Shafaq News

Salem (pseudonym) thought he had finally made it. The Iraqi man, now in his 50s, had found a good job in Germany, secured a home and managed to overcome an addiction that had once troubled him.

For the first time in years, his life appeared to be settling into something close to normal, with the routine and stability that suggested the hardest part of starting over might be behind him.

Then his job began to unravel.

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The first signs, according to Barbel Dromann, the German woman who accompanied Salem during that period, came with a dispute at work. His employer believed that a man living in Germany without his family could work Saturdays and put in extra hours. Salem wanted something different: limits on his working hours and time for a life outside work.

The disagreement gradually spread. His German-language skills came under criticism, and he was accused of not making enough effort to learn new vocabulary. The physical effort he put into his work no longer seemed to be valued as it once had been. Misunderstandings accumulated, followed by periods of sick leave, until he eventually lost his job.

For Salem, the loss went far beyond the disappearance of a paycheck. His position in Germany became more precarious, and he faced the possibility of being returned to Iraq before eventually leaving Germany for Britain.

His story stayed with Dromann, not necessarily because it was the most tragic among the experiences she witnessed, but because it showed how quickly a hard-won life can begin to come apart. A job, a home, and years of effort to overcome addiction and establish a new future had given Salem something that looked like stability. None of it, however, could guarantee that the stability would last.

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Salem was one of around 13 refugees who eventually became part of Dromann's life after she began assisting people arriving in Germany in 2017. Some found employment and completed vocational training. Others struggled with loneliness, addiction, or psychological difficulties. Some connections grew close and lasted for years; others ended unexpectedly, leaving her with disappointment and, at times, doubts about whether her generosity had been taken for granted.

Over those years, her understanding of what it means to build a future in a new country became more complicated. A work contract can show that someone has entered the labor market, just as a professional qualification, residence permit or language certificate can mark another step forward. But none of those milestones necessarily reveals what happens when the working day ends, and a person returns to a home where nobody is waiting, while relatives thousands of kilometers away may not fully understand what that new existence feels like.

For Dromann, that realization began with a chance meeting.

She is 64, a mother of three, and lives with her husband in a city in North Rhine-Westphalia. Her own experience with a physical disability had made her particularly aware of the challenges faced by people in difficult social circumstances.

Her direct involvement with refugees, however, began in 2017, when Germany was still dealing with the consequences of one of the largest waves of asylum applications in its modern history.

More than 1.16 million first-time asylum applications were registered in Germany in 2015 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, as the country became one of the main destinations for people fleeing wars and unrest in the Middle East and Asia.

Dromann's story began after a service at her Protestant church, where she encountered a group of refugees discussing their experiences. She and her husband offered to assist anyone who needed guidance with everyday life in Germany or support navigating everyday life in an unfamiliar country.

A week later, they met two men, one from Afghanistan and the other from Iran. Both were living in accommodation centers and hoping to move into independent housing, but neither could do so at the time. They were learning German without knowing exactly what would come after their language courses, while also trying to make sense of German procedures and the distance separating them from the families they had left behind.

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When Christmas arrived, Dromann invited the two men to her home. It was the first time either had seen a decorated Christmas tree or sat around a table with a local family.

“Both men came from families with seven children,” she recalled. The sense of family and security they had known was now far away.

The Dromanns could not recreate what had been left behind, but they could offer a small piece of familiarity. They invited the men to meals, assisted with everyday needs, and even lent them a car when they needed to move their belongings. What began as occasional contact gradually became a bond in which the couple watched the two men move, step by step, into circumstances that had once seemed difficult to imagine.

The Iranian man eventually left the accommodation center and began vocational training in metalworking. The Afghan man, with support from Dromann and her husband, found training in electrical work and later secured a vocational training position in Dortmund after a long struggle with the official procedures surrounding his move.

Both men completed their training, found jobs in their respective fields, and later obtained additional professional qualifications. From the outside, it was a success story.

But the more time Dromann spent with them, the less complete that description appeared. Once the working day ended, the loneliness could return.

“Life does not end with work and earning money,” Dromann explained. Her family had grown close to the two men, but even that closeness could not completely replace the relatives they had left behind.

That experience shaped the way she came to view employment. A job can provide income and routine, while vocational training can open a path toward a more secure future. Work can also place people among others, give their days a structure, and create opportunities to use German in situations that cannot be reproduced entirely inside a classroom.

As word of the couple's efforts spread through the refugee community in Werne, more individuals entered their lives. Over the years, Dromann and her husband came into contact with around 13 refugees, helping some find better housing and assisting others with applications, residence permits or extensions.

The paperwork, however, was often the easiest part to understand.

Some of those Dromann met arrived in Germany struggling with psychological difficulties linked to experiences in their home countries, including political or religious pressures and difficult family circumstances. Those problems could become particularly difficult in the evening, when the activity of the day ended, and there was nobody nearby to talk to.

A phone call could connect someone with relatives back home, but it could not necessarily bridge the gap between what those relatives imagined and what the person was actually experiencing in Germany.

“Long periods of waiting can deepen that isolation,” Dromann noted. Rather than leaving refugees outside the labor market for extended periods, she believes they should have faster opportunities to learn German or enter employment while continuing their language education. “Language is also learned when a person interacts with people and works with them.”

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For Dromann, employment therefore serves a social purpose as well as an economic one. The workplace offers not only income but contact with other people, a daily rhythm and repeated opportunities to communicate in a new language.

She also believes boredom and isolation can contribute to addiction, pointing to German programs that support people dealing with alcohol addiction, including services offered in languages such as Persian.

At the same time, she recognizes that entering the labor market is not always straightforward. Germany places considerable emphasis on certificates and documents proving professional qualifications, leaving people who arrive without credentials recognized in Germany and who have limited German-language skills at a particular disadvantage.

The refugees' circumstances eventually became part of the Dromanns' own, bringing moments of satisfaction but also financial and emotional strain. “Success stories gave us the strength to keep going,” she recalled, while the difficult cases could consume much more energy.

“Psychological problems, painful personal experiences and repeated visits to immigration, employment and health authorities sometimes left my husband and me awake through the night,” she remembered.

Today, she feels relieved that many of those they supported are living in safe circumstances and no longer need their direct involvement. She still likes to know where they live and whether they are doing well, even though not every connection survived.

One of the most painful breaks involved the Afghan man who had been among the first refugees to enter the family's life in 2017. Their relationship continued for years, until his wife arrived in Germany. The couple visited Dromann's home once, and after that, contact stopped.

The disappearance of a relationship that had meant so much to her was painful enough. Over time, however, Dromann also began to wonder whether she had been taken advantage of. Her assistance had sometimes involved much more than time and advice: she and her husband had spent money furnishing homes, provided transportation, and contributed to the cost of driving licenses.

Those experiences eventually made her reconsider the boundaries of what she could provide. There were also moments when cultural differences became more difficult to navigate.

She recalls feeling uncomfortable when some of the young refugees called her “Mama,” although she understood that the term may have reflected an attempt to create a sense of closeness. She also refused when some young men asked her to help them find women to marry.

By then, the people she had met could no longer be placed neatly into a single category. Some had found their footing; others remained vulnerable. Some connections had deepened; others had faded.

Dromann said the years had given her something more complicated: a close view of individual lives in which employment, language, legal status and professional qualifications could open doors, but could not by themselves determine whether someone felt at home on the other side.

Written and edited by Shafaq News staff.