Dear Latif,

Looking in our faces, Mazin would probably say, "How come you look so startled? You knew, the day would come." He said that once, when Aymen, Dachil and I sat in Utopia garden at the wooden table in front of the construction trailer for one of our morning meetings. Mazin had come to join us. "They will only be here for a few more days."
"They" - that was you and your family. Spontaneously, I would cover my face with my hands. Mazin was surprised: "But you knew that."

Yes, we knew. Six weeks ago or maybe two months, we were startled for the first time.

"You know Barbara, I knew it was going to be like this: one day I would come visit the HEIM and Latif would no longer be there." Your friend Khaled said that when he came to see us last Friday. We would talk, facing each other, sitting astride on one of the benches in front of the garage in the sun. "Yes," I told him, "and there was no happy ending." "What do you mean," your friend would ask, "the police came to get them, right?"

They came Thursday morning at 9 am, I was told.

About three weeks ago, you took me to the side. Not a perfect moment to hold a dialogue. Roughly 25 people were sitting in a circle to discuss. However, you felt the urge to talk. You needed to know whether it would not make more sense to mail the camera we gave you to Kosovo. You were scared to leave it behind or that something might happen to it, once the police would show up and your leaving would not be controlled.

When I asked you whether you had not yet picked up your return tickets you answered rather hectically, "Well, yes, no, not yet." Then you would add, "You know, one does never know."

To me, it did not seem to be a good idea to mail your EOS 450. So I suggested you place it right next to your bed and if ever police would wake you up you could pick it up right away.

We wanted you to have the camera wherever you go. Therefore and to honor all your photographic work for us at KunstAsyl we gave it to you.

You probably looked ahead and it is with you. In Podujeva.

Those last weeks we weren't that close anymore. Something had changed. You were inapproachable, aloof, and reluctant. And the conflict between you and Dachil could not be dissolved. But your weekly morning greeting "Hey KunstAsyl, how are you" is still in the air. It's well remembered.

Today is Monday. The weather is still nice and the temperatures are mild, Indian summer weather. I envision you prowling through your garden. All fruits should be ripe. Please send pictures!

Your parents wanted to go back. They were homesick for their home and garden. Applying for asylum was not for their own future but for you and Endrit.

You lived at daHEIM from December 29,2014 to October 1, 2015. Nine months of your life you have been an asylum seeker in Germany. Since July 14 you knew that law would make no exception for you. Endrit had told me about the negative verdict through the open car window. I would park again in front of HEIM. In room 109 Fahrije would offer us rice pudding and Coke. Your brother, Bashkim and I sat at the table, covered with waxed cloth and way to small for a family of five. Fatime, Omer, and Oldi slept. The bedside lamp's flare came from the windowsill. A fallow future.

Dachil took your door sign off today. Now it is next to me on the table. Omer, Taghrid, Tasnim, Mohammad, and Ali moved into your room and immediately out. Down to the first floor. After all, the room that Mohamed Firas, his mother and sisters shared is free too. This is where they will live from now on. There is a sink in the room. You did not have one. "50 meters to brush your teeth," is how you'd comment on that.

Al Khaled too left HEIM. They came for him this morning at 6:30 am. He sure is in Rome now.

Dear Latif, we have spent so much time und went through so many things together. The time that we shared will always be special for us. You know that we plan on coming to see you in Podujeva. We'll hold on to this idea, even if it might take a while to actually go there.

We're wishing you all the best and we sure hope that you'll stay in touch. We really want to know how you are.

Warm regards to Bedrie and Shaban.

True cowboys come from Kosovo!

barbara