“One plank, two sawhorses, three beer crates” Writer and musician Wilfried N’Sondé takes novelist Françoise Bouillot on an affectionate, whimsical tour of Berlin past and present. It felt rather strange, knowing Wilfried, to be heading up “Talking of the area—it’s pretty bourgeois here.” Schlossstrasse, which leads to Charlottenburg Palace, the Hohen- “Less than you think. It’s also really working class, just look zollerns’ summer residence, on my way to the Kastanie café, his at us!” he added, pointing to his friends. regular hangout and our designated meeting spot. It felt a bit like Karin and Michael embody alternative Berlin to a tee, launching old Auteuil and the Bois de Boulogne, slightly provincial and the Nehringstrasse Jugendinitiative in the 1970s, a tutoring well-heeled, two words that I wouldn’t really associate with him. and drug awareness program for young people, supported by Wilfried N’Sondé was born in the Congo and grew up inthe Berlin government. Wilfried worked with them for years. Créteil. He lived in Berlin for 25 years, but has recently moved They had to cut back when funding went down in 2004, back to Paris. He’s a musician, lyricist, former social worker but they managed to keep their premises with their small and a novelist whose protagonists are the kids he knew in library, where school kids come in the evening to get a better his neighborhood and migrants. His latest opus, Un océan, grasp of the difficulties of German grammar. deux mers, trois continents, is an ode to tolerance. What on “They wanted to wipe out poverty after the Third Reich,” said earth was he doing here? As I Wilfried, “as that is what created looked around for the Kastanie, a fertile context for the Nazis to I passed a young woman, then come to power. Berlin’s housing another, each pushing a baby policy aimed to provide shelter in a stroller, a retiree walking for the most disadvantaged his dog, a modestly attired families. This is why you see man sitting on a bench, and low-income housing projects I was even more puzzled. throughout the city.” In addi- The café was in a garden scat- tion, from 1961 on, Berlin was tered with wooden tables and an enclave in the heart of the plain benches. The scaffolding GDR and attracted few people. on the building’s facade had Its size and low population led been converted in the resource- to the growth of numerous ful, practical spirit of Berliners, counter-culture places like the the lower planks used as a Ziegenhof, or “goat farm,” in table for two solitary souls the apartment complex where sitting on big stools, reading Wilfried’s children grew up, their newspaper as they wolfed with its communal garden down their sausages. courtyard, tree houses, a small weekly organic market and Back to the Wall I waited for fresh milk, thanks to the animals him in the small beer garden fed by the tenants’ association. while leafing through Berlinoise, his novel recounting his arrival lmaginary bastions If you in the city in 1990. Berlinoise thought you knew about gentri- was filled with the hammers that fication, go see Mitte, which a were smashing into the Wall at protuberance of the Wall had the time, until the locals got fed consigned to East Berlin. Its up with the noise and petitioned streets are immaculate, too for demolition hours to be lim- clean, and are lined with build- ited to afternoons. He describes Karin Karg, amie de longue date de l’auteur franco-congolais. ings that don’t have balconies, the wild nights in Kreuzberg, Karin Karg, a longtime friend of the Franco-Congolese author. with one luxury brand after the former working-class dis- another. Wilfried and his friends trict enclosed on three sides by the Wall in the eastern section weave their way through it perfectly at ease, already feeling at of West Berlin, dotted with squats that still exist today, waste- home, commenting on how the neighborhood has evolved. lands and makeshift bistros with two sawhorses and three beer “It’s hard to imagine, but every single house here was a squat crates. Music pulsating from every floor, day and night. before. A lot of East Berliners had left to try and make it in the “We’re late, but we’re all here!” Wilfried shouted from the West, leaving their apartments empty, and people simply moved street. Behind him, Karin laughed and sparkled, her white hair in. The streets were wild with people, makeshift cafés and music.” cascading down. Michael was quieter, bringing up the rear and It was true, I couldn’t imagine it. There was no sign at all of giving the high-spirited crew a more dignified air. Greetings the wasteland Potsdamer Platz used to be, the impromptu con- were exchanged, including with the waiter, who had done a lot certs on every street corner and the lively discussions between of concerts with him. “We played boules here and organized a people sitting on the rubble from the holes in the Wall. Two tournament every year,” recalled Wilfried. “Thursday was chess rather narrow, unobtrusive windows on Linienstrasse are where night. The Kastanie was the place to meet in the area.” Zadig is located, the French bookstore founded by Patrick Suel. 137 .htlaeh ruoy ot lufmrah si esuba lohoclA .noitaredom ni knirD .noitarédom ceva zemmosnoc ,étnas al ruop xueregnad tse loocla’d suba’L