Here I benefited from the fact that I knew the Indian and Pakistani mentality. The Poles were very frugal and never mucked up, because no one dared to risk his job. The Filipinos were satisfied with everything. I was only not allowed to give them any lamb or mutton. That was for the Muslims. Of course, the Indians did not get beef. The Poles, the Germans and the Austrians ate everything.
I had to cook for the manager of the workshop and the offices, who were almost exclusively Germans.
The others were satisfied with their own chefs and food that was just like back at home.
Over all I was in charge. This job was pure stress but it was really fun. Besides it was certain that there was good money at the end of the month.
The kitchen area consisted of five containers with one per group and in addition, there was a storage-container and my living container. The 500 drivers had their own container village. When all the semi-trailers were parked in all the huge square, it looked phenomenal. 400 six-axle semi-trailers, all of which had twin tires, and 22 tires per truck. A new tire purchase would be 8800 tires. Along with that, there was a monster of a tow truck. Everything for or because of the Iran-Iraq war. For half a year everything went well, but then there was a fight between the Jordanian and Iraqi partners and the company in Gustavsburg, which then threw in the towel and we were all thrown out. Again a chapter was closed in my career.
But if you already have a reputation, you should use it, which is what I did. I rented a room in a hotel in Aqaba and spread the news that I was looking for a job. I was lucky that the Aqaba - Hotel was looking for a cook-kitchen chef.
The hotel belonged to the social security and had a director, who was married to a German woman. That meant they spoke German and I was sure that they also worked with German procedures. This job opportunity had a catch: I could start only in three weeks.
That was okay with me and I signed an employment contract. I could use the time to fly home and bring some things in order again.
My flight from Amman to Frankfurt was quite pleasant and uneventful. At home at my mother's place, some things had changed. Mother and the girls were not living any more in the new house.
The bank had foreclosed it and now it belonged to another family. The three of them had to move into an apartment building and they were very sad.
Mother tried as best as she could to make the loss of the house easier for the girls. But life had to go on. I for my share, could not contribute much. To my surprise, Mother did not protest much when I announced that I wanted to go back to Jordan.
There had been no news of my wife ever since she had flown to Sri Lanka. The daughters did not miss her at all - or at least they said so.
The girls were probably already accustomed to growing up without parents and only with the grandmother.
I also did not hear anything of Doris; she had moved to an unknown new address. She had forgotten to give the money, which I had given to her last for Mother in Aqaba, to give to Mother. There was no car anymore because Doris had traded it for a ticket to Jordan. Mother was now not exactly happy but at least she was satisfied with the fact that the financial worry about the house was gone. She got a good pension and now knew how much she had available. Without having to rely on my support and without the uncertainty of how, where, when, or if ever the support needed would come from her son, she was fine.
On the whole, the situation was better after all the excitement. The period of nearly three weeks with my family went by very fast and the day of my departure arrived. Of course, I had to promise all three that I would now be more in touch with them. Mother did not forget to divulge in a piece of news to me.
The previous week, she had had a visit from a young mother, who proudly introduced her son and incidentally she had mentioned that the boy did not have a father. But the Youth Office forced her to disclose the name of the father. She had given my name but assured that she would not claim any maintenance.
That was not good news because if the mother had not specified the name of the father, it would have been in order and the State would have been satisfied. But now, with a name of the father, the State would try everything possible to get the maintenance for the child. Whether Helga, the mother wanted it or not, the machinery would reach me in Jordan. That meant, I would have to pay. They had probably not believed the nonsense that Jesus was the father.
With the new knowledge that I was now a father to a son, I flew to Jordan to take up my new job. I made a visit to my former boss, the tanker haulage contractor to
get the rest of my money. But there was nothing to get from him, since he was broke and the business no longer existed. I would have had no chance in the court, since I had not made a German employment contract with him. Also I was not registered the whole time, which was not punishable since I had worked for him only abroad. He also had not paid any taxes or for any pension insurance or health insurance.
The flight to Amman was very quiet and without problems. On the next flight to Aqaba, I was sitting on the right side of the plane and noticed the border demarcation between Jordan and Israel quite simply from the vegetation.
As if drawn with a ruler, on the Israeli side everything was green and overgrown. On the Jordanian side it was barren desert, not even an acacia could be made out.
How was this possible? Could the Israelis conjure this up? I would get this question answered at a later point in time but at that moment it was a mystery. They picked me up at the airport and I stayed in the hotel temporarily. This gave me time to look for an apartment. My working hours was from 3 pm till midnight. A Jordanian colleague did the early shift.
I had not had so much of free time like that for such a long time.
A regular employment relationship with regulated time and a regular wage.
I was also covered by social insurance according to the contract.
No wonder, because the hotel belonged to the social insurance system. The system was still very new and very unusual for an oriental country. The hotel was almost like an investment object. Of course I had to pay for the flat or apartment. I felt very comfortable in my new position and environment.
My friend from the German Embassy, who had made me his employee, was very satisfied, especially with my working hours. This would give me room to move around for my inquiries, he said. I still had the Fiat too and thus I was very flexible. During the time I worked in the camp of M.A.N., I could not do such much for him. But now we met regularly to exchange news. It was profitable, since I still had my drinks and also hard cash.
My friend Rolf, whom I knew from the oil-driving and who had a driving school in Germany but was struggling to make ends here, had parked the truck in the customs yard and worked for an Austrian travel company as a tour guide.
Some still drove around with the cursed crude oil in their coaches.
But that became less and less and the time came when nothing was running any more. Some drivers, who had worked for a German entrepreneur, now changed to a job with a Jordanian entrepreneur. Thus was the German colony really shrunk down quite a lot. At the end, there were only Rolf and I in Aqaba, all others were sick of it all and had returned to their countries. Kathy and I were still good friends. My new achievements came through Rolf.
On Sundays, when new guests arrived, whom Rolf accompanied as a travel guide, it became such a standard practice that they had breakfast with me. If interesting women traveling alone or two girlfriends arrived, they were directly separated and they were offered a very special service.
Either there was breakfast in a private atmosphere, a private trip to Wadi Rum, a special trip in the desert, where Laurence of Arabia fought. Or simply a Bedouin night in the desert with roast lamb in a starry night.
We always had a hook to get to the souls of the women.
So was not a state of emergency.
Then there was still the possibility, when the German touring coach parked with this pigeon trailer, the rolling hotel at the hotel.
&n
bsp; It was easy to convince the ladies that you just wanted to do something good for them. An invitation for an Arabian dinner and some drinks, later a coffee with Hans in his apartment and already they did not want to sleep this night in the bus trailer.
It was a nice time! Mother visited me in Aqaba; my daughters also came to visit me. I made it possible for some of the women tourists to come back, without them having to book a hotel. I had a nice apartment. I got to know Brenda in our hotel bar. Brenda was from Ireland and worked as a flight attendant for the Jordanian airline Alia.
Whenever she had a few days free, she came to Aqaba to relax.
Relaxing looked like this: that she tried to outdrink the men, which she also very often succeeded. I knew that the Irish in general were into very hard drinking, but Brenda was simply unbeatable! And yet, she was slender and did not look like a beer barrel.
In any case, Brenda fell in love with me and it was also the case vice versa. The era of the great love began. Once again!
I drove to Amman, if she had one or two days free after her flight or she came to Aqaba, sometimes even by taxi. She was definitely a bit crazy, however what I liked very much. I was invited by some English friends of mine for a house warming and took Brenda along. There was a lot of drinking and it was very late. But nobody wanted to go, not even Brenda. The host offered that we could stay overnight in his home.
But the rooms were not quite done yet, there were still some things missing, he said. The light was also not fixed, he said. But we did not mind and we had a place to stay for the night. We did not need any light to make love.
Brenda was unstoppable. I had not experienced her so wild. We had the sideways position, and each time I pressed against her body in order to penetrate into her, there was violent counter-pressure from her. The more violently I pressed against her body, the more violently Brenda pressed against me. But it was also her expressions, which encouraged me to press even more violently into her and against the wall, till just a moan and supplication could be hear from her. I stopped but only because Nature wanted that. I was exhausted and relaxed! But Brenda was angry and upset and pointed to the wall and told me that there was an electrical outlet, which was loaded with power.
By now it was already a bit bright and I could see the electrical outlet.
There were really thick, multi-colored cables without insulation on the wall!
I conducted two wires together and there actually came small sparks from the cable. So that was the secret of the wild counter-pressure! Brenda just did not want any electric shocks on the backside!
Of course we told these night story our friends, who found it very entertaining. Since this event Brenda had the name "Electrical Brenda".
Because of the several visas, my passport was full and I had to go to Amman and get a new passport at the embassy. But there they refused to issue me such a document. I was told that there was a complaint regarding non-paid alimony.
I was to first get this matter regulated in Germany and then I would get a passport again. They could only issue me a home travel document.
What kind of shit was this again?
I made my way back to Aqaba without a new passport. There I remembered my friend in the embassy, whom I did not know officially. During our next meeting, I told him about my problem. He was already informed and promised to help me. I actually got a passport handed over to me on my next visit to the embassy, which had one year validity. But they made an urgent request to fly home in the near future and get the matter clarified.
I promised I would.
My hotel director granted me a week of vacation and I flew home, of course by the airline Alia, which was later called Royal Jordanian Airlines. I told Brenda the time, when I wanted to fly and she arranged that she on flight on duty. The aircraft was not fully booked.
She put me in the last row of the window space. She promised me that after her duty was over, she would come and sit next to me, which she also did.
Brenda brought me a blanket, which I did not want. But she insisted that I take it. After a few minutes I understood why she needed this blanket. She spread it over both of us so that she could slip under it and give me a blow job.
It was a bit unusual to me to see the other passengers and Brenda was under the blanket, with a job, which certainly could not been seen as normal service. I enjoyed this game and was only scared that a passenger or a colleague of Brenda could come from behind. But the film, which was being shown, was probably so exciting that no one walked around.
This encouraged me to ask more from Brenda, which she also carried out. She must have removed her panties earlier because it was masterful how she quickly sat facing backwards on my lap and I could penetrate into her. She had probably done this piece of art often before already.
But I did not ask her about it, I was only amazed that she had the courage to do such a thing. I was relieved that no one caught us and was happy when both of us we both had come.
We did not speak one word and also did not make any remarks but pushed away the blanket and sat down again quite normally on the seats. But we both had to grin so mischievously that people would have definitely noticed that we had just done something unusual.
Now came the security official also came back and sat opposite in the last row. Brenda told me that such an official always sat in that place. Now she told me that she had informed her woman colleague and had asked her to lure him to herself in the front. So she knew what we did in the last row.
It didn't matter to me, but it only confirmed to me that such things did not happen for the first time between colleagues.
What is it called? Only flying is better? Even better is to fly during the flight.
I would not forget this flight so quickly. When I think of the flight with the untanned skins from Kabul to Frankfurt, which had taken three days - it would have been a festival, if Brenda had been onboard on that flight as flight attendant.
But this flight with Brenda was much too short, because we had to prepare ourselves for the landing in Frankfurt.
The flight went by as in flights, as you can probably literally understand.
I had said goodbye to Brenda and she promised me that we would meet in Aqaba again. My people at home were surprised that I was there again. I had a blood test in the hospital and just hoped that I was not the father. They wanted to send the result of the paternity test to me to Aqaba. The week with my daughters passed quickly and I made my way back to Jordan. My director and the early shift chef were very glad to see me again. The poor guy had double shift that whole week. For this I gave him a camera, which I had especially bought for him in the Duty-Free shop. He was very happy and I was somewhat relieved that I did not have to do his shift for one week.
The next surprise came when I drove on the bypass road of Aqaba in my Fiat, which however didn’t belong to me.
There is a speed limit of 80 km/h. But since I always drove a little fast and I had been warned several times, of course in a friendly way, they were especially overjoyed to have caught me driving at 101 km/h. They stopped me and the official came to me with a cry of joy and shouted out very loudly "Miehewohat"! This meant "Hundred and one", which in turn meant that I was over the tolerance of 20 km/h and had thus committed a crime. There was only a fine up to 20 km/h; above that, you had to reckon with a court hearing.
All the officials were proud of this and told me several times that this instrument was from Germany and had been a gift to the government.
Even a lot of discussions and a sumptuous baksheesh could not convince the police to let me go free.
Since I was already a legend in the village, the official did not want to make any mistakes. I had to go to the station. My director came there but even he could not get me acquitted, redeemed or do anything else. Added to all the bad luck, it was a Thursday afternoon and the court was already closed for the weekend. This in turn meant that Friday, which was the Muslims’ Sunday, Saturday and Sunday were public holida
ys too.
Nothing could be done, I had to remain in jail till Monday.
That was four nights on a mat infested with lice, piss and dirt.
But I was lucky that my friend, the policeman who was responsible for the prison, was on duty. Not that he was the boss. He got me a mattress from the hotel and also food for him and me from the hotel.
I also was allowed to have coke. It was improved with Bacardi.
My door was not locked and I could to go my friend in the office and we played Schesch-Besch, a board game very similar to the backgammon, the whole night. With that, we drank the delicious coke.
I noticed here for the first time that it was not only about money, Baksheesh or relationships in the orient but there was also friendship! But you could have something even more beautiful with money or relationships.
It was my trial on Monday and I was slapped with a fine of $200. This was probably a standard penalty for foreigners.
I also had the choice of serving prison term if I could not or did not want to pay. That would be approximately two months. I opted to pay, since I could afford to do so in Jordanian Dinar.
The other matter was with the Health Department. Somehow I had the feeling that someone put an obstacle in front of me now and then. People wanted do the same things here too, just like the way they handled in Europe. Everyone in the hotel and catering industry, any foreigner or local person, had to do a health check.
The health department however did not have the prerequisites for this; they had to just improvise. It so happened that you had to hand in your stool and urine, without them providing vessel for it.
I was told to urinate into a coke bottle and they gave me a matchbox for the stools. They showed me to a toilet, where I could do my business.
So I went there and returned immediately because that place was so dirty that you couldn’t even see the hole on the floor.
An Arab squatting toilet is something special but this was the height of it.
A large number of Egyptians stood around and waited till their names were called out, so that they could hand over their "stuff". I promised an Egyptian that I would give him a Dinar if he would sell me his excrement and urine. Suddenly I had several hands holding bottles and the matchboxes in front of my nose that I felt sick because I had not expected so much of shit for sale.
My Dream to Be Free Page 42