By: Amna Cesic
10/15/25
BERLIN — Today I wandered through the Sonnenallee, a stretch of Berlin located in the Neukölln district. The street is commonly referred to as “Arab Street,” but I quickly realized that it is so much more than that. It is layered with identities. Palestinian, Syrian, Afghan, and countless other flags line the street, blanketing the city in black, green, red, and white. The people, constantly on the move, enter and exit stores with a familiarity and ease that made me feel instantly comfortable.
The air hums with languages that don’t quite blend together, yet somehow coexist. Arabic, Dari, and even Farsi text cover the signs of grocery stores, restaurants, and bakeries, which all smell faintly of pistachios and cinnamon.
Drawn by the aromas, my classmate and I quickly ducked into a small pastry shop at the center of the street. The man behind the counter smiled knowingly as I ordered two pieces of baklava covered in chocolate and pistachios. It tasted like the desserts I always eat at home, a unique connection I realized I had with people in a country I had never been to before. Around us, people chatted in German and Arabic, creating a sound that was distinctly Berlin but undeniably foreign too. I thought about how food has the power to dissolve borders, offering community among all those who share it. In that moment, I realized that something as simple as a dessert could bridge the distance between cultures more effectively than any politician ever could.
We took a break from food and stopped at Refuge Worldwide, a community radio station tucked between cafés and grocery stores. We met a woman who worked there, someone involved in amplifying refugee voices through sound. She handed us her contact information, and it felt like being handed an opportunity. Her willingness to speak with us was a reminder of how dedicated many people are to supporting and uplifting refugee communities.
Later in the afternoon, we stopped for lunch at a traditional German restaurant. I ordered veal schnitzel and fries. It was a simple dish, but somehow it felt symbolic of much more. Eating something so German after a morning immersed in a predominantly refugee neighborhood highlighted how cultures intertwine and overlap, creating spaces that are unique.
The day concluded with a phone interview with an Afghan woman now living in Chicago. Her voice was remarkably strong and determined. She spoke about the refugee process and the uncertainty she struggled with the most. “You never really stop being a refugee,” she said.
Her words lingered long after our conversation ended. I thought of the Afghans and refugees I’d seen today, gathered around each other laughing. Berlin seems like a place for new communities to form and for refugees to have a voice. The city understands what it means to rebuild, which might be why so many are drawn to its streets.
