When I arrived at the mod and stylish Lux 11 Berlin-Mitte hotel, it felt like a flat straight out of a 1960s Andy Warhol production.
I quickly made myself at home by plopping down on the couch in the living room. Close to midnight, I set out to explore the neighborhood. I ended up at small bistro, not too far from where I was staying, which was at the center of the popular Mitte District. After placing my order, I was welcomed by an older group of men to join their table on the patio.
Curious, I decided to join for what I concluded would only add to my list of random, yet enlightening, conversations that I had experienced thus far in Europe.
I sat on the edge of a wooden picnic bench, surrounded by the five gentlemen. I quickly learned that they were originally from Mozambique, a country located in southeast Africa. Mozambique was formally colonized by Portugal, until its independence in 1975.
Not knowing Portuguese and with them struggling with English, I found it easier to communicate with the men in Spanish. Lorenzo, Antonio, Baptiste and Orlando were all friends that came to Berlin in 1981 on a rare chance to attend technical school.
They were 19 and 20 when they arrived and saw Berlin as an emblem of freedom. Berlin was a new home free from the Apartheid back in Africa.
“Germany to us was freedom,” Orlando said of Berlin. “It gave us the ability to sit out, eat and drink a beer like normal people.”
Orlando’s love for Berlin was coupled with remorse for his native home. He admitted he was “very sad for Africa,” regarding the current well-being of its people. His sentiments however were not enough to overpower his allegiance to Africa. The group shared a general feeling of African pride. They expressed that they identified with me as their African sister, despite my birthplace being in America.
I would go on to realize that notion as a shared viewpoint among many Africans in Europe. My American origins were secondary to my African heritage. “I know you live in America, but where are you from in Africa?” many asked of me.
The feelings of African pride from that conversation lingered into the next day. It propelled me into viewing the famous Bust of Nefertiti, known to be one of the world's most treasured artifacts and finds from ancient Egypt. I had been anticipating this particular opportunity for quite some time. Having recently completed my master's thesis at New York University on how knowledge of ancient Egyptian women's roles influenced the dress and overall aesthetic of women during American Egyptomania in the 1920s, this made viewing the bust even more special.
Finally, I was in route to see the Bust of Nefertiti up close and personal.
I arrived at Berlin’s Neues Museum, one of the many historic museums along Museum Island, around noon. I reached the second floor and immediately headed toward the back. There she was: the ancient work of art that has embodied timeless beauty throughout the world for centuries. Sitting in a dimly lit room of its own, elevated and enclosed in a glass case with two stern-faced security guards standing on both sides, was the ancient Bust of Nefertiti.
The crowd of onlookers, myself included, stood silent and in awe at the queen. Staring into the eyes of Nefertiti, I felt entranced, hypnotized even.
Found in 1912 by Ludwig Borchardt, who led the German Oriental Society excavation team in Tel el-Amarna in Middle Egypt, the Bust of Nefertiti was donated to the Egyptian Museum Berlin in 1920 by James Simon. Simon was the sole financier of the excavations and one of the founders of the German Oriental Society.
Queen Nefertiti, wife of Amenhotep IV (Akhenaten), ruled during the Eighteenth Dynasty. She played an equally significant role with her husband and was represented as such in regards to all religious and state affairs. Standing in arm’s length of her bust at last, I left the museum feeling compelled for greatness.
