The Outsider(S) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the new month?” she asked without looking at me. Omena were tiny fish that were eaten whole. They were tasty save for the sand that stuck in their abdomen. I always bought a big tin at the beginning of each month to last me the whole month.
    “I was listening to football,” I said while gesturing to my pocket radio.
    “Oh,” she said and turned to look at me. “Does that… ?” she started but didn’t quite finish the question.
    “We have to get out of this country. We can’t continue to live like this,” I said slowly. She looked at me and for a moment had a doubtful expression.
    “What about that Muhindi?” she asked.
    “She fired me!” I said simply. “No, she chased me away,” I corrected and felt tears welling in my eyes. Up to that point I had been suppressing the humiliation I felt at being chased.
    “I am sorry,” Tamaa Matano said finally. For a moment we just sat there, each of us deep in our own thoughts.
    “I hear that life in majuu is completely different. All those who want to work have a chance to work,” she said, and I could feel the excitement coming back to her voice. Majuu literally meant “up,” like up in the skies. It was the name given to places one could only access using an airplane. Stories were often told of people who arrived in majuu and suddenly became so rich they had no idea how to spend all their riches.
    “ Okot ,” she said guardedly while watching me intently. I nodded. “It is a matter of life and death,” she added.

Ramona
    Germany, 2009, Summer Sale
    I t’s the summer sale. I’m glad that I can finally shop cheaply. This doesn’t mean I like cheap things. As a matter of fact, I believe that quality always has a price.
    I walk through H&M and am stunned by how cheap everything is. Almost all T-shirts and blouses and dresses are between 2.99 and 5 Euros. Even for someone as clueless about economics as me, those prices don’t make much economic sense. How do they make any profit? I wonder. The shop, as expected, is filled with the less fortunate. Those who don’t have much money. Those who can only afford during a sale, what the rest of society can afford the rest of the time.
    An African woman brushes past me. She has a huge head. On closer examination, I realize that it isn’t a huge head but a huge wig. The roots of her short hair are clearly visible under the long, straight, blond, European-style hair. I stare at her. I find dark African skin beautiful. I also love African hair. But there is something about the woman that makes me smile. The whole thing with a blond wig and dark skin just doesn’t fit. If she is trying to look fashionable, she’s failed miserably.
    I am suddenly overcome with joy. There is nothing as uplifting as realizing that you have it much better than some people. Maybe I should migrate to Africa or some poor country in Asia. Then I would be happy every day. I would compare myself to everyone like I currently do and always come out on top. I smile as I go through possible destinations. South Africa? Nah, too many racist Dutch. Thailand? Nah, too many sex tourists. Tanzania? Yes, of course. I can clearly see the elephants I once saw on Kika . 19 I am overwhelmed with joy. That is my dream country. I will migrate to Tanzania and go on safaris every single day.
    My daydreaming trip has taken me to the kids department upstairs. It is crowded. I look around, and just like in the previous department, there are mainly the poorer members of society. A Turkish woman pushing a stroller for twins is coming towards me. I can also clearly see that she is pregnant. Tugging on her arm is a pretty, four—or five-year-old girl. I watch them. I am fascinated by her confidence. It is as if motherhood is the most natural thing she has ever experienced. I wonder if she is happy with her life. I am reminded of Thilo Sarazzin 20 and his controversial remarks about foreigners and their tendency to multiply endlessly. Could there be some truth in his