Monika Röschli

Basel, Switzerland, has been my home for all of my 64 years. I went to school here, built a career at a local bank, and recently retired. My husband and I were looking forward to a quiet, orderly life. However, two months ago, a home for asylum seekers was completed on our street. It was initially intended for refugees from Ukraine but now houses mainly Afghans. The thought of Muslims in our neighborhood kept me awake at night. News stories and the predominantly conservative environment around me fed me many clichés, deepening my fear.

Last week, an incident changed everything. I was running errands and needed to cross the road. Lost in thought and hindered by my poor eyesight, I didn’t notice a bus approaching from the left. Suddenly, a middle-aged man pulled me off the road, saving me from being run over. I turned to thank him and realized he was an Afghan refugee who spoke little of our language. Still in shock, I expressed my gratitude, and he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

The next day, I went to the refugee center, hoping to find him. When I spotted him, I handed him a basket of Swiss delicacies. He was delighted, and despite his limited German, we managed to converse. It was a moving experience, and I decided to invite him to dinner with us tonight. I feel a bit excited about it. My husband, initially hesitant, is now looking forward to it as well.

It's remarkable how this event has dissolved my fear. Basel is a wealthy city, and our neighborhood is usually problem-free. Perhaps that's why we're afraid of losing what we have. But opening up to others can have the opposite effect. Meeting this man reminded me of the kindness and bravery that exist beyond our prejudices.

I am glad to have been taught better, realizing that the clichés I was fed were baseless. Tonight’s dinner feels like the beginning of a new chapter, one where fear gives way to understanding and connection. I'm eager to see what other surprises this new friendship might bring.