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What would a white, Christian girl do in an Islamic district in Berlin? The answer is pretty easy: hang out with refugee friend and eat kebab. And don’t forget about the wedding! In Poland, my homeland, there was almost no chance to hear about migrants problems Europe has faced. On the contrary, Germany organised workshops about social inclusion, so I signed in and hopped a bus to its’ capital. Three days full of conversations, lectures and debates quickly slipped by but I still lacked something. The contact with real refugees. The last lecture was held by a Syrian refugee who described a situation in his country. His story about war, his devotion to a country and then though decision to escape wringed my heart. For most of the participants it’s been just a story. I saw a real person behind the words. After the lecture, I spoke to Ahmed. How was that possible that no one else wanted to really get to know him? How could others decide to just go on a lunch break? ‘I can show you my life in Berlin’ he offered. I didn’t hesitate. Later that evening we roamed the streets and talked about his life. Ahmed’s parents stayed in Syria but he started a new life in Germany. ‘Was that an easy decision to leave them?’ I thought. I didn’t need to ask. His face expressed the fear and concern. ‘That’s my language school. I live next door’. I’m not sure where we were. Step by step I saw more and more Arabic sings and less and less German names. Finally, we arrived to kebab place. None of the products had its’ name written in German. Kebab, falafel, halloumi… Ahmed read everything out loud and I asked him to order. Grabbed our food, we went out and roamed again. ‘What is that sound?’. Loud music and a crowd of beautifully dressed people. A wedding, of course. We came closer and Ahmed chatted to a man standing outside of a local while I observed children on a playground. What a striking difference between generations! Grandmothers stood and watched their grandkids. They all wore full hijab, black, long and concealing their body. The mothers’ generation talked freely to other guests nearby. They were all dressed in fashionable, colourful and short dresses. Of course they wore scarves! Some even managed to weaved them in their braids. Ahmed called me. ‘We are invited’. Stepping inside I closely looked around. Men and women sited apart but hanged out next to door and talked there. Kids run around and played cheerfully. The happy couple looked charming and from a distance you could see love in their eyes. ‘We are all the same’ I thought. Migrant problems in Europe are only in our heads. We are all the same. We just have to notice it.