Massoud The Fisherman
I came to Denmark on the 7th of November 1967. I hitch hiked all the way from Lebanon, up through eastern Europe. Back then they were all friendly to Egyptians, colonel Nasser remember. I got my Danish working visa in 15 minutes at the embassy in Vienna. It was situated on top of a brothel and they gave me a pass to go through Germany with the train. Back then the Germans would deny entry to any Arab looking man, they had already received a large number of Turkish immigrants you see. When I arrived at the central station in Copenhagen I thought it was night, but it was only four in the afternoon. And there was this white ice everywhere, snow. I arrived on a Saturday and two friendly Danes drove me to Ølstykke. That’s where Krieger’s father lived, the man I had to hand over the note to call his son in Cairo. That’s how you got in touch back then, you handed someone a note to deliver. Monday morning he asked me whether or not I could speak Danish, I could say yes or no and I was hired. Tom’s chocolate factory it was, it still is. And now get on with the fishing you dog of an Arab! See what your dad caught!