Since I was not the only one who got fed up, it resulted in a small German trucker colony on the beach.
It was very nice here.
If you wanted, you could swim in the Gulf or simply stew in the sun, catch, cook and eat fish. Some had their wives or girlfriends with them. The lucky ones easily made a camping holiday on the Gulf of Aqaba. I too joined the holiday idyll and was happy with my daily routine. Nothing to do all day and in the evening drive the truck to "Holiday Inn" and drink some beer in a refined and air-conditioned atmosphere.
There I made the acquaintance of a gentleman who paid for the beers on the third day.
As I was frank person, I explained to the man who was spending on me a lot that I wanted to thank him for the beers.
But he would have to wait for a long time till his expectations were fulfilled, I said. What did I mean, he asked me and I told him clearly that I was not gay.
My patron, Reiner, was his name, now laughed and said that I did not need to worry and that he too was not gay and had a wife and two children in Amman. He was an employee at the German Embassy. The beers that he had paid for me, was to get to know me better, since he wanted to propose me a deal.
My man from the company with office in a suburb of Munich
Obviously I wanted to know what kind of a deal a military attaché was able to offer me.
I changed my order to Bacardi Cola and listened to what Reiner wanted to propose to me. How could I do something for my country and get some money for it? Basically, there were two things that I had to do.
According to the information, I had to say yes or no and I said yes!
Already on the second day I received a camera and the order to take photos of everything that was on the way from the port of Aqaba to Baghdad and make some notes. He introduced me to the five "W": where, when, what, how much and from where! All just to determine which export products or imports went to Baghdad.
The connection to Germany was not to be missed, so that we exported the right goods and were able to secure jobs.
Specifically, I was told to pay particular attention to the "Ifas" that would come from the GDR. Also it is important to come into contact with the people of the GDR, who were responsible for loading the cars. He showed me three men sitting at the bar and drinking beer. I was to come into contact with them without fail. I was told to invite them and throw money all around, drink, eat, and if necessary and if it was possible to provide and pay for girls.
Of course, everything would be on his bill.
I assured him that I understood what to do. Reiner went back to Amman and I already had the best contacts the very next day with my new East German friends. Rolf, Heiner and Dieter were their names. It was a whole different feeling when ordering without having to worry about the price or the bill later.
My colleagues from "over the border" were just as excited as I was. I told them that I was a haulage contractor from the proximity of Frankfurt / Main. I also invited the musicians, a couple whom I already knew from previous visits to the bar, to our table. My Ossis were totally happy and drank whiskey and coke, as if it were to the detriment to the hotel and to destroy the supply of whiskey or cola or even both.
In between the oil business was going on again and since I now had a new job and additional earnings, driving was fun again and I took pictures of everything, which in my in my opinion could be of importance for my client. I paid attention to barrels, boxes, low-loaders covered with tarpaulin, hazardous material list, also military vehicles and military installations such for example, radars, high-voltage lines and specially marked ammunition transports and with that of course always the "5 W's". And in Aqaba I invited my East German friends for a booze tour. My employer, who had his company near Munich, and was generally called “The Company", did not forget to pay the "Gustav". I needed the money and the company needed the photos and some thought-provoking citizens from East Germany.
The boys were very proud of their Ifa - vehicles that were produced in the eastern Harz.
Also there were incidents, where it was somewhat different during the loading, which they did not forget to tell me, the pride! So it came to the notice of the "company" that there were also war-related goods.
It was said that this war was such a nonsense. The Iranians were supplied by the Russians and the Iraqis, simply from them.
I know that the Americans brought wheat, which the Norwegians packaged in sacks, in a special ship. Captain Magnussen had the best reindeer ham and smoked bear paws. Genuine bear paws. I've myself eaten that on the ship.
A French forwarding company carted the wheat with Arab drivers to Baghdad. Japan sent Corolla cars for army officials of the lower rank.
The Germans sent their VW Golfs for senior officers. So everyone earned in this war.
My tours were going on well and my side business flourished as well. I rented myself an apartment and that was good because my German haulage contractors came unexpectedly, took my vehicle and sold the good piece to a Jordanian. I could now concentrate on my new job fully.
The "company", or rather the man from Amman, got me a used car, a Fiat, not of German manufacture. That would be better I was told, since if something happened to me, no one would be able to determine any connections.
That did not sound very loyal.
But that's the way it was if you work for such a "company".
I told my brothers from the East that I had an uncle who had managed a HO-bakery in Erfurt, and was now is in the West and had already built three houses. Another relative, who manufactured tachometers, was Tachometer Kuhn from Karl-Marx-Stadt. He had the courage not to run away and was a good citizen of the GDR but not as free as the uncle in the West.
My friends advised me not to talk like that but to talk like how a political commissar in GDR would want to hear.
I was invited to a tour on their ship. It was the first time that I went aboard a socialist ship. They trusted me and I was received by the political commissar and led into the red parlor. There was plenty of Radeberger Pils and the best roast pork with Thuringian dumplings and red cabbage.
Of course we had discussions.
Each wanted to convince the other that his Germany was the better one.
I gave up after a while and we talked about women and hookers. The boys had already had something to tell, about when they were in Cuba, some African countries and the whole Eastern bloc. They also had an idea of what was happening in the western world. They also were well informed about West Germany.
They answered my question only very carefully and thoughtfully. But after more Radeberger and vodka, we raised our glasses to brotherhood.
The political officer said that the West would have to adapt a lot from the East if it ever lead to a reunification, since many things were simply better there.
The better school systems, apprenticeships, youth sports activities and also the better athletes were in GDR.
I added that the beer, the IFA's and first-class ships with a super crew also came from the GDR. They laughed and said that I was very funny. No, it was not a joke that Unimog, Mercedes, Opel and BMW incidentally came from West Germany.
I got as an answer from them that they knew what I meant.
They also said that we were not ready to fight for a reunion in the West. All in the West would have to give up 50%, so that those in the East could have an increase by 50%. The GDR-seafarers knew what was quite not so in order with them, because of traveling around in the world. No one in the West would be willing to trade his Mercedes for a Trabi.
Somehow I realized that East Berlin was very far away, because these people would not speak like this in a different environment.
I poured oil on the fire, by telling them that it would be so nice if those from the East could drive Opel, Mercedes, Audi and other European cars and we from the West could change to the Trabant.
All found it very funny.
After we had commented that this would never happen, I said goo
dbye and I was brought ashore. I drove to my apartment in my newly acquired Fiat 132.
Since many people knew that I was looking for space for a restaurant, I was offered a suitable building. It was a turning point in my life. I got to know Kathy, a Scotswoman. She had been living in Jordan for a long time.
Among other things, she had worked in the royal palace in Amman and as a housekeeper here in Aqaba in the winter residence of the king.
Most recently, she had been the second director in a holiday hotel. But since she was the girlfriend of the owner and there had however been discrepancies, she had to leave the hotel and was now single. I too had met her in the bar of the Holiday Inn and now we were together. Due to the fact that she knew so many influential people, she also knew of the property that was for rent. There was no better person than Kathy, with whom I was able to open the restaurant-bar "Crazy Horse". She knew everyone from the governor to the mayor up to the chief of police!
This was really of advantage because these people all got an invitation for the inauguration.
I also announced to the truckers that there would be German food in the future. The store was buzzing and the cash was flowing in!
After all, there were more than two hundred truckers out and about.
Many of them had their families, wife or girlfriend, who were brought into the country.
When the men were traveling, the women came very often to me to the shop. Since the restaurant had a large dance floor, people danced a lot.
This in turn brought in locals, Bedouins and Saudis from the neighboring Haqel to me.
It was sometimes very tricky if these people had drunk too much. In such cases, I also had to play the role of the great protector of the women in my care. The Saudis were unstoppable if they got drunk. My foot, that they don't drink alcohol! What is correct is: They cannot tolerate alcohol!
But they were good payers and they were also not stingy with their tips.
So I was sometimes in a quandary when I should be tough and throw them out or if I should close my eyes to it.
My Jordanian waiters were very sad with regard to the tips, if it ended with a customer being thrown out.
Since I also served a lot of pork, they did not want to eat anything, although I put up a notice in Arabic, that you only got alcohol, if you also ordered food. I made a menu for the Saudis, who came from Haqel, the Saudi border town. Somehow it had to have gotten around that the "German Schnitzels" were very delicious. Although I had made it very clear on the menu that this was pig meat, I could not stop some of them from ordering Schnitzel. The funny thing was that they got the Schnitzel to be packed to take away. Pig to go! Whoever drank alcohol could also eat pork!
One of my guests was telling a story that I would tell only an Arab who is my close friend. It went like this:
> "Imagine a father goes for a walk with his son on a Sunday morning after going to church and the little boy asks the father where people come from. The father explains to him that God had created the world on the first day, the second, the animals, on the third day the human being, a white one. But the Lord was not satisfied and He created a brown man like how the Indians are. And then even a black man, just like from Africa. But He was still not satisfied and created a yellow body, just as the Chinese have. Every time he took a lump of clay, modeled a body and breathed life into him.
It worked wonderfully and God was pleased with His work. But the work was very tiring.
God kneaded the last lump of clay and formed a human being. Since he had worked so hard all week long, he was entitled to a break. He was also thirsty. God mixed His own drink correctly. Among other things, he invented whiskey and he sampled it and sampled it and sampled it. Since it tasted so good, he drank too much he fell asleep next to the last, unfinished figure. With his alcoholic breath, he breathed on it and it came to life. This human rejoiced greatly that he was brought to life, but he knew also that he was not yet fully completed. But he did not care, he just wanted to get away. But then it occurred to him that God would seek him as soon as He was awake again. So he had to hide well, that God could not find him.
But where should he hide? God would look everywhere, most likely where it was nice. So the figure had to go where God would not look, to where it was impossible for normal people who were created by God to live. God would search for him finally in the desert and so he went precisely there. You see my son, now you know why the Arabs live in the desert and are not allowed to drink alcohol, because they know what could happen because of alcohol." <
I told this story sometimes to my Arab friends who found it amusing.
There were envious people in my pub, who were not happy that the shop was running so well.
One evening two Jordanians came, who had been drinking elsewhere and began to riot because I did not want to give them alcohol.
One of them took the salt shaker and threw it onto the mirrored wall behind the bar.
Of course there were shards and a bottle was broken, which annoyed me.
I made it clear to two of them very vehemently that they should fuck off. The younger of the two starting prodding me. His misfortune was that the restaurant was on the first floor and he stood before the companionway. The boy lost his balance, fell backward down the stairs and broke his hand. Suddenly the Jordanian, roaring with pain, took a walkie-talkie from his pocket and contacted the police. They were very quickly there on the spot and I came to know that the young man who had fallen down, was a civilian official of the police. He was a member of the Mukhabarat, the intelligence service.
There was a big palaver, with regard to who had done what. The CID man claimed that I had pushed him down the stairs. I insisted in my statement that he had fallen down. He admitted about the salt shaker but said that this matter had nothing to do with me pushing him or him falling down the stairs. His friend could testify that I had pushed him. It was of no use and I had to keep my shop closed for five days and go into police custody instead.
After the five days I had a court case and had to pay $ 200 penalty. But I was allowed to open my pub again.
I had to think again of the Indian guru who had predicted to me beforehand that I would have a lot of trouble with the authorities in my life, especially with uniformed people. But I got to know the chief of police of Aqaba in police custody.
From that day I did not get into any more trouble. But instead I had one more regular customer, who always forgot to ask for the bill. And I forgot to give him the bill.
What was that saying: one hand washes the other so that more baksheesh fits into it or something like that.
The man from the embassy also visited me frequently. My brothers from East Germany unfortunately had to say goodbye, since their contract ended in Aqaba. I transferred my surveillance job in front of the port and also the driving around to my friend Churý. He had even gotten me a small handgun, which I had however resold. Churý always knew about who and what went past his town and past his restaurant.
He had a special eye when it came to military matters. Since I had my permit for allowable expenses, Churý was now my right hand or better said, my eye.
I got news from him, which I passed on.
Since Churý's Restaurant was a very special one, almost everyone who went from Amman to Aqaba or went in the reverse direction on the road, went there. No matter what nation the visitor was from, his national anthem was played when the guest stepped in.
It was almost like on the Elbe, when the ships enter or leave the port in Hamburg. Indeed Churý had been in Hamburg, had witnessed some lovely gestures and imitated them here. Meanwhile, I had already become a legend in Aqaba. They knew me and I knew almost everyone.
But the boom of oil driving subsided. Since the payment was still very slow, many of the truckers had thrown in the towel.
I also noticed that the sales figures declined. Kathy looked for a job in one of the larger hotels and I continued in the restaurant alone with two local waiters. The kitchen was
my job along with a Filipino helper. There was enough to do with shopping, cooking and other commitments. But the restaurant did not generate enough revenue. But more and more ex-colleagues came instead, who bought on credit, given the state of the economy. The saying of Confucius “You ask credit, I not give. You get mad”
was only partially right. This is because if I give credit and if it is not paid, I become angry. So it's obvious that it was better that I didn't give any credit - I would be the angry one anyway.
When the outstanding amount was five thousand German Mark when converted, I closed the shop.
I could see the locals did not sell pork and they were not exactly benevolent to me. When the business was still going on well, I had denied admission to many locals so that there were no disputes between the Europeans and them.
So now they shied away from the restaurant. That was the end of "Crazy - Horse". Meanwhile, I had made new friends and they were looking for a camp manager and chef for their arsenal.
I could write off my five thousand Mark anyway and also some had promised that they would send the money to my mother when they were in Germany.
But none of these shitheads had sent even a single Mark, which I of course found out only later.
Cooking for 500 truck drivers from five nations
My job was to take care of the culinary needs of over 500 people.
That was of course my specialty. The catch was that all this took place in the desert, just outside the gateway of Aqaba.
There was now a demand for improvisation, for which I had talent. A container village with workshop and 401 large six-axle semi-trailers - all brand new M.A.N. Vehicles, the drivers were Filipinos, Arabs, Pakistanis, Indians, Poles, Austrians and Germans.
I had to make purchases and cook five different cuisines and also make sure that the assistant cooks cooked something sensible for the 500 people for the individual nations.
My Dream to Be Free Page 41