The return trip to Berlin was depressing. There was no African music at the border, and it was already cold when we got back to Berlin. One consolation was that I had a winter coat and a new pair of shoes, though I knew that in six months they would be too small for me again. The day after getting back from Rome I returned to my job in the Hotel Alhambra. It was a long way from Karlshorst to the hotel. There were two possibilities: either with the S-Bahn from Karlshorst Station – but that meant walking a kilometer at each end – or with the number 68 tram from the nearby stop on Tresckow-Allee direct to the Hotel Alhambra. I preferred the second alternative, although it took longer. I could use the long journeys for reading. I had developed a taste for the novels of Karl May. But now I was also reading books about the colonial days in Africa.

About six months later, in the spring of 1942, all “countrymen” were ordered to show up at the UFA studios in Babelsberg (which was still called Neu-Babelsberg then) on a particular day. That would be my last meeting with the “countrymen”. I didn't know that then, but I did have a suspicion that it would be a good opportunity for the authorities to get hold of us all, or most of us, at one go. I put on my best clothes and the Roman shoes (which sure enough were already pinching my feet) and took the S-Bahn to Neu-Babelsberg with Uncle Mohamed, Günther and Herbert.

It was a long walk through the woods from the station to the gates of the UFA complex. My shoes were excruciating. When we arrived in the studio entrance area I sat down on a bench, pulled them off, grimaced in pain and must have somehow attracted the attention of a production assistant who was just passing by. She pointed to me and said to her companion, “He'll do.” I just stood there like a wet poodle, barefoot and – as always – said nothing.