I’m sitting at Bergsjön’s centre. Rymdtorget. One of the Gothenburg suburbs, finished in 1970 to house the workers of the expanding industries in the area.
Bergsjön. Do you come to think of shootings? I didn’t think about that while I was there, but when I got home I thought, wasn’t it in June that three men were injured in a shooting here. In the courtyard close to where I spent my day. Here, people live in a reality I’m not acquainted with.
It’s cold outside. Six degrees below zero Centigrades and it’s white of snow and ice. The sun shines from a clear blue, ice-cold sky. There are few people here. No rush, but one by one and in small groups some people pass the cafe where I sit. It seems to me that people speak in low voices here. Four guys in their mid 20s. Two warmly wrapped-up men of retirement age. A woman around her 60s with bleached hair.
We drove here quite early. It was half past ten when we arrived at Rymdtorget. We have never been to Bergsjön before. It was a bit difficult finding it. It did not feel like we were close to a city. More like we were going out into the countryside.
16000 people live here.
I wonder if there are any meeting places here? I have planned to spend most of the day in the library, but they do not open yet. Not until eleven o’clock. Arletta has a meeting. She would meet someone at a place called Pop up Office.
The air feels really bitter cold as I walk the short passageway to the library.
There is no rush here either. People passing by and people coming in walk slowly. A well-dressed man in a cap and glasses is choosing among the newspapers in the reading room. A lady in stylish clothes and a leopard-patterned shawl is reading a book, at the same time taking notes on her computer. A woman with a stroller is leaving.
A 30-year-old woman studies her memory bill. A small group of young men are sitting down at the computers and a woman with an electric wheel-chair parks outside. When she comes in, she talks with some of the people in the newspaper room.
That’s the mood here. I hear subdued voices. They come from an alcove with a sign saying ”Citizens’ Office”. An older man speaks Russian with one in the staff. The lady with the book and the computer takes off her shoes, spreads a jacket on the floor, sits on her knees and bends forward with her forehead to the ground. Sits up to read again. The woman with the electric wheel-chair drove off a while ago. Now she comes back. It strikes me she is the only visitor who walks in with a brisk step.
Two women speak Finnish. I hear two men talking about President Mugabe. They say that, of course, he has to leave. I hear Swedish and further away, I hear what sounds like an African language.
Bergsjön, Monday morning in November. Soon lunch time. The sun is warming a little now. Time to find out where to eat somewhere near.
I find a small place in the square center where I get a good meat casserole with a burek and coffee for SEK 93.
Burek is a pirog with spinach and feta cheese. It’s shaped like a cinnamon bun. I feel good. The three young women who work here are efficient and pleasant.
There’s more people here in the center now. Now, most people walk fast and you can see they are on their way somewhere. It is also now that, for the first time, I hear loud voices. Two guards, one male and one female pass by. While I’m drinking my coffee after dinner, I get a text message. It’s Arletta. ”We’re done now. I’m going up to the library”.
We stroll around the library for a while talking about plans we have. Arletta shows me a book title that she thinks is fun. As we walk out, it is cold in the shade of the tall houses. Outside the square at the parking lot, the sun still warms a bit. We drive out of Bergsjön and come down to Gothenburg city center through Gamlestaden. That was not where I meant to go. But in the jam of traffic routes we still get onto route 45. We find our familiar tracks.