An Internship in Hamburg, Eight Years Later: 'More German Than Many Germans'

Turkish software developer Mert Bulan came to Hamburg in 2017 for a three-month summer internship. Eight years later, this week, he collected his German naturalisation certificate — and wrote down how a country he knew only from stereotypes turned into home.

From internship to contract

Bulan was in his third year of computer science when he applied for an Erasmus scholarship and, at the same time, for internships in Europe. He had never been outside Turkey. His German flatmate showed him the room over Skype, picked him up at the airport and, after three months of evening chats, told him to drop the keys in the mailbox when he left for a week. "That much trust after such a short time really surprised me," he writes.

At work the team gave him responsibilities other summer interns did not get and included him in every offsite. His lead offered him a job right away: first as a freelancer from Turkey while he finished his studies, then a full contract in April 2018. By the end of June he had moved to Hamburg, into the same flat, where candies and balloons waited on his desk.

The country he actually met

What struck him most was how flat and how trusting ordinary life is. Managers at the 2,000-person internet company fetched their own coffee; the CFO rode an old bicycle to the office. Organisers of team events checked everyone's dietary needs, including halal and alcohol-free. Colleagues came with him to flat viewings and helped him move. Nobody checks tickets on buses. In the Italian restaurant across from the office, construction workers and people in suits ate the same pizza at neighbouring tables, and nobody found it worth noticing.

When he stood for the works council, he won the most votes of any candidate, even though only about a quarter of the company were immigrants. He notes figures such as Cem Özdemir, whose parents came from Turkey and who has led Baden-Württemberg since May, as a sign that the ceiling is not as low as its reputation.

Rules, and becoming German

Bulan admits he "landed softly": a large international company, a city like Hamburg, an English-speaking team. He also admits he likes German rules — the Ruhezeit quiet hours from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., quiet Sundays, standing at a red light with no cars in sight. His one clash with them came when a residence-permit application was rejected because he was between jobs: "sustainable livelihood" means a permanent contract past probation, not savings. He understood the logic later.

Easier citizenship rules and a shorter waiting period prompted him to apply; the process took around 14 months and the appointment 15 minutes. He is explicit that this is his own experience and that Germany looks different to many others. In eight years he has not faced a single case of racism, and he says he will keep complaining about everything that should be better — "because that is what real Germans do."