Where Words Failed and Bread Saved Me
There is nothing quite as overwhelming as stepping into a German bakery.
During my Au Pair year, I remember being sent to buy bread for breakfast. My host family preferred freshly baked bread from the most famous (family-owned) bakery in Wuppertal. I always dreaded stepping into that bakery. Not because I never saw Black people buy bread there, but mainly because the shelves were populated with so many different types of bread that I almost got dizzy trying to understand how each one differed from the other.
At the time, I was also not yet articulate in the German language. I feared that my heavily accented Ugandan tongue would betray me—refusing to pronounce some of the names of these loaves with the respect they deserved. And honestly, the bread names didn’t help. In this bakery, bread is named according to the type of wheat used, the seeds or oats sprinkled on top, how crusty it is, and sometimes the region it is associated with. How exactly was I supposed to choose one?
Once you step into this highly sought-after bakery, you are expected to abide by the German shopping netiquette. When the salesperson asks, “Was bekommen Sie?” (translated as “What would you like to have?”—although in all honesty it sounds much closer to “What do you want?”), an audible, confident, eloquent, and fast response is expected.
So there I was, squeezing myself into the 10-square-metre showroom with eight other clients, all of whom knew exactly what they were buying their families for breakfast. They pointed at different types of bread and rolls by name, specifying the exact number of kilos per loaf to be packed into brown paper bags.
Audible. Confident. Eloquent. Fast.
It was almost impressive—quite a sight to behold.
I did not only marvel at the efficiency on display during what was, for me, a deeply overwhelming experience. When I was second in line, I decided to prepare myself. I too would be audible, confident, eloquent, and fast.
I scanned the name tags beneath every loaf, desperately searching for a name that would not challenge my heavily accented tongue. And then I saw it.
BERLINER LANDBROT.
A perfect balance of vowels and consonants. Words that made sense. Words that felt safe.
“Ich bekomme das Berliner Landbrot bitte!”
I was impressed by how smoothly and articulately the words glided off my tongue. You would have thought this bread had been my favourite since childhood.
And that is why, for the rest of my Au Pair year, I only ever bought Berliner Landbrot whenever it was my turn to buy bread for breakfast.
by Mariam (The Afro-Diasporan)
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