Gececondu of Kreuzberg in Berlin, Germany

The Turkish term Gececondu literally translates to "placed overnight." It refers to informal settlements, shantytowns, or slums that emerge without official blessing—typically on the outskirts of major cities and often constructed from waste and makeshift materials. One might expect this in the Middle East, Africa, South America, or developing nations, but is such a thing possible in organized, straight-laced Germany—specifically in Berlin?

It is. However, the unique feature of the Berlin Gececondu is that it owes its existence to the division of the city and the Berlin Wall.

In 1963, Osman Kalin was part of the first wave of so-called "guest workers" who came to Germany following the German-Turkish recruitment agreement. In 1980, he moved to Berlin with his wife and six children, first to Spandau and later to Kreuzberg. Located directly against the Wall was a 350-square-meter triangular wasteland; the plot technically belonged to East Berlin but was located on the West Berlin side of the border.

Starting in 1983, having retired by then, he began clearing the site of rubbish to cultivate vegetables. In the shadow of the Wall, he built a hut out of wardrobe doors, bed frames, and hand-mixed concrete. Initially, East German border guards watched him with deep suspicion, fearing the construction of an escape tunnel. When two VoPo's, policemen from the GDR came to stop him, he was stubbornly pretending not to understand their language and that the land was his property for a long time.

After the fall of the Wall, the Gececondu—or "guerrilla garden," as it is also known—managed to survive for several reasons. On one hand, political leaders appreciated the cultural and folkloric anomaly as a tourist attraction and a symbol of a multicultural, open Berlin; on the other hand, a cash-strapped Berlin lacked the funds to fully restore the Engelbecken (a former canal basin) that once occupied the site.

Thus, Osman was able to grow kale, tomatoes, cherries, and cabbage here until his death in 2018. Today, his son Mehmet and another Turkish family tend to the plot. In writings about the family, one perceives a certain "Anatolian craftiness" and an Eastern interpretation of rules: sympathetic politicians are met with warmth, while inquisitive journalists are often charged a €50 "expense fee" for interviews. Mehmet plans to turn the place into a museum in honor of his father. He charges tourists E5 for visits and has even put up a fake street sign: Osman Kalin Plath 0,1.

The future of the Gececondu is unclear, yet it remains a Berlin curiosity and holds a permanent place in the city's Turkish diaspora.