Jesus Christ in Helsinki

I sat on the city bus among the sombre-faced locals, looking blankly into the moving cityscape of leafless trees and boxy gray buildings. I was sombre too. Something I had already learned here was not to show any trace of emotion on my face, lest I stand out more than I already did. I had been told that people who smiled in public were generally regarded as insane. I was becoming a wrung-out version of myself.

Two Somali girls got on the bus. They sat opposite me and I could not help taking little peeks at them. Their flowing skirts and vivid head scarves filled the space, along with their chatter. Everything they felt danced on their faces. I allowed myself a hint of a smile. Something in me was restored. Everyone else continued to stare straight ahead.

I had responded earlier to an internet ad someone had placed offering a free tour of the city. Apparently this was something he did regularly, just to help people like me feel welcome. He was sick, he said, but agreed to meet me anyway on this typically freezing autumn day.

The sun was already almost gone when I got to the railway station at 4:00. I recognised him from his profile picture, all eyelashes and long dreadlocks flowing from a knit hat. We called out to each other and clasped hands with the kind of familiarity I was used to. He shoved a pile of tourist brochures into my hand.

“Wow, is this your job?” I asked.

“No, no,” he laughed.

He beckoned me to follow him. We walked through rush hour commuters and went up to a rooftop restaurant where the whole city could be seen. Helsinki never gets too crowded. There aren’t enough people here. It’s modern and commercial and even the historical architecture leaves you with the feeling that whatever it means to be Finnish must have arisen a relatively short time ago.

“How are you enjoying it so far?”

I thought about it.

“It’s hard for me, you know, the cold.”

“My friend, the real cold hasn’t even started yet!”

There was something else, though. Lack of smiles I had gotten used to in Japan. But here, when people caught sight of my face, they generally grimaced like they had just taken a bite of something really awful. But maybe I was taking things too personally and these were simply people trying their best to deal with weather that sucked most of the time.

My guide had left Ethiopia to come here a decade ago. He could surely give me some insight.

“Why do people here look so unhappy all the time?”

We were standing at a traffic light and he turned to face me.

“You and I, when we are happy, you can see it on our faces. But Finnish people, if they are happy, it is inside. You have to take time to get to know them.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I feel like foreigners aren’t welcome here.” We were walking towards the city’s majestic cathedral.

“Not true!” he replied, and pointed to his many Finnish friends as evidence.

I had evidence too. Like the rise in nationalism and xenophobic politics I had read about, the hate crimes, systematic discrimination, Islamophobia and exploitation of foreign workers. Many of the patterns that prevailed in Europe at the moment were also playing out here, one of the best places in the world to live, empirically.

But I was only interested in hearing about one person’s experiences now. As we walked to an old Eastern Orthodox church, I decided to listen.

“People want to protect their country. I would do the same for my country. They want me to go home but what can I do there? Here, at least, I can do something. You know, I get called a nigger so often. Now when someone calls me that, I say, ‘Yes I’m a nigger. How can I help you?’”

The last bit of light was fading from the blue sky behind the church spires. I was stunned.

“How can you stand it?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m a Christian.”

“Haven’t you ever fought back?”

He thought about it and told a story of a work party where a drunk colleague started cursing at him and calling him racist names. No one had helped and he was left alone to defend himself.

“What is a nigger?” he had asked the man in Finnish. “I am not a slave and I know my history. My country kept out invader after invader while Finland was being kicked around like a football between Sweden and Russia.”

Major burn, if you know anything about Finns.

“You see, he didn’t know. And that’s why I can deal with these things people say. They just don’t know.”

I thought about how bitter I already was after being here only weeks.

“I just don’t understand how you can stay so positive.”

“It’s like this, my sister. If I get full of hate, I won’t be happy. But if I return their hate with love, I am happy! I used to invite my neighbours over for Christmas for many years. No one ever came. No one ever acknowledged the invitation card. Finally, one year, two of my neighbours came. They ate and drank and then, at the end, one of them told me thank you with tears streaming down his face. And they asked if they could give me a hug. Do you understand?”

I understood. I looked at him and knew that I would never be able to be like him. Too often, those who are the objects of one kind of hate or another are called upon to be the bigger persons. I was tired of the effort required. I had too many other things to do. Here was this extraordinary man who was the embodiment of everything those who are wronged are asked to be. I knew then that this was something that would remain out of reach for most people.

By the time we got to the harbour, night had properly fallen and I improvised tripods to get some pictures of the boats. We went to the Old Market Hall to cruise for eats.

“Most tourists don’t know this, but you can get discounts on a lot of things if you come late.”

We stopped at some tasty looking pastries and he tried to get the seller’s attention and asked about the price.

She sneered. Said something brusquely and looked right through him. She looked like she was trying not vomit.

“No discount. Do you still want to buy it?”

I wanted to punch her in her hate-contorted face.

“No, let’s get out here,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.”

That people so clearly un-evolved have a basis to set themselves up as superior to men like Amman is one of the biggest injustices in the world. That his love and compassion continue to bloom in a barren landscape that has little love for him is one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen. Most of us will never be like him. I just wanted to report that people like him do walk among us. And maybe they keep us all from going over the edge.