by Daniela Trifu
The following is the fictional story of an unnamed Romanian migrant worker on his way to Germany. Like many others, he relies on a network of friends and relatives, but also on a migration infrastructure including banking apps, transport companies, informal brokers and intermediaries, but also German employers and local authorities. The story is based on a digital ethnography of Romanian Facebook groups relating to Brandenburg/Berlin, with the data being collected during April 2022- March 2023. It illustrates issues like finding accommodation and how flexible employment-cum-housing exposes migrant workers to uncertain situations; not being able to register as a resident officially and not being aware of official ways and alternatives to do so; the harsh working conditions in agriculture and food production but not only; the care strategies migrants employ towards themselves and others to mitigate such efforts – made possible by commercial services who promise the achievement of co-presence, status affirmation, but also aim to replace the intimacy of care for the body.
Additionally, the fictional story offers a glimpse of how flows of remittances are multi-directional, for instance reversed – Romania to Germany – to help sustain the low costs necessary for the migration goal achievements, or how flows combine with other routes, for example those of workers/ consumers from the Republic of Moldova to the Czech Republic, or those of recruiters from the UK looking for Romanian workers in Germany. This blog article ultimately aims to shed some light on the paths and workarounds that Romanians carve for themselves in completing their migration goals abroad.
© Iepke Rijcken
“Let’s go then”, he said to no one in particular, slamming his cap to his leg to shake off imaginary dust. He had bought it for this occasion – his first trip to Germany, to his sister’s. Her family would offer him housing for the first few weeks of work, although that made him jittery, as it was hard to step on his pride. Besides, she had her own family and he didn’t want to be a fifth wheel. He’d just focus on the work, and should be able to stand on his own in no time and send money home. “I’ll send some home-made goodies with the neighbour”, his wife reassured him, “He has a cooler trailer and will be driving packages to Germany soon. Everything should arrive in good shape. I’m sure he won’t mind taking an extra package”.
The man was getting worried, his ride was running late. There he was, standing in the village main street, bags in hand; soon the sun will be up and neighbours will start moving about. He wasn’t one for long goodbyes. In the distance his cousin appeared, driving an old platform. They’d pick up a car in the Czech Republic, he had explained, and deliver it to a Moldovan customer in Germany. “So what are you going to do?”, his cousin asked. “Asparagus”, he replied, “my sister put in a word for me at the farm. In April they will be needing more people, she said. They have containers there and they could fit in an extra bed. It’s good that I may come before bulk recruitment starts. And besides, my sister is getting a bit on the side too for bringing in someone hard-working”. “And what about housing? Where can I send you a greeting card for Easter?” the cousin added, laughing. “I saw on these Facebook groups that you can get a deal for a letterbox address, plenty of Romanians who offer. Plenty of scams, too. Question is, can you trust them – that they’re going to hand you in your mail for as long as you have an agreement? My sister’s agency coordinator isn’t allowed to register me, and besides, she said asparagus season would be over before the municipality gave us an appointment. Also,” he said after a short thought, “I’m not going to bother with banks and all the like. I got myself a Revolut card– almost like a bank card, but no address needed- that should work fine via the app. It should do the trick for sending money, but just once a month, only then it’s free. Do you need me to drive now?” 18 hours in, the cousin makes a stop near an industrial park outside Brno and loads the promised car, a 2000s BMW[1]. “Can’t afford a Tesla yet, even though they make them nearby, in Grünheide. You could even work at their factory, but I hear it’s not ideal, safety-wise[2]”. Another passenger joins and he gets quickly filled in on the conversations and the concerns of the fresh Romanian worker. “There’s a German NGO[3] that can help you with a letterbox address for free, they’re there for Eastern European workers like us, you know. I learned this when I got kicked out on the street by the temp agency coordinators. They can fire you just like that!…” “Ah thanks, but I’m good, I don’t know how all that works , I’ll be fine at my sister’s”. “Suit yourself”, replied the passenger; then, continuing towards the cousin,
“Did you see the Brits are recruiting on the Berlin-Brandenburg Facebook groups? It’s like Corona times all over again!”. The passenger then addresses the Romanian traveler again: “So do you know how it’s done, asparagus picking?” “[…]What a smart-ass, does he think I was born yesterday? I’ve been working the land since I was a kid!”, the man thought to himself, as the passenger pulled out his phone and showed him an instructional video in Romanian[4]. “How’s your back?”, the passenger continued, “I know these effective belts that contain minerals[5], tried them myself…” “Don’t worry, you’ll feel just like home!”, said the cousin to appease him. “Maria will send you her home-made cozonac for Easter and besides, there are Romanian stores where you can quench your appetite for smoked ham and the like.” “I think I’d rather have the smoked ham sent over, then”, he replied, “we need to save for a new annex to the house”. “How’s your wife and the kids doing?”, the Romanian man continues. “Fine, kids are in school, speaking German like natives. They had it hard the first year, but with some afterschulung and play dates they’re comfortable. And some weekends we also meet in Potsdam for a picnic, us Romanians, and then they can speak our language. Their mother gets them books from this Romanian library, it’s the best of both worlds, really.” “And how is she?” “Well, you know… Working, taking care of this old lady. There are double feelings, as her own mother is far away. Once, we arranged a home surprise for her – we had this company buy her cake with candles and our photo printed on it and they filmed everything as they handed it over. You should have seen the neighbours stare![6]”.
The landscape slowly changes. Since they left Budapest behind the Danube got smaller and windier, and the man is thrilled to see the thread that leads home but also upstream to their destination, as they repeatedly cross it all the way to Germany.
© Iepke Rijcken
Related links: 1https://www.romaniajournal.ro/society-people/4-out-of-10-used-cars-in-romania-are-imported-from-germany-research-reveals/2 Sternberg, Jan. “Frau Ö. gegen Elon Musk“. Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger, 24th March 2023. 3 https://klik-berlin.de/english/4https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skpptUxt3XM&ab_channel=RaresKolcsar5 Means of self-care intensely advertised and commercialised on the Facebook groups: https://www.facebook.com/groups/139517986186569/search/?q=brau%20cu%20turmalina6 „Home surprises” are a business model addressing mainly the Romanian diaspora, promoting a way of establishing co-presence and showing status to the dear ones at home: https://www.facebook.com/SurprizeladomiciliuinBrasov/videos/surpriza-la-domiciliu-%C3%AEn-bra%C8%99ov-s%C4%83cele/285833440178215/ , retrieved 03-05-2023.