“This fucking country, it’s gonna be good to get out of here. Just you look east African and people discriminate you. I tell you, this fucking country!” the man told his friend. I was looking for a carpet in a second hand shop in central Malmö for my new room. The men were standing not far from me and the one talking was very upset. It seemed as he had just been declined residency permit and was going back to the country of his birth the same evening.
His friend smiled and he looked a little nervous, but in the same time pleased. He knew that he wouldn’t have to go back, and despite his friends’ anger with the country he was happy that he could stay. “It’s gonna be fine, you know that. Just you get on that plane tonight it will be fine.” he told him.
The angry man looked in my direction. “I’ve got a gun, shall I use it?” he asked his friend who tilted his head towards me and said “she looks tense, don’t.” the angry man looked at me, I avoided his eyes. Why? Because I got scared.
“I want to use it. Shall I use it here? I need a shirt, shall I grab a shirt and go up to the counter and show them?” he asked his friend. I grabbed the green woven carpet I had been fingering for a while and slowly moved in the direction of the counter. I was too scared to just run and too stubborn and too believing in the good of man to believe that he actually would shoot me. But somewhere inside of me I was terrified.
The woman at the counter gave me a small discount, even though the carpet was already really cheap. I thanked her a lot and wished her a good day before leaving the store, quickly biking to my new home. As my heart had calmed down and I sat on my bed with a cat pondering on whatever cats are pondering… I asked myself why I had not told the woman at the counter something, why didn’t I call the police?
I kept an eye on the news the rest of the day and since nothing special seemed to happen (over here it’s a Big thing if someone gets shot) I relaxed and hoped the man had a good flight back, and I wondered what would happen to him. And, even more, wondering where he came from and what he had been through. I was thinking about it in the store, to ask him about himself and his life. But with his eager to shoot someone I didn’t dare to. But I still wonder. Who was he?