A bridge at the Ostbahnhof on a weekday before Christmas. A group of homeless people have built their quarters here, with mattresses on the floor. Men and women are standing around, some are lying, when suddenly a fire engine with disco lights pulls up. Two guys with bright red ski suits, sunglasses and bobble hats get out. The bearded, bulbous men in red and white look familiar to the homeless.
“Are you Unioners?” Asks a man who would probably rather think of football fans than Santa Clauses. “We are Knicki and Toad!” Shouts one of the two happily, “We know each other from last year!” One of them obviously remembers, comes straight away with a wish. “What do you need, gloves?” Asks Knicki, making notes. “First there’s coffee!” Shouts Toad. He brings freshly pumped, steaming cups.
“We have music with us,” announces Knicki, while Toad rolls up the loudspeaker with lamps. When he turns it on, colored lights dance on the concrete bridge under which the homeless live. “I feel like Helene Fischer!” Says Manu, an older woman with a hat, on her mattress. She’s still thinking about which song she wants while the first party basses are thumping out of the box.
René, a young homeless man, joins us and rocks. “Now the party starts”, he calls, “brilliant!”
Up to 10,000 homeless people in Berlin
Party is probably not the word most people associate with homelessness in winter. Especially around the holidays, life on the street is often colder, sadder and lonelier than ever. According to estimates, there are up to 10,000 homeless and up to 50,000 homeless people in Berlin. Over Christmas and New Year’s Eve, eight establishments offer accommodation and two soup kitchens offer food.
There are also many private initiatives, such as the annual Christmas dinner by musician Frank Zander. But very few people think of partying with them – except for Knicki and Toad. DJ Kröte believes that homeless people are often insulted, spat at or worse on the street. “But then we two flitz beeps with a music box come by and ask what song wishes they have.” Because everyone really has a wish. The music leads to a conversation, the homeless opened up.
Not in the mood for private parties, prefer music for the homeless
They set off for the first time on New Year’s Eve in 2018, “when we weren’t up for a private party,” says DJ Kröte, who’s actually called Jörg Strombach, in a preliminary talk on the phone. “We wanted to bring positive energy to the streets,” explains the 50-year-old who works as a producer in the media sector. Comrade MC Knicki, bourgeois Jörg Zimmermann, 55 years, was a musician in various bands.
Berliner Zeitung / Markus Wächter
No sleep without a bag. MC Knicki alias Jörg Zimmermann (left) and DJ Kröte collect donations every winter and distribute them with their converted fire engine.
As a hobby, they like to dress up as the “worst DJs in the world”, put on in the Toast Hawaii Bar in Prenzlauer Berg, in front of the lockdowns, and play: “Träshdänce – the worst of the 70s, 80s, 90s and today.” Strombach mentions the alter egos “superhero costumes that we put on to make nonsense – and do good”. Now they collect donations every winter, which they then distribute – with music.
After street hero Frank Zander come Knicki and Toad
To do this, they converted a vintage fire brigade car into a party mobile – into a “volunteer party brigade”. In front of the bulky vehicle they meet at the Ostbahnhof at zero degrees, for the first trip of winter. “When our street hero Frank Zander is done, we start and go where it hurts,” says DJ Kröte in a ski suit. He looks overtired and over-the-top at the same time, just like MC Knicki next to him. Both talk non-stop.
They held a fundraising party over the weekend and hung online all night. 3000 euros were collected, “but only two sleeping bags, we need more”. As if to illustrate, the two spontaneously throw their sleeping bags to each other. A camera team films them. You’re making a contribution to a TV show. A little staging is always part of “Knicki und Kröte”.
“We are warm here, we are not in a good mood.”
Painted on the Bulli is #KeinSchlafohneSack, the motto of this year’s donation campaign. If you want, you can drop off your sleeping bags at the Hotel Michelberger on Warschauer Straße until December 31st. “We asked the Karuna social cooperative what the homeless need most,” says Strombach. The answer: sleeping bags and food vouchers. The DJs now distributed both.
The first stop on their seven-hour day and evening tour is the bridge under the train tracks. Those present are not even happiest about the two sleeping bags they get. “Fortunately, we are warm here,” says Manu on her mattress, what helps even more is “in a good mood”. There is often a lack of that. Except when Knicki and Toad come. “They are awesome!”
Berliner Zeitung / Markus Wächter
“Feel like Helene Fischer!” The homeless Manu thinks Knicki and Toad “hammer”. And would like a song from the Böhse Onkelz.
Then Manu comes up with a song to wish: “To good friends” by Böhse Onkelz. Knicki plays it without complaint from the cell phone with which he controls the box, although the band gives him stomach ache. The group here growls confidently with the text. “It happens, but we play almost everything,” says Knicki. The song desires of the homeless are quite diverse: Capital Bra (hip hop), Vanessa Mae (classical) and Knorkator (satire rock).
Toad reports that young homeless people also want hard techno, while Sinti and Roma prefer polka. “I’m still learning something musically,” says Knicki. But no matter what music: Both dance with you. Toad in particular turns up in front of an audience. “The worst dancer in the world,” says Knicki appreciatively. Like children, the bystanders are delighted with his golden sneakers, the soles of which are flashing.
“The question is whether it helps them if you bring them things”
Knicki and Toad are vaccinated and tested, always approachable, often without a mask, hugging people. Two women from Poland take a photo with them. One admires the shoes. “I’ll order it for her,” whispers Toad to Knicki. They now have a wish-list and often come back with gifts. Meanwhile, Knicki hands out cigarettes generously, although he does not smoke. “Always well received,” he says.
Only a disgruntled hooded man is not convinced. He is not a homeless person himself, he says, only visits friends here. And still says: “The question is whether it helps if you bring them things.” He nods at the mattresses. “That just makes her sluggish and tranquil,” he says, sipping his can of whiskey-cola. Many of them would have had accommodation twenty times, but ended up here again and again.
“I screwed it up.” – “We all screw up.”
But the rest are in a good mood. And wishes. Not only of a musical nature. René, who at the beginning had shouted “Party, genial!” And rocked along, now stands very shyly next to Toad. “I would know what I would like,” he says lost in thought, “that my wife lives again.” She died in the hospital four days ago. Water in the lungs. “Now she’s watching from above.”
She wasn’t actually his wife, but they were together for four and a half years, says René. “I’ll have to nibble on that.” Toad asks if he might have another wish. “Well, a residential accommodation would be nice,” says René, he was thrown out there six months ago. “I screwed it up,” he says, smiling bitterly. “We all mess up,” says Toad.
Berliner Zeitung / Markus Wächter
A wish for Christmas. The young homeless René would like to have his deceased wife back.
René then still has one wish. He would like to have a mobile Bluetooth box for listening to music. He likes hip-hop, he says, and used to be a break dancer. “You can become again,” says Knicki. René shakes his head. It won’t work anymore, his shoulder is broken. Knicki builds it up: “I was once without an apartment for two years and lived in the rehearsal room. I know how it is. “
At the end everyone sings: “We’re just not going home!”
Another reason why they both help. “You get what you give,” says Toad and smokes one of Knicki’s butts. “We give a lot, but we get more in return.” Even if it’s just applause for flashing shoes. Then Knicki and Toad have to continue to Alexanderplatz to give pleasure to the next group. Karuna has drawn them a map, the police let them through.
They’ll be back on New Year’s Eve, they promise. René, who rapped along with every song, is already happy. And wishes for one last song, this time not hip-hop: It’s “Nur nach heim” by Frank Zander. “He always plays that at the end of his Christmas dinner,” says René. Everyone here knows the text. And so they all sing under their bridge: “Only home, only home, only home … we’re not going!”
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