz Hohl: The mother-in-law has given Mumta a traditional Mehndi party for the wedding, Mumtas own mother rejects this marriage.
Since the front is already the entrance to the S-Bahn. Christa Roth feels how tight it gets in her throat. She vigorously hugs her son Jörg. "Take care," she whispers to him, "until next time." Then she and her husband board the train to San Francisco Airport. You know: The next time - that will be at the earliest in a year.
9285 kilometers lie between Christa Roth and her son Jörg. The 60-year-old is on the road for almost 20 hours if she wants to see him. For globalization, this great, formless something, has Jörg swept out into the world. First it was only a semester abroad, then the great love - to Miho, a Japanese woman. For four years Jörg now lives with Miho in San Francisco. Their two-week vacation a year is barely enough to maintain connections with both Japan and Germany. Christa Roth says: "It was so clear to me that Jörg could not come at Christmas and also at my sixtieth." Just as he was not there when his grandmother was buried.
Globalization: It employs parliaments, does not let boards sleep, weaves an invisible bond between Chinese factory workers and German supermarket customers. And sometimes she brings together people like Jörg and Miho - and with them their families. They suddenly have to ask themselves completely new questions: how often will we see our children? Will we see our grandchildren grow up? And how should we actually communicate with the other family?
In the living room of the Roths in Baden-Württemberg Herrenberg is a time-honored massive cabinet. He was rescued from the house of Christa Roth's grandfather just before the bombs razed it to the ground. Today there are postcards from Los Angeles, Vancouver and Hong Kong. Jörg was recently in the Asian city for a job interview. He and Miho are forging move plans, Hong Kong or Singapore are available - and Germany. What if Jörg was to live around the corner soon? "I will not let that get to me," says Christa Roth. "Otherwise, I would build up too much anticipation - and in the end, it will not work, so I want to protect myself." Her phone calls with Jörg are intense, she says, purposefully. And finally, she sent her sons out into the world. Language holidays in France or Spain, stays abroad in Sweden and the USA - "if you take this risk," says her husband Harald Roth, "you have to live with the consequences." "If I'm suffering from the situation, I realize that the luxury The children are not forced to emigrate, like so many other people, they make voluntary choices and take chances. "
Sabine and Christian, Divine and Eva with Anna and Emile - Family Ako Päplow: Eva's parents even spend their holidays at home in Mecklenburg. She, on the other hand, married a man from Cameroon
"Couples like Jörg and Miho have become normal", says Hiltrud Stöcker-Zafari of the Association of Binational Families and Partnerships. In the meantime, 12.3 percent of newborns in Germany come from so-called bi-cultural partnerships. "These couples, like others, argue about trifles - but they have to grapple with additional questions." These are questions like die-se: what is expected of one partner in the other culture? What is considered insulting? How is gratitude expressed? What can be done in public, what not? All this, says ChroniquesDuVasteMonde WOMAN psychologist Oskar Holzberg, must be negotiated and answered. "To say, 'You are different, and it does not matter' - I think that's wrong, respect for being different also means perceiving it." But how does one actually differentiate the culture from the person?
Harald, Christa, Jörg and Miho Roth. The son may be moving from San Francisco to Hong Kong for the next job. Christa Roth would most like to have him back in Germany
In a Berlin old building weighs Divine Akoseine two-year-old daughter on her knees , When he talks to her, his otherwise closed face becomes very soft. Next to him, his wife Eva is sitting and thinking. What she culturally different, she was just asked. "For example," says Eva, "he always wants to bring the children to the doctor quickly, as soon as they have anything, I see it differently." Divine looks at her calmly. "It has nothing to do with culture for me, but with people." Is his medical faith now that he comes from Cameroon? And that the Japanese Miho likes to hang around rather than say clearly what she thinks, is that typically Japanese or just Miho?
The Cameroonian Divine defends itself against itto be reduced to its cultural origin. He answers questions with caution, weighs again and again. "I know I'm different, and my two kids know that too. But you do not have to over-dramatize that," he says. Then he puts his daughter to bed, talking to her reassuringly in African-stained English. He speaks German with his wife. Again, this is one of these questions: In which language do we communicate? "We have been speaking English for too long," says Eva. "If we had switched to German earlier, he would have had better chances on the job market." But in the language foreign to Divine, misunderstandings are more likely to arise, and sometimes poetry and philosophy are lost. And conflicts are threatening: "In the communication between partners, it is already difficult to understand the other and his position," says Oskar Holzberg. "In a foreign language, one can be even less sure that what has been said has been understood and, without being noticed, one sometimes chooses words that have an accusatory undertone for the other." What do I transport with my words? Does the other possibly connect something completely different? Which tone of voice do I find normal, but the other as hurtful? Questions, more and more questions.
About 550 kilometers to the west, in a large, bright family home, Here the telephone suddenly rings on one day in December 2005. "Mama," says Cornelia Breuers son on the other end of the line, somewhere in Peru, "I'm in love. In an Australian." - "Was not it going further away?" Jokes the mother. Today, the 53-year-old makes no jokes about it. "The thought that they could go to Australia someday is frightening for me, it's at the other end of the world!" Cornelia Breuer stirs in a cup of tea. Then she talks about the Hindu wedding between son Moritz and Mumta, her Australian daughter-in-law with Indian roots. How Mumta painted her hands and feet in this living room with artful Mehndis. How beautiful she looked in her creamy white sari. How Moritz turned her over to the Mungal Sutra, a chain that in India only wears married women. At the time Mumta barely speaks German; Cornelia Breuer therefore digs out old English books. Even today, the two women often leaf through dictionaries, laugh a lot. Close to the language barrier, Cornelia Breuer says: "After the civil marriage, Mumta asked me: 'May I say mum to you?' That was a touching moment. "
Udo and Uschi Lauks, Yaz and Lydia Nafa: After two years in Jordan, Lydia has learned to live the day. Her mother could not do that
Mumtas own mother does not travel to the wedding, When she learns of the connection, her only comment on Mumta is, "You know what I think about it, when you marry someone outside of Indian society, you're no longer part of that family." Mumta has tried to explain this reaction to her mother-in-law: The Indian mother is not a bad person, she is trapped in tradition and expects respect and submission. Cornelia Breuer shakes her head and says, "Her mother's behavior is really foreign to me."
The stranger: Globalization brings it directly into the living room, It can be fascinating, but also disturbing. Again, questions arise: how much tolerance can I muster? When is tolerance required and when do I have to intervene as a parent? Psychologist Oskar Holzberg advises to address fears and worries in any case. "One can say in all openness to the child: I find this or that in your partner is not easy, I can not decide about you - but let's talk about it!" Because to become clear about what makes up the other, to try to understand the stranger - that makes the own visible. And that can be an advantage: "If two families come from different countries, the rules must be made clearer for the other," says Oskar Holzberg. "In normal families it is often implicitly assumed that the other thinks similarly, but he usually does not!"
Thinking about yourself, reflecting your own cultureWell, Uschi Lauks has often done that since Yaz is part of her family. "I question my structured approach," says the 57-year-old, "let's relax." Because son-in-law Yaz is Palestinian and lives in Jordan; Serenity dominates everyday life there.
When his family first comes to Burghausen in Upper Bavaria, collide in small, in the details, two worlds. Although both parents speak good English. But communication is not just about language. Uschi Lauks tells how she served the welcome dinner, not pork, of course, but rice with turkey in a sauce. But then Yaz's parents picked the pieces of turkey from the gravy or ate only rice. "Next time", says Uschi Lauks today and laughs, "there are only grilled things to be said:" No sauce! " And then there is the matter of planning."The Arabic mentality," says Uschi Lauks, "works according to the motto: 'Let's talk about it first, and then let's have a look.' I can not handle this nature so well. " But she also says that somehow everything could be solved - the organization of the Jordanian wedding, for example - because both sides tried hard. So here he is, the advantage that families from different cultures have: because they know that they come from different worlds, the family members negotiate more intensely, keep asking each others' positions, and explain themselves more than others. This makes it easier to clear up misunderstandings - because it is clear from the outset that the other side is just ticking differently.
So she was able to approach - but Uschi Lauks could not get used to the other sense of time; not even when she traveled to Jordan herself. "I really admire that Lydia lived there for two years." At this time, her daughter becomes acquainted with the cultural spectacles through which Jordanians look at the world. She says, "The secret rules of another culture are only understood if you have experienced them yourself." She now knows why her husband just wants to live the day on the weekend, with no set plans. She knows that she should no longer be so direct, better pack criticism. And she knows that Yaz will not stand up in front of guests to serve the tea, knows that in the Arab world it is woman's business. Her mother sees a limit of tolerance right there: "If he says to her: 'Lydia, go ahead' - then I would be more rebellious, I would not put up with that of my husband."
Meanwhile, Lydia and Yaz have moved to the UK, There they are alienated on an equal footing. And they both speak a language that is not theirs. Her children want to raise her in three languages - in German, Arabic and English. And they want to teach them both Christianity and Islam. A too demanding vision? "Often everything goes well, until the children come," says psychologist Oskar Holzberg. "In education then the differences become clear, because everyone has the tendency to repeat their own family culture." Negotiate, draw new, own partnership maps, adopt strangers - globalization challenges young couples. And with them, their parents. Jörg and Miho, Eva and Divine, Moritz and Mumta, Lydia and Yaz could hardly wish for more open families. "For me," says Cornelia Breuer, "it does not matter if my son is with Mumta or a neighborhood girl." Maybe these parents are like that, because as academics they are simply used to reflecting. Maybe because they themselves have seen a lot of the world. But the nicest explanation Christa Roth finds: "I would have done everything just like Jörg."
