The Hungry and the Fat Read online

  The instruction is relayed. The lighter-skinned Boateng comes back. The camera moves downwards.

  “There we go!” Sensenbrink says, satisfied. “Finally, someone with decent pair of shoes.”

  Hope for Africa

  This is a first: Nadeche Hackenbusch and EVANGELINE are giving refugee women a future. And never has the “Angel in Adversity” looked more beautiful than today

  By Astrid von Roëll

  It’s like a fairy tale from the 1,001 Nights. The little girl, rejected and scorned, who’s forced to sell sulphur matches all day long, who’s unfairly treated at home, kept hidden by her stepmother and never allowed to meet the prince. But this girl is living a dream. She will become the best match-seller of all time to help other girls. And she is in Africa, the Dark Continent, between poverty and hope, between war and nature reserve. Nadeche Hackenbusch has allowed her very personal dream to come true. The dream of a strong woman who has set out to change this world of ours for the better. The dream of a woman who nobody believed capable of anything.

  “I come from a humble background,” she says in her exclusive interview with EVANGELINE, “and I know what these people here are going through.” She’s wearing a plain white blouse with her distressed Hallhuber jeans. “Nothing special,” she smiles modestly. “It just needs to be practical. I’m also wearing sturdy shoes because of the scorpions and snakes. But here it’s not about fashion, it’s about people.” Nadeche Hackenbusch has now been in Africa for twenty-four hours and just by looking at this woman one can see how much she has already been affected. Her emotions are ensnared, in flux, as if in a large vortex. Stirred up. Peering out of the window of the small hut we have retired to, she tells me, “I mean, I’m a woman too.”

  But what an admirable woman. A woman looking straight ahead like a captain, right at the front at the wheel of the great locomotive of life. But of course it’s about fashion too.

  Together with EVANGELINE, Nadeche Hackenbusch is going to give young refugee women back their self-esteem. There are well over half a million women here, many of them young mothers, some still children of mothers. They are alone in a hostile environment. “This is a world none of us know anymore,” Nadeche Hackenbusch tells us. “A world of civil war and Boko Haram. And yet people live in this world too. I want to remind these women that they’re still enchanting creatures, they can still be beautiful.”

  “Here it’s not about fashion, it’s about people”

  She will choose thirty of these young woman to showcase German fashion alongside her. To make a statement against violence, misfortune and poverty. Young fashion for a new world, bolstering courage for a new future that is building a bridge towards us, in distant Germany. Courageous fashion for courageous women, from Hallhuber to the top designer Doris zu Wagenbach, who told EVANGELINE in Munich, “The suffering of these women moves me profoundly.”

  On the hunt for her “mannequins”, Nadeche Hackenbusch roams the entire vast, endless camp. And she witnesses scenes for which words will never prove adequate. When flies settle on a hungry child she doesn’t hesitate to swat these pests away with her own hand. With tears in her eyes she tells me, “Yes, these children need food. They need a home. But when they have these, what then? People are more than just food and a roof over their heads. People need their dignity too. Our world has stripped these people of their dignity and in some way I’m giving them a little of it back. That’s the least any of us can do.”

  In spite of her ample heart, however, the “Angel in Adversity” knows that choosing her models is both tough and challenging. “I’d love to be able to take them all,” she says amidst the forest of outstretched hands. “But I’m afraid that’s just not possible. And it wouldn’t be good for these women either. They don’t just want to be taken, these women are proud and don’t want my pity. They want to show that they’re good and are capable of achieving things.” Something confirmed by her latest discovery, beautiful Ashanti, 17: “I want to achieve something so I can live in Europe,” she says.

  “That’s so brave,” Nadeche Hackenbusch tells her, visibly impressed. “These women are such great role models and refuse to give up, even though unfortunately Europe can’t take anyone in at the moment.” And yet Nadeche Hackenbusch cannot just wave goodbye to those candidates who don’t make it through the tough selection process. Many women, she has realised, lack the essentials here.

  “It’s not just make-up, soap, shampoo – such everyday items for us in one of the richest countries on this earth. Lots of women here don’t even have a bra, and though I can’t help in every way, at least in this respect I can.” She has brought along more than 2,000 of her exclusive HackenPush-ups, which she gives away without great fuss. “It’s not much,” Nadeche Hackenbusch says, her feet firmly on the ground. “A bra might not be able to solve all the world’s problems. But it’s a small step, just like those waving lucky cats back home, powered by solar energy. A small step, but one that still needs to be taken by someone. I’d never want a lucky cat that runs on petrol.”

  It’s another Nadeche Hackenbusch we are getting to see here. Motherhood has already turned her into a more thoughtful woman, with both feet firmly planted in real life. She laughs just as much as before, but her eyes are alert and take in the world in all its beauty. Her experiences here have matured her further, supplementing her sensuality with a sensitivity she never had before. Is there a new love behind all this?

  “And yet people live in this world too”

  It shouldn’t come as a surprise. For Nadeche Hackenbusch would not be the first woman to be enchanted by this mysterious continent. Africa – the very name has a thousand meanings which not even our smartest boffins will ever be able to explain. Ancient legends, stirring lives, tales of love and death and the most irresistible emotions from the darkest depths of human history. That is why this country is also known as the Dark Continent! In Africa, Meryl Streep found her Robert Redford, here the ravishing Juliette Binoche fell victim to the charms of the Hungarian Count Almásy, Sigourney Weaver sacrificed her life in the mist-shrouded rainforest for the poorest and most endangered apes in the world. And now – is it the turn of Nadeche Hackenbusch?

  Who knows what the future holds? Some times it feels as if she’s laughing differently here than at home, despite the bitter poverty, the horrific stories, all the snakes and scorpions. Not more loudly nor more often, but more joyfully. Can this be true? And who would deserve it more than this admirable woman?

  “People are more than just food and a roof over their heads”

  Dusk gradually creeps up on the camp, which shines in the glow of its fires in the simple beauty of poverty. Night is overtaken by the sounds of Africa; from somewhere in the distance comes the roar of a predator. Is it a tiger? Perhaps hunting a young elephant? Africa is merciless, but hope shines through and here love warms the hearts of both rich and poor in equal measure.

  8

  There’s so much to learn from Nadeche Hackenbusch. Especially as a woman. This is of course what continually amazes Astrid von Roëll. The self-assurance, the unconditional commitment. Of course, she shouldn’t forget that Nadeche Hackenbusch is ten years younger than her. Officially at least, although in fact – but she would never write this – the difference would be twelve years if she hadn’t slightly adjusted her own age to reflect reality too. In fact if you were a pedant and checked the birth certificates (irrelevant – they’re only pieces of paper) you’d end up with a difference of six years, or maybe eight. And yet, when she sees the confidence and assurance with which Nadeche Hackenbusch goes about her business, Astrid invariably gets the impression that she’s the younger of the two.

  Take, for example, the audacity with which Nadeche spent the first two days in her tent. Doing nothing at all. This is no small achievement, when you consider that a television company has transported tonnes of equipment across thousands of kilometres, as well as camera people, staff and Astrid herself – from Germany’s leading celebr
ity magazine – and all this effort just for Nadeche Hackenbusch. Sure, as an Evangeline reporter she’s aware that a certain degree of preferential treatment for stars, management or the press isn’t just normal, but sensible, justified and appropriate. But – to put it bluntly – paralysing the entire operation for two whole days? She would never have dared to do that.

  And of course Astrid von Roëll was angry too. Not only because she was obliged to concoct the first story in its entirety, including the refugee model Ashanti, 17. But also because on the first day she had to look for models on her own. Without consulting Nadeche, because the editorial team back home had already scheduled the model piece. And then she had to sit in Nadeche’s posh tent with seventy or eighty photographs, which was hard enough in itself since Nadeche was permanently on the phone. To begin with she cast an indifferent eye over the pile of photos and then simply chucked them aside, as if they were junk mail.

  “Listen sweetie, no, that’s like, impossible. Please cancel that at once. I can’t decide that now. And I won’t decide it now. It doesn’t matter, have them send photos of everything . . . No! . . . They’re just to give an initial impression, but I still won’t be able to make a decision . . . I’m not going to make that sort of decision from photos! . . . They should make sketches and I want a photo of every sketch beforehand. And afterwards too . . . Yes, of course, of course you can have an opinion from a sketch, they can incorporate all my suggestions and then we can take another look. They’re no different from the others: they give you one of their two favourite ideas and you’re supposed to like, leap at one of them. Well, that’s not how it works with me! I want to see all their ideas! . . . Yes, even the ones that aren’t finished, and the ones they’ve already thrown away. Don’t let them screw you over, there must be some they’ve scrunched up. Or ripped up and stuck back together with sticky tape! That’s how you know they’ve really been in the bin. You call me the moment you’ve told them this, and you tell me what they say. Then we’ll see. Loveyouloveyouloveyou!!”

  Nadeche Hackenbusch ostentatiously taps the screen of her phone. Call ended. She drops the mobile onto the table. “Men,” she says, smiling. “Basically they’re the only children Germany’s got enough of. Shame there are no nursery places for them.”

  She slumps back in her vast corner sofa. Astrid von Roëll catches the look in her eye, which says that Nadeche Hackenbusch’s day-to-day life is utterly gruelling, but also that she’s happy it’s just the two of them here alone, like sisters who haven’t seen each other in months. Astrid’s anger is blown away in an instant. She can see how exhausted Nadeche is. She picks up the discarded pile of photographs and sits at the other end of the sofa. Rolf Benz – as the programme’s credits read: “‘Angel in Adversity’, powered by Rolf Benz.” With an aniline leather cover, Astrid notes, as Nadeche pours herself water from a large jug with pebbles in it.

  “No, I’m not pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “You’ve seen the jug and you’re thinking: there’s a heliotrope in the water – is Nadeche pregnant again? But heliotrope isn’t just for pregnant women, it gives everyone energy. They should put heliotrope in like, all the water here. Let me tell you, it’s one of the first things I’m going to do in this camp. I’m going to see what sort of stones they’ve got in their water.”

  Astrid is momentarily distracted. The stone thing in the water is new, at least as far as Nadeche Hackenbusch is concerned. But she’s aware of the principle, she’s often thought about trying it out herself and some of the editorial team already have. So many famous people have died of cancer recently, it sort of makes you think.

  “I was just thinking about the sofa. Aniline shows up everything.”

  “Sure, but aniline needs that.”

  “Aniline needs stains?”

  “Sweetie, an animal doesn’t have any stains. An animal’s got a skin that’s marked by its life. Everything that happens to this skin is life. And the animal still has a share in this life. The cow is here with us.”

  “Kind of.”

  “No, it really is. And that’s why it doesn’t matter if you spill water here, or wine. They’re not stains, they’re life.”

  Astrid longs to have her own tent kitted out like this. She doesn’t have air conditioning either, just a fan with a dodgy connection.

  Nadeche breathes in deeply, as if about to take a major dive. Then she says, “O.K., let’s have a squint at what we’ve got here.” She picks up the pile of photographs and casually goes through them. “No . . . no . . . no,” she says, and with every “no” a polaroid glides onto the Rolf Benz table. “Oh no, that’s really not good.” Nadeche works her way through half the pictures and says, “I can already see we’re going to have to start from scratch.”

  The anger which had just abated surges inside Astrid anew, now creeping up her chest and into her throat, where it lodges. Were she in the editorial offices she’d make a scene that others would watch through the glass partitions like groundhogs, but she can’t do that here. Here where Nadeche, her friend, is treating her like the lowliest intern, and where she has no option but to appeal to this friendship.

  “Come on, Nadeche,” she says, pointing to the remainder of the pile, “you can’t just say that. None of us can see into the future.” Then, assuming a jocular expression, she squeezes out “not even you”.

  “Look, I don’t need to be able to see into the future. You can do better than this.” She takes a sip of water and asks sweetly, “So, when are you going to be promoted to management? They can’t like, make you wait for ever.”

  It’s lovely to have Nadeche on her side, of course. But somehow it doesn’t feel like it.

  “Oh well, you know,” she says, distractedly, “either they’ve got to wait for a woman to leave or they have to appoint an extra man to balance it out. And they don’t have one.”

  “What about Lou Grant?” Nadeche says, looking by turns so serious and amused that Astrid can’t help giggling, because both of them know that Lou Grant really is a total waste of space. And yet Astrid’s eyes keep wandering to the pile of photographs that Nadeche hasn’t looked through yet, which she spent an entire day working on, without the help of an assistant. She had to approach people herself, complete strangers who couldn’t speak her language, she had to use hand gestures to ask their permission and to try to explain to all of them what it was about, and she even drew a highly complex map, because if you want to find these people and their tents again you have to sketch roughly where they are. Thinking back on her day, it was a shedload of work, and the whole thing on foot. Never in all her years at Evangeline has she done as much by herself. And even if Nadeche isn’t aware of this, she can’t just chuck the pile of snaps in the bin.

  “At least have a look at the others,” she says.

  If you were being generous you’d call it a request. But in truth it’s like a defeated lion rolling over beside the victor, or bringing it an antelope leg or something. Nadeche looks at her tenderly and says, “Honestly, Astrid, I don’t need to look at them. I can tell they’re going to be useless.”

  That is like a kick in the shins, which hurts more than a gentle kick ought to, and it takes Astrid a few seconds to work out why. Because she wasn’t expecting it, not from a woman. From a man, maybe, but not from a woman. At the very least she expected Nadeche to look at the pictures, even just out of politeness. Solidarity.

  “Yes, but . . . you never said what you wanted!”

  And now she’s sitting here, having to justify herself. This isn’t teamwork or partnership or anything.

  “Come on, let’s not like, get into a tizz about this, it’s no use crying over spilled milk. Good things take time, after all.”

  “Nadeche, that’s not possible. The editorial team are waiting for the photographs! Do you want them to print blank pages?”

  “There’s no such thing as impossible! And I’ve never seen Evangeline with blank pages, they’ll think of something. You know
what? Let’s just do a different story: Nadeche Hackenbusch’s recipe for success. I’ll dictate it right now and you scribble it down.”

  Astrid von Roëll thinks she might vomit. She knows exactly what they’ll say in the editorial office. They’ll be fuming. Then they’ll see if they’ve got anything better. Then they’ll conclude that at least they’ve still got Nadeche Hackenbusch in their mag – and an exclusive interview at that – and they’ll print it. And none of this would be quite so bad if the readers knew what really went on, for instance if she wrote that Nadeche Hackenbusch’s recipe for success is to dawdle and string everyone along until they’re so far at their wits’ end that they’ll broadcast and print everything Madame Hackenbusch is kind enough to toss at them; that they’ll bite every bullet, including the first-class tickets with which the angel flies to adversity; and that Nadeche Hackenbusch is a cunning, egotistical bitch whose behaviour is not one iota better than a man’s.

  And just how much Astrid von Roëll admires her for this.

  Because Nadeche Hackenbusch goes that one step further, and that step is not one she herself is prepared to take.

  She writes none of this, of course. But rather that Nadeche Hackenbusch has her excellent genes to thank for her looks. And that there’s a heliotrope in her drinking water. Along with a rose quartz, a rock crystal and an amethyst.

  9

  Marion watches Nadeche critically examine her own reflection. Marion examines it too, just as critically. The face is still pretty good, she thinks. You can say what you like about Nadeche Hackenbusch, but she takes good care of herself. She gets plenty of sleep, she doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, there are no sins that need covering up. And she doesn’t have much done, unlike Vladimir Putin, who now looks like his own latex mask. She’d love to know who’s giving him advice.