A Crocodile from Havana

In 1998, I moved with my family to Germany. We had thirteen boxes. Because my grandmother’s best friend was already living in Germany, we knew pretty much what we needed and what we didn’t. We didn’t haul pillows or pots; instead, we brought clothes, books, German-learning materials, and cassette tapes. I don’t think I had anything. We left most of our things in a room in our apartment in Moscow or with friends. Whenever someone drove from Moscow to Berlin, they brought along a box. The contents were always a surprise. My grandparents had lived in Cuba for three years during the Cold War, which is where my mother was born. I’ve brought along photos of my mom with her friends in Cuba. They had brought lots of things back from Havana. One time, a relative came to us in Germany with a box. Inside, we found a stuffed baby crocodile.