The Red Mondays

Every Monday I come home from work, cook and eat a quick dinner while watching @marketingmonk’s latest video. Then I put on my red T-shirt, get on my bike and cycle into the night. I come to a big place which isn’t like 99% of the houses and apartment blocks in my city. It is very different. I meet a dozen other people there. They are of different ages, professional occupations and social backgrounds. But we all wear the same red T-shirts. And we are on a mission.

“Where do you go?”, you may wonder. “What is that place? What do the red T-shirts represent? And what’s the mission?”. Well, I’m glad you asked! Let me tell you a story…

When in the summer and fall of 2015 Europe got hit by a huge wave of people fleeing from war, oppression, poverty and persecution, a few countries like Germany and Sweden accepted a disproportionately large share (calculated per capita) of refugees. At some point they really struggled to accommodate all the new arrivals, to process their documents, provide adequate housing for the families, education for the kids and the language training for the adults. Watching this crisis unfold on the news from Japan, where I was studying Japanese with an aim of one day becoming a teacher of that beautiful language, I decided to do something. To “be the change you wish…” – you know how this quote goes. I cut short my stay in Japan and returned to Sweden.

I joined a local chapter of the Red Cross and began volunteering at transit centres for refugees at first. Handing out shoes and warm clothes. Helping to serve meals. Organising activities like football, music jam sessions, and teaching some basic Swedish to kids. But mostly talking to people. Listening to their stories of flight from their homes, of perilous journey across the stormy sea, of friends lost and loved ones stuck on the other shore. Man, it was tough.

Eventually a permanent residence was opened for teenagers who had arrived in Sweden alone, unaccompanied by adults. Some of them were orphans, most had their families left in their home countries. The Red Cross organised homework tutoring group. I signed up.

About a year ago I started coming to the refugee youth residential centre once a week and helping the kids with their schoolwork. It was mostly helping them learn some Swedish at first. But also listening to their stories – told in broken English or in broken Swedish. Asking questions. Offering words of consolation, encouragement and hope.

Some of us became good friends. I remember this kid from Eritrea, Samuel. He could barely speak any Swedish, when we first met. A little shy, soft-spoken and gentle-mannered. Now, a year after, he has grown physically just as his self-confidence grew too, and his Swedish became fluent, if just slightly accented. Tonight ‘Sameh’ and I were going through his schoolwork in the Swedish class. You probably already know that I love teaching grammar. Sameh knew this as well, so he turned to me with his homework.

Swedish grammar was not the only thing we enjoyed. Coffee and chocolate cakes were prepared and served to the kids and us, the volunteers, by the residence centre’s staff. It was damn good! I’m trying to lose some weight (ahem), so I only took one piece. Sameh took five (I counted). All that sugar and caffeine did him good, though. Every time I tried to explain some obscure rule of the Swedish grammar, Sameh grasped it instantly!

Reflexive pronouns and modal verbs – my inner grammar geek was having a party! It seemed like Sameh was having fun too, at least that’s what he told me, when it was time to say good-bye. He asked if I would come back next week. I promised I would. I know I will.

Can you tell which one of the three bald men is me?

The red T-shirt goes back into the wardrobe – until next Monday. I know I’ll miss the kids and my fellow volunteers: Anders, Elias, Elin, Felicia, Fredrik, Inga-Lill, Malin, Sofie, Stefan. I hope we’ll get chocolate cake again next time.