In February 2017, one month before my birthday, I found myself in Korb, a small community in the Rems-Murr-Kreis, where I had been living for several years.
At that time, I was facing numerous difficulties: I had been robbed, insulted, and repeatedly urged to commit suicide by my landlord. Since I couldn’t find anyone in Germany who believed me or wanted to help, and I was legally incapacitated at that point, the situation worsened. I felt an urgent need for a break, to escape and find peace in a quiet place. The turning point came when my landlord stood at my door and shouted, “You stupid, antisocial Russian scum, get lost where you belong”. This incident marked the moment when I had to explore my roots and embark on a journey.
It was the moment I packed my backpack and set off eastward, by bus, hitchhiking and walking, toward my grandparents’ land. This step was the beginning of a new life, the magnitude of which I was not yet aware. After my return, I ended up in an interview with a journalist writing an article on migration, where I was mentioned — another pivotal moment that would later radically change my life.
In the following months, I frequently traveled to places where I found peace, where I was not terrorized, and where I was accepted as a person. In Germany, I was incapacitated, had no rights, and was a slave who had suffered for many years under violence and terror. Being a slave in Germany in the 21st century seemed unbelievable at first, but my own experiences showed me that it was possible. This led me to question the system, and my struggle for freedom seemed hopeless.
After my landlord stole all my belongings and sold them on eBay, and I lost the court case at the Waiblingen District Court, that was the point where my life transitioned into a complete nomadic existence. I was hurt and disappointed that the judge reversed the roles of victim and perpetrator and found me guilty. He ordered me into an asylum in Korb and demanded I surrender my German passport, as he could not revoke it. In the community of Korb, I had to sign a document stating that I had only one citizenship, which I had to sign at least five more times in the following months.
Germany had deeply hurt and disappointed me. I had no rights, was placed in an asylum as an incapacitated person where I didn’t fit in, and the problems threatened to escalate. My possessions were dissolved, and I left the asylum after 24 hours. I have never returned since. At that time, I found someone who financially helped me so that I could buy a backpack and clothes — I was free. While I was still incapacitated, I had escaped slavery.
When I returned to Germany at a later point in the summer of 2018, I discovered that there was an ongoing police investigation against me. As had happened before, I was being accused of things that weren’t true, though at the time, I didn’t yet know what it was about. During a phone call, I was summoned to appear at the Waiblingen police station on a specific date.
However, my first visit didn’t take place because the detective in charge of the case was unavailable. I was told by his colleagues that he had called in sick that day. Before I was sent away, one of the officers acted strangely after seeing my file and had to be calmed down by his colleague.
At the rescheduled appointment, I was informed that a new officer had taken over the case. He led me to a room where my fingerprints were taken, photos were snapped, and I was asked to strip down. They then showed me pictures of military weapons and asked if they were mine. At the end of the interrogation, they confiscated my phone. The officer typed something into my phone while simultaneously working on the computer. I was released with the instruction to remain available, as they would contact me.
After three months of hearing nothing from the police, I went back to inquire about the status of the case against me. To my surprise, no one could provide any information. I was told that there was no case and that there never had been. I was dismissed quite rudely.
I left, unfazed by the experience, as I was already familiar with being falsely accused. I carried on with my nomadic life. This was the last instance of false accusations, and to this day, there have been no further cases.
In the summer of 2019, I was informed that I was supposedly free again and that the incapacitation had been lifted, but I was not interested. At that point, I was far in the east, and Germany felt far away. I had reclaimed my freedom years ago by leaving the community of Korb.
In August 2019, when I went to Korb to apply for a new passport, the head of the office asked me to come up to her office. Once there, she pressured me to deregister, and threatened that if I didn’t, she would completely ruin my life. She said everything I had experienced so far would be nothing in comparison to what she would do.
I had left Korb in early 2018 after spending only 24 hours in that asylum, but I had never officially deregistered. Being threatened and coerced by a government official like that was deeply unsettling to me. In my eyes, she was not someone who should hold a position of authority in Germany. In an effort to deescalate the situation, I eventually agreed to deregister once I received my passport.
Since that moment, I’ve had no official residence, a direct result of this coercion and the injustice I felt. I became a nomad without a permanent base, and life carried on from there.
This brief story narrates my journey into the life of a nomad, how I began to travel, and how my new life took shape. I have now been living as a nomad for over seven years, wandering the world.
If Germany hadn’t treated me this way and stripped me of my rights, and if I hadn’t lived as a “slave” with Bianca K. and her family, my life today would be completely different; I wouldn’t be a minimalist or a nomad.