One day while I sat in the kitchen eating a quiche made by my mother with sheep’s cheese, I saw our Greek neighbor jump from his bathroom window. He had read a book and gone crazy, the locals would whisper. I was 10 years old and had never seen anyone read a book.

Alexandra Pascalidou enjoys summer in Rinkeby with her niece Jordana. Photo: Private.

Cultural melting pot

In the square, by the fountain that never sprayed water, our village idiot used to stand. Sometimes he would climb up a tree and tease passersby. He would hang there, dangling like a monkey, and curse and sing in different languages. I was scared of him.

I grew up in Rinkeby, one of the poorest suburbs in Sweden; a place feared by many, loved by few. Fourteen thousand immigrants from all over the world, suitcases packed full with dreams of freedom and a brighter future, moved in when it still smelled of fresh paint in 1975. Greeks, Chileans, Spaniards, Hungarians, Yugoslavians, Assyrians, Turks, Somali, Iraqi, Azeri, Russians and Gambians — my doorway was a miniature UN. A medley of intonations lay like a blanket of sound over squares and entryways.

Royal attraction

These were strong souls who had uprooted and resumed their lives behind the heavy concrete façades; crazy men, single mothers, fallen heroes, goodhearted crooks and eternal optimists. It is as if these sharp contrasts with life stories were taken out of the world of literature. Maybe that’s why the Nobel prizewinners in literature were lured here every year. After the glamorous royal gala dinner it was time for a visit to the land of concrete.

Unbeknown to the kings, queens, presidents and other famous people who came to see us, their visits made us feel chosen after all. It may have simply been charity to them, but to us it was so much more. We could finally show who we were. When Madame Mitterrand visited I read poems in French; when Queen Silvia turned up pupils from Portugal and Brazil were allowed to speak their mother tongue; and when ministers came we raised our voices. We took the opportunity to shine when somebody listened or watched. Our own parents were far too busy surviving.

Poverty breeds creativity

Rinkeby is poor. Limited space, unemployment, drugs and crime, segregation and sickness are more than just sorry statistics. But Rinkeby is rich in everything you can’t measure in numbers. From the deepest darkness rises an uncompromising creativity and power. The Rinkeby festivals, which smelled of chorizo and souvlaki, had stages crowded with samba groups, hip hoppers and passionate poets. In every doorway, there lived a thirsty talent who tried to dress our reality up in words.

In those days children were offered free music lessons, dance, sports and theater after school. I signed up for everything. On Monday I would play the piano, on Tuesday the guitar, on Wednesday it was jazz ballet, on Thursday Greek folk dancing, and on Friday basketball. I also did gymnastics every week day. Not achieving fame through any of the above led me to become a TV presenter, journalist and author instead. Rinkeby was the common thread and my reference.

The multicultural Rinkeby festival attracts visitors of all ages. Photo: Laura Pouso.

First poetry slam in Sweden

The neighbor who had read the book didn’t survive his fall. But 10 years later I bumped into our village idiot, who was no longer hanging from trees by then. It was at a poetry slam competition in the community hall and I was a member on the jury. With a rhythm that forced itself straight into my body he recited his poem. I no longer remember what the words were about but I will always remember the pride that flashed in his eyes when our applause refused to die.

To belong to something “other” often gives a feeling of originality. Alienation can mean both falling and flying freely. Those of us who haven’t been given everything we’ve pointed at and haven’t been served high culture on a plate are forced onto new ground. We are forced to find humor in our misery and laughter in our pain. Young people are writing books, singing, dancing, painting and finding new cultural expression for their hopes and dreams. That’s why things are happening in Rinkeby, and all the other Rinkebys around the country.

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Alexandra Pascalidou is a journalist, TV presenter and author of four books. She made her debut with the critically acclaimed Bortom Mammas Gata (Beyond Mother’s Street) about growing up in Rinkeby. It was also a hit in her native country, Greece. For her latest book, Taxi, she interviewed taxi drivers the world over. Alexandra has worked as a TV presenter in Sweden and Greece, covering the 2004 Olympics and the Eurovision Song Contest for both countries. She is a columnist for the free daily newspaper Metro, among others, and will host a radio show, Ring P1, in spring 2008.

The author alone is responsible for the opinions expressed in this article.

Translation: Mikaela Hincks

Classification: A233EN