The event hall is filled to capacity, with people eager to hear Abenaa Adomako share her family history at a talk held as part of the Berlin exhibition “In the Footsteps of the Diek Family. Stories of Black People in Tempelhof-Schöneberg.”
Her ancestors, the Diek family, have been living in Germany for over 130 years. Why do they still have to fight for recognition to this day?
Adomako’s family history is a reminder of how Black Germans were already fighting for their rights during the colonialist era in the 19th century, were persecuted by the Nazis and then made invisible in post-war Germany, but then began developing a new self-confidence in today’s Berlin.
Digging into Black history is a way to fill a void and create connections, says Abenaa Adomako. Together with her brother Roy and in close cooperation with the curatorial team of the Schöneberg Museum, she has created a personal family exhibition.
“My grandmother cooked us Königsberger Klopsen and eggs in mustard sauce [two traditional German dishes],” she points out at the talk, illustrating unexpected cultural contrasts and how the migrant family adopted local practices.
1st generation: Migrants from German colonies
The family has been in Germany for five generations, beginning with a young man called Mandenga Diek, who came to the country from Cameroon in 1891 and completed an apprenticeship as a shoemaker.
Black people were considered “exotic” in colonial times; his teacher had him work in the shop window. Mandenga then resigned, but established his own business.
In Gdansk, he married for the second time, to an East Prussian woman called Emilie.
He opened a “colonial goods store” and even supplied the German imperial court. He was a respected and well-known man. His daughters Erika and Doris attended a private elite school.
Then, the Nazis seized power in 1933.
2nd generation: Afro-Germans under the Nazis
According to the Nazis’ racial doctrine, the girls were no longer allowed to pursue their studies. Neighbors started insulting the family; the children could no longer spend time with their friends.
The Nazis then confiscated their passports. The Dieks continued to live in Germany, but were officially stateless. “The daughters suffered a lot from that. My grandmother wanted to become a doctor, but that dream was shattered,” says Abenaa Adomako.
Mandenga Diek’s property was expropriated and he lost his flourishing business. The Dieks survived, but the father died prematurely of a heart attack.
The older daughter, Erika, worked as an accountant and was tolerated as long as she remained hidden in back rooms.
Her younger sister, Doris, faced a harder fate: She was abducted for a few weeks to work at the Gdansk shipyard docks. Later, she narrowly escaped forced sterilization due to a benevolent police officer.
Show business as a survival strategy
The spirited Erika fell in love with the actor Louis Brody. They got married, had a daughter and moved to Berlin.
Louis Brody, who also came from Cameroon, was one of the few Black actors to have an uninterrupted career in show business. He acted in around 60 films, but mostly as an extra; he had leading and speaking roles in only three works. Abenaa Adomako only knows her grandfather from his screen work.
The film world was a safe place for the Black actor; the entertainment industry offered one of the last income opportunities under the Nazis.
Women as anchors
But the roles assigned to Brody between 1933 and 1945 were mainly in colonial propaganda films, in which he had to portray “savages,” degraded to the racist image of the “primitive” African. If he refused, he would have been banned from his profession or imprisoned in a concentration camp.
Women served as the real backbone of the family, starting with Emilie Diek, the East Prussian who staunchly stood by her Cameroonian husband and proudly raised her daughters.
The girls survived the persecution of the Nazis and, after the war, they kept the entire family together with an unbroken spirit.
For Abenaa Adomako, her grandmother Erika was an important anchor: “She often had visitors and her apartment was very lively.”
3rd generation: A vacuum in post-war Germany
Erika and Louis had a girl, Beryl — Abenaa Adomako’s mother.
In the Weimar Republic (1919-1933), Erika had experienced a more diverse and tolerant society. But Beryl, on the other hand, grew up in a post-war vacuum without a community: “Black life had been categorically wiped out. People had been killed or emigrated. That’s why there was suddenly a painful gap,” explains Adomako.
Unlike Erika, Beryl was a rather reserved woman. She fit in by basically making herself invisible. She fell in love with a man from Ghana, and together they had their children, Abenaa and Roy: “My mother always made sure that we behaved as inconspicuously as possible,” the Berliner remembers of her childhood.
4th generation: Taking over the fight
It took decades of work to free themselves from this self-effacement.
But Abenaa is all the louder today. In her early 30s, she became a co-founder of the Initiative for Black People in Germany. “We have found a place where we can strengthen ourselves and demand recognition. Nobody can get past us anymore.”
The community had to write the history of Black Germans themselves, as it had never been adequately documented. Compared to the US or Great Britain, for example, this process is still in its infancy in Germany, says Abenaa Adomako, who works for a non-governmental organization.
Many African Americans, as descendants of slaves, can trace their family history in archives, and their stories are already well-established in the collective memory in the US, with Oscar-winning films such as Steven Spielberg’s “The Color Purple” or Steve McQueen’s “12 Years a Slave.” But that is not the case in Germany.
5th generation: Modern Afro-German life
In Spring 2023, two “Stolpersteine,” or stumbling blocks, were installed at the last place of residence of Erika Diek and Louis Brody (whose real name is Ludwig M’bebe Mpessa) in Berlin, ensuring a greater visibility.
There are some 100,000 Stolpersteine commemorating those who suffered Nazi persecution throughout Germany, but these two are among the first six ever to be laid for Black victims.
Having died in 1999, Abenaa Adomako’s grandmother Erika did not live to see the commemoration. But her mother Beryl is very touched, says Adomako. “She always cries a lot when I take her to our meetings,” she explains, adding that hearing Black people tell their stories was something she lacked throughout her life.
Adomako also gave birth to a daughter, Antonia Adomako, the fifth generation of the Afro-German family.
Meanwhile, her daughter is 24 years old and works as an artist in London. Her photographic works also deal with their family history.
While she was in school, a teacher placed Antonia in a “German as a foreign language” class, Adomako recalls. The decisive factor for the teacher’s decision was obviously the color of the child’s skin.
Abenaa Adomako started taking her daughter to Afro-diasporic meetings and events as a young child. She noticed how her daughter appears to be more relaxed about her identity than her own generation. “I’m more in combat mode, but her experience of diversity means that some discussions no longer arise,” says Abenaa Adomako confidently.
Unlike her grandmother Erika, who was born in Gdansk, died in Berlin and never visited her ancestral homeland, Abenaa regularly travels to Ghana, her father’s country of birth, to visit family.
This article was originally written in German.