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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ From Warsaw To Room 134 At Debak ] [ By Simon Moleke-Njie ]
____________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________
FROM WARSAW TO ROOM 134 AT DEBAK
by Simon Moleke-Njie
Imagine you come to Poland by air to visit the Refugee Centre of Debak. You
would probably arrive by LOT - the Polish Airline.
As your plane hovers a couple of hundred feet above, a sight will
emerge... a vast landscape that covers a good part of the Polish
territory... as the plane gets lower, a view of the planned layout of the
Polish capital Warsaw... its urban design; mapped out sections of flats and
homes separated by streets, trees or lawns.
In other places, clusters of little woods in the city show up,
skyscrapers and the tips of castles that soar skywards. Especially in the
area of Stara Miasto (the old town) - ancient architectural monuments that
survived WW II stand out boldly... telling their story of what their walls
have seen. The tip of the gigantic building of the 'Palac Kultury' (Palace
of Culture), could also be seen, situated in the very heart of Warsaw.
Words are wanting to describe the aerial panorama...
You would wish
that you lived in a plane,
flying... all your life;
or that you were a bird...
soaring in freedom -
hovering... to drink
in bewilderment a stupendous view.
If not, still, you will conceive a dream...
of flying, to behold beauty... from above.
Your plane will then descend, making its landing on the tarmac of
the Okecie airport in the south-east part of Warsaw.
After wrangling your way through the controls, you will stand outside
the building to negotiate your way to the city proper... about 10 kilometres
away. There are two options; Urban buses and cabs. If you are smart enough,
you might run into a normal taxi service and get a fair deal, but if you
aren't, or are temporarily stupified by the overwhelming atmosphere of a new
environment, then like me when I first arrived, you might run into a smart
cab driver, or one might force himself on you when he senses that you are a
'Johnny come lately'. If that is the case, as it was for me, you will run
into a financial disaster.... I paid 250 Polish Zloty... well over 60
dollars and it took me months to realise that I should have paid less than
half dollar to cover the same distance by the urban bus!
If you decided to go by bus, there are a number of buses that ply
the road. They are yellow. Some are quite old and when negotiating bends,
you will get the impression that bolts and nuts are disintegrating... these,
no doubt, are brought-overs from the communist era. However they are being
gradually replaced by modern urban buses equipped with air-conditioning...
these are the democratic ones.
Bus 175 is your best bet. It has a stop in front of the Central
Railway Station. Adjacent to this is the Palace of Culture; this artistic
design of architectural excellence is viewed by some Poles as a monstrous
building! It was a gift from Stalin, built between 1952-55. Some associate
it with communism. A student of philosophy told me that it wasn't a gift at
all, as Poland had to pay for its construction. Its colour is brick-brown.
From encyclopaedias, its total height is 234m with 3288 rooms. Russian
architect Lew Rudniew designed it.
Today the structure has evolved into a political trajectory, as it
shelters the diplomatic mission of the Russian break-away state of Chechnya.
At the extreme left end of the Central Railway Station, if you
board any of the trains that leave at 5 minutes to the top of every hour and
25 minutes after every hour, you will be well on your way to Debak. The 16th
stop is yours.
Trees will welcome you into the heart of a civilised jungle. From
Warsaw to this point, the train would have been on the road for over 40
minutes. The train stops close to the tarmac of a motor way, causing cars to
stop until it moves... continuing its journey to the last station.
As the train fires away, you will have to turn in a semicircle,
facing Debak. You will cross the rails, and take on pedestrian path by the
motorway. Three hundred metres by the left is a fenced compound with wild
dogs. It belongs to Pani Janka she's in charge of discipline at the Refugee
centre. After the compound, only trees will be your companions on both sides
of the road.
If you hit three kilometres straight on, you will meet a sign post
'Gmina Nadarzyn'... standing in the farmyard of Pani Janka.... by the right,
very close to Debak. In front of the compound is a potato field; Afghan
Refugees have a notorious reputation for invading and harvesting the crops
at night with reckless abandon when it is harvest season!
A little further on, a signpost of 'Centralna Ochro'dek dla
Ochotsow Debaku'will face you. At this point, you might, if it's during the
day, catch sight of two pairs of girls who work the road. One pair is from
Bulgaria, the other is from Romania. They interchange, the Romanians
blondes, are usually dressed in black leather jackets, white or yellow
T-shirts and short... very short pants. They are very slim, young - late
teens or very early twenties with long hair. The Bulgarian pair, one is a
tall, slim blond, short hair, and the other has very long dark hair; quite
plumb, with a good shade of tan, large eyes and curvacious, always exposed,
long legs.
A right bend here will lead you a hundred metres on to negotiate
a sharp leftward bend. Another two hundred metres distance with 31 trees
(birches) on both sides of the road will bring you to the green gates of
Debak! This used to be a strategic military fortress. Thanks to the end of
the cold war and collapse of communism, it has become a Refugee Centre!
Inside the compound are two large blocks... Old and New buildings.
Almost all the rooms are occupied by groups of people from different
countries except room 134 of the old building. The room is 6m/3, with two
beds. One characterises domestic chaos: books, papers, bags, dresses,
magazines, etc. The other has books orderly arranged, close to the wall,
with just enough space for a slim body. This author is the occupant.
The room has four bulbs with three not working. A table with more
books, a chest of drawers and three little cupboards are furniture. A double
window overlooking trees plus a generous view across the sky is an extra
gift.
The room grants three superb views. First, is a view into the
Refugee world!... a world of thrill and terror! The terror of gaping into
uncertainty... an interminable waiting for what might never come... or of
what might come; the undesirable - the terror of insecurity in its worst
form; of social and economic freedom, with a political dimension.
For this author, there lies buried a thrill in all these... the
sum total of the price for being alive! The second view is of nature... a
handy tranquilliser against the first view. The third and most awesome view
is into the very depth of the self. The recording in my journal of these
three views is tantamount to a splendid survival technique that exposes the
craftiness of vanity...
THE REFUGEE WORLD
March 13th
A Russian couple in charge of the provisions shop in Debak recently fled
with savings, including capital & profit. An incident that transpired today
with another Russian as protagonist deserves a journal entry.
Alek is his name... late thirties, average height, slim, with a
long pointing nose. His most outstanding feature is his stare - a rapid
motion of shifting eyes reminds one of a person who grew up in an
environment bereft of mutual trust.
He came to Debak with one set of clothes - crumpled coat and worn
boots. When he left; today, he had over half a dozen flashy coats; too
flashy one could presume for a refugee. He came, armed with a briefcase of
ideas... of survival within a restricted enclave by making maximum use of
minor opportunities or creating one where none existed.
Armed with technical knowledge, he set to work and before anybody
was the wiser, he had created a means of income.
Alek surveyed his area with the instinct of a medical practitioner
who was about to conduct a surgical operation. Having located the phone line
in the wall close to his room, he offered to paint the walls without any
payment. The idea was welcomed by the authorities. While doing the job, he
cunningly chiseled the wall and carefully tapped the telephone line sending
it into his room, sealing the wall with artistry.
Then he used micro conductors to tap the line, well hidden behind
a chest of drawers. He procured a portable phone and with this he settled
down for business. His clients would meet him in the woods to pay 2z3oti per
minute to call anywhere. It was a smooth deal that paid well for over a
year. He had found a gold mine. On more than one occasion, the authorities
at Debak were alerted, but no action was taken... Alek had a saint-like
reputation with the administration... he was considered too responsible to
indulge in rackets. Those who blew their top (his close colleagues who got
annoyed because he did not share his booty with them) were even betrayed...
A FLASH INTO THE FUTURE
Sep 20th 2000
The topic of Alek came up when I met Pani Anna in her office today. We were
talking about the forthcoming 'Refugee Day celebration' - Saturday 24th. A
board was being mounted with artistic works of talented Refugees.
I pointed at a beautiful colour painting. It's been there for quite
a while but only provoked my comment today... "What a beautiful piece!" I
exclaimed.
"It was Alek who offered it to me!" she returned... a sad smile
lighting her face.
"Ah!... Alek," I said, "He should be a gifted artist... to imagine
him otherwise is sad... no doubt none believed it when it was hinted that he
was pirating the phone."
"Yes, I too was deceived... tell me, how could I have believed it
after seeing his talent as an artist?... an artist who steals!? What irony!
Now I realise that he is an artist as well in lying!" she said, as we
laughed and dwelt on other issues.
...It went well, until Nemesis caught up with him today.
What betrayed him is a kind of pathological obsession with
telephones. On this spring day, he was awaiting the decision of the
authorities for sleeping outside without permission. When he returned, he
was stopped at the gate by the security guards while the Director was
contacted to decide on his case.
Charlie - a Cameroonian refugee on his way out - met him at the
security point and they chatted in the company of another Somali refugee.
They took off leaving Alek behind. The spring weather was fluctuating in its
unpredictable phases; it had snowed a bit, then the sun came out and it was
raining again; by the time it came back to normal, a theft was committed,
the culprit caught, tried and sentenced to eviction from the camp with
immediate effect. It all transpired within an hour and the most ludicrous
dimension was that the drama expired without the protagonist knowing what
hit him on the head.
When Charlie left, he soon realised that his mobile phone was
missing. He remembered that he forgot it where he met Alek. He rushed back
and asked Alek. Alek assumed an offensive stand to defend his innocence. Out
of frustration Charlie went out to ask others. All along Alek was his prime
suspect. As the principle of retribution would have it, a Nigerian refugee
who was repairing his car, had a key part to play. When he learnt of the
incident, he asked Charlie to go to the nearest phone booth and dial his
number. Charlie did. Mathew went into the woods, strained his ears and
caught the sound of a phone ringing under the earth. He jumped in fright,
mustered courage and approached the area. He dug the earth and exhumed a
black bundle still emitting the sound of a ringing phone. He saw that the
phone was wrapped in a black glove, (Alek was wearing this when he met
Charlie). Mathew re-emerged from the woods with the phone and asked Charlie
to dial again. Charlie dialled and jumped in surprise as he caught the
sound.
As Mathew explained later, it was his trait of greediness that
saved Charlie's phone. Greed over a cigarette. Immediately Charlie left that
morning, Mathew who was doing repair work under his car, saw Alek as he
emerged from the security office and approached him for a cigarette. Mathew
had only one and did not want to share. He said he hadn't any. Alek entered
the woods. Mathew then lighted his cigarette. He was smoking and eagerly
watching Alek in order to smoke it before he returned from the woods and
realise that he had lied to him earlier. So when Charlie complained of his
phone being missing, he put two and two together and reasoned that probably
Alek's walk into the woods had a curious link with the phone. They decided
to keep it all from Alek while Charlie rushed to the authorities and
reported the case. Everybody was shocked. The Director, who still had Alek's
file in front of her, had not decided over his early morning case of
breaking the rules when Charlie rushed in with another complaint. It settled
the matter at once as she decreed his transfer 'with immediate effect'.
Alek was surprised when asked to pack his belongings and leave
immediately for Lokow - another refugee Centre. He wasn't informed why. The
most interesting dimension was that he told his accomplices in Debak to go
into the woods and get the phone. He gave them a plan of the location where
he buried it. He still did not know that Charlie had uncovered it.
Ridiculously, his gang when it was dark went into the woods with torches,
turning leaves and digging in a frantic bid to uncover the phone. Mathew saw
them and informed Charlie. They watched from a distance, laughing.
Later, the gang came over to Charlie and asked him if he had seen
his phone. He said no. Misunderstanding was written all over their faces.
The whole episode was cemented by retribution with the professional touch of
a well-written, carefully planned and finished classic drama.
14th August
I was a protagonist in the train today for two conflicting social forces in
Poland- racism and solidarity. Quite late on my way back to Decircbak, a
drunk took a seat beside me. He stared at me for over 15 minutes, while I
paid him little attention. He proceeded to intimidate me by grinding his
teeth.
Other passengers were hoping that I would take a different seat to
avoid him but I sat there. I wasn't afraid of him though he was quite a huge
chunk of beef, but presumably brainless. He then went ahead repeating a
popular Polish racial insult of 'Czarny-Kuruwa'; something like black son
of a bitch. I was less worried. When he touched my hand then I got mad at
him and reacted by pulling his off and telling him that I was ready to go
all the way.
Other passengers watched; two young boys got closer as he went
ahead with his insults. One of the boys dashed off to the next compartment
and came back with another youth who asked him why he was disturbing me. He
was silent awhile and started again. An old man - presumably mid sixties,
left his seat and stood close watching. A few stops later the drunk, with a
final loud 'czarny kuruwa', got off the train.
As I made to get down at my stop, the old man came over and
pleaded with me in Polish saying he was very sorry about the attitude of the
young hooligan, but that he was ready to intervene had he attempted to
attack me - 'We shall not tolerate this in Poland' he said. I then realised
that in spite of his advanced age, it would be very, very unwise and
completely unhealthy to challenge him in an open combat. From the strength
of his grip when he shook my hand, I saw that he could unleash a punch like
the kick of a mad bull. I thanked him and peacefully went my way.
I wasn't bothered about the incident. There are many like him all
over the world, and in my opinion, I don't think that he looks for trouble
only with blacks. He would pick even a Pole. Instances of racism are
dangerous only with maniacs who deceive others that they are sane when in
reality they are borderline patients. Conversely, the old man and the
youths who stood ready to defend me was proof that one incident shouldn't
colour Poland as a racist country, though some people have been targets of
physical aggression in a number of instances.
Once while hitchhiking, I stopped a truck for a lift. The driver
- a man in his early fifties actually took the trouble of slowing down to
light a firecracker and throw it at me. I jumped in fright and disbelief.
And the most interesting thing was that in the process of lighting and
throwing the firecracker, he almost lost control of his wheel, which might
have resulted in a fatal accident had a car been coming.
NATURE
1st August
Trees deserve the highest form of respect mortals could give. They not only
provide shade and beauty and control over the impact of air on the
environment, but above all, they are safe-havens for countless wandering
Beings that people the worlds. Often their presence is felt in the ozone.
This I learnt from the birch, in a park in Warsaw. In spite of the madness
going on around it, rushing cars and blaring horns, the birch with its
millions of tiny heart-shaped leaves created a world of its own. I lay under
it and marvelled at the beauty of trying to behold the blue sky through
little spaces between its leaves and branches. The birch stood alone, amid a
forest of chestnut trees. I lay there while the wind blew gently and before
I knew it, I had slept for over 25 minutes. The songs of its leaves rustling
against the gentle blowing wind lured me to sleep.
THE SELF
2nd August
I was sad this morning. Very sad. Saddened by what is going on around me.
The frailty of the human character.
The lies and thefts I have committed in the course of my life.
Promises I have broken. I thought of these things I have done, and what
others are doing to me. I thought of what others are doing to others and the
various levels of evil. Even when we steal with our thoughts only, we are
still guilty of theft.
In my sadness I was carried far off at a high speed. I crossed
borders and reached where reason never reaches and judgement is suspended.
All that was going on around me had no influence on me. The busy train
station and the crowded streets of Warsaw- rumbling cars, throbbing feet of
millions heading outward-- did not disturb my heading inward.
I travelled far on vast landscapes of the inner world in time to
attend a conference on the subject of 'Human Nature'. The Participants were
Reason, Desire and the sum-total of other little creatures that compose
human nature, except for emotion that was suspended by the soul. For while
wrestling with the above crucial issues, it was busy revelling over the
breasts and buttocks of beautiful women. There was a serious and lengthy
debate centering on the various dimensions of cruelty committed by man
against man. Finally, the Soul passed a resolution thus:
There is an urgent need for a radical
reformation of the human character.
Nature must set to work once again
to hammer out a new design of perfect beings.
Our type, sadly enough, has been
an epitome of absolute failure.
August 4th
In sleep, one has the power to know. One can fly with thought. A person is
able to fly only if, during his waking state he knows the law of existence;
Consciousness is a
culmination of filtered thoughts
powered by refined energy.
What kind of energy one garners
is of prime importance.
One must develop
the ability to absorb energy
from the things around him,
and proceed to conserve,
concentrate and project
this energy to specific ends.
The manifestation of energy depends on each individual. Some would want it
to manifest in their material dreams. Others would prefer it to manifest in
their Inner world. If a person is outgoing, his Inner abyss gets wider and
wider, deeper and deeper. Such people would often in their dreams get the
call of their soul, but would lack the energy to traverse the abyss to unite
with their light essence. Senseless dreams would ensue or nightmares,
depending on how low they have sunk below the energy scale.
Even the Inward type cannot always muster enough energy to go far
all at once, in one trip far over the abyss. Then again the issue of being
attentive and respecting such Inner-meeting, is another matter. Most don't
respect their dreams. They rush 'over their dreams' unconsciously, wishing
even that there were no nights to interrupt their daily businesses. To a
few, this Inner world is even more real than the outer. It all depends on
energy... how conscious one is when asleep.
For others, the Inner-world or what some call dream, is a
stupendous proof of man's immortality. Here the spirit gets fully awake to
exercise its omnipotence. Such people thirst for sleep... even as the
'outwards' thirst for the day. This is because they lack Inner-harmony. The
Inwards know that every victory during the day is a fiercely fought battle
won Inward. They are schooled in 'dream symbols', knowing that symbols are
unique to each individual, and that none is the same for two persons....
Above all, they know that only the dreamer has the spiritual authority and
moral license to interpret his dreams. As time goes on, these Inner-
experiences manifest with prophetic precision during the next day.
Today, I went higher and further to meet an Inner-friend. She was
rushing to school, armed with a briefcase. She stopped to tell me that she
wrote an article, which she has submitted to a magazine - 'PROGRESS'. In it
she tried to battle the issue of 'Human Nature', and existence. Clearly, it
was a follow-up to the earlier conference (see 2nd of August). She cleared
the point for once and empowered the resolution reached by the Soul. From
the article in question, to quote her own words:
Man was created
to live on earth and
in the process compose
a GENE! This would
later be employed to complete
a perfect type of beings,
who would people a new,
different and higher plane.
A kind of new Canaan, one might say.
After this, she hurried away, I too took the road back to the body.
On my way to greet the day, I pondered over this revelation. The body will
decompose after death, so what will survive to compose a GENE? I asked
myself. And then in a flash, the answer came... 'MIND STUFF!'
It was exactly 6:40 AM.
Simon Mol.
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