We checked into what would be our new home for the next nine months the International Institute of Journalism in Berlin, located in Friedrichshagen, a suburb south east of that historic German city. The institute was situated in the middle of a thick and vast pine forest, with the nearest settlement and urban train station two kilometres away. It was 1979, still deep in the Cold War, and divided Berlin also separated by the Wall – was centre stage in that conflict. A communist institute training journalists from Third World countries must have attracted interest from capitalist Western institutions, overtly and/ or covertly.
At the institute there were about 100 other young journalists from several African countries Tanzania, Kenya, Zambia, Nigeria and Uganda as well as from liberation movements including the ANC of South Africa, SWAPO of Namibia, and ZANU and ZAPU of Zimbabwe. My first cultural shock came at breakfast the following morning. The buffet table was generously laid out with, among other things, various types of bread, milk, tea, coffee, eggs, sausages, boiled and fried meat, honey, fruit, fresh juices and cereals. But at the end of this welcoming spread were rows of beer – chilled at that.
Initially we were all shy about helping ourselves to these German lagers. However, the lady chef urged us to partake as much as we wished, provided we could remain attentive in class. What a wonderfully German idea! Apparently, Germans consider beer almost like water. But they also have a strict philosophy on the matter. There is a saying: Arbeit ist Arbeit und Schnaps ist Schnaps work is work and drinking is drinking. No wonder we found our lecturers coming to work with briefcases which, apart from containing their lunch boxes, also held one or two bottles of beer.
During the week, however, the Germans worked – and worked very hard, like ants. But on Friday evenings and Saturdays they would drink themselves silly, and the urban trains would be full of inebriated Berliners. I hope that is no longer the case. Academically, we the Bongolanders were way ahead of our classmates. Perhaps this was due to the gruelling training we had undergone in our newsrooms before joining the college. I doubt whether this would still be the case today, because the articles and news carried in our newspapers, and the content aired by our radio and television stations, suggest otherwise.
Indeed, the college laid a firm foundation for my professional journey a profession which, over the years, has enabled me to traverse all the continents of the world: from Asia to Latin America; from Europe and Russia to North America; and from Australia to the mother continent, Africa. However, the most lasting memories of my college stint in Berlin are the philosophy lectures delivered by one Dr Wolf, who was a communist through and through. He gave us, among other things [text cuts off].
