Music is their home: Pianist Aeham Ahmad and rapper Nura

Five years ago, Angela Merkel said her perhaps most famous words: "Wir schaffen das!" — We can do this. It would prove to be a momentous sentence —  for the chancellor and German society, but also for those who were somewhat hidden in the sentence as "this": Thousands of refugees had been prevented at the Hungarian border from entering or leaving the country, and many more were still on their way when Angela Merkel voiced Germany's willingness to accept refugees.

Famous as the 'pianist from the ruins'

"Chancellor Merkel's words were such a wonderful, humanistic gesture of help to me," says Aeham Ahmad now. He was one of those who were on the run at the time, somewhere between today's northern Macedonia and Serbia. He was also among those who gained a sense of courage from Merkel's words.

However, unlike most of the refugees around him, Ahmad was already known around the world: Western media had dubbed him the "pianist from the ruins," as the Syrian-Palestinian musician had often pushed his piano into the destroyed streets of his neighborhood in Damascus beginning in 2014. Despite the danger to his life, he played songs there and sang together with others, often children, to give them hope. The images circulated around the world.

That is, until the so-called "Islamic State" burned his piano.

In 2015, Ahmad fled to Germany, where he was named the first winner of the International Beethoven Prize in December for his piano playing in the ruins. A year later, his wife followed with their two sons, and in the meantime, Ahmad's parents have also moved to Germany. His daughter Bulsara was born seven months ago.

Travels through Europe as concert pianist

Ahmad now lives in Warburg in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia. When we requested an interview, he asked for an appointment as early as possible in the morning since he planned to spend the rest of the day in the studio recording his new album. The following day, he was off to a concert in Switzerland. Previously, he had already performed in Berlin and elsewhere.

Almost apologetically, Ahmad speaks in a gentle, almost reserved tone. And in English: He feels more confident speaking English than in German during longer interviews. People often reproach him for this: "Many people say to me: 'You talk about integration, but on stage, you don't even speak German,'" he admits.

In a country like Germany, which prides itself on its culture and language, this critique is simultaneously understandable and short-sighted. "Integration does not only consist of language, it also means respect for laws and culture. But above all, for me it means establishing a connection with the people," Ahmad says.

Integration is a tricky term: It suggests an existing, homogeneous society in which immigrants should fit in as unobtrusively as possible. However, recurring discussions about structurally weak regions or population groups that have been left behind show that such a uniform core society cannot be assumed.

Integration through music

The pianist says music is an excellent way of facilitating integration. Not only does music help him put food on the table for his family, but on his tours throughout Europe, he also has guest artists from the countries in which he is performing in order to find a common language and a new style through music.

Ahmad experienced one of his most beautiful moments of integration through music just recently at a performance. "At this concert, a friend brought my five-year-old son on stage. Suddenly Kinan began singing 'Die Gedanken sind frei' (Thoughts are Free)," Ahmad says. Even though his son was probably too young to understand the true meaning of the lyrics, "That was such a touching moment for me. Because that is exactly why I brought him to Germany: so that he can freely express his thoughts, feelings and ideas."

His saddest day, said Ahmad, was in August 2014. At the request of some of the kids in his neighborhood, he pushed his piano into the street and sang with them. Suddenly, 12-year-old Zeinab, who was standing next to him, was shot by a sniper. Ahmad describes her as a happy girl who liked rap music: "Fighting with music. That was her idea."

Highlighting injustice through music

Nura Habib Omer, otherwise known under her first name Nura, is one of Germany's most successful rappers. She does exactly what young Zeinab was denied as she was killed: She raps and uses her popularity to draw attention to injustices. As a Person of Color, a feminist and bisexual artist with a refugee history, she has plenty to say.

"I feel as if I have been studying racism and sexism for 31 years," Nura told DW. "It seemed completely normal to carry these things around with me. It is still normal. But I hope that this has changed by the time I die." To that end, Nura often employs cliches and prejudices about women to cast them in a new light. Just like Ahmad, Nura has found a way music to deal with her own situation by way of music, with also expressing problems and injustices in society.

Nura and Ahmad have parallels in their biographies: Like Ahmad, Nura was born in 1988 and fled to Germany. Both had previously been refugees in their countries of origin: Ahmad's family lived in the Yarmouk refugee quarter in Damascus, to which his grandfather had fled from Palestine 70 years ago. Nura was born in Kuwait, but her Eritrean mother, she and her siblings fled the region due to the Persian Gulf War, otherwise known as Operation Desert Storm.

Today, Nura and Aeham Ahmad both earn their money with music.

'Children should be allowed to live a Western life'

The big difference is that Nura came to Germany as a toddler and cannot remember any other home. Officially, however, she lives here as a refugee: To this day, Nura does not have a German passport, but with the help of a lawyer she has had a permanent residence permit since December 2019.

The question of successful integration has been a constant companion of Nura's throughout her life.

Her mother wanted to raise her children according to Muslim values, but Nura wanted to enjoy the same freedoms as her brothers. So Nura was not only under pressure from the outside, but also from within the family. "If children are supposed to integrate, they must be allowed to live a Western life," she writes in her autobiography Weißt du, was ich meine? (Do you know what I mean?), which was published this month. Nura decided as a teenager to voluntarily move into a youth home.

Success does not mean equality

She suffered from depression while living there. After moving to Berlin as an adult, her life was dominated by work, drugs and parties. When Nura talks today about having "made it," she means the journey "From Asylum Seeker Center to the Charts" — as the subtitle of her biography is called.

But a spot on the charts is not the same as equal participation in society, as Nura points out: She has to pay the highest tax rate, but in Germany she is not even allowed to vote: "My money is enough, you don't want anything else from me," she says. There are many facets to having "made" it.

While Nura aims to promote her public presence by appearing on talk shows, Aeham Ahmad wants to slow his pace in the next five years. "The concerts are wonderful, but the constant back and forth takes a lot of energy. I want to be a good dad, to be a part of raising my children. That is difficult at the moment. Maybe I can find a permanent job here in Warburg as a music teacher."

 

Translation: Louisa Schaefer