Braune My Sun and Shield

A German-African Love Story
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-64268-986-0
Verlag: novum publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 322 Seiten

Have we really come to terms with our colonial history? The author takes us on a deeply personal journey into our collective past - slavery, colonialism, the Holocaust and also the new beginning are linked. We still bear the scars of the human failings of that time. 'People have forgotten God; that is why all this has happened.' It is about the deeper meaning and about reconciliation in the ups and downs of human events...

Autoren/Hrsg.

Braune, Eberhard

Leseproben

First Christmas in Southwest "Turn your face towards the sun, and you leave the shadow behind you." African proverb 1951 - a fateful year for us - escape from East Germany, months of waiting in West Germany, finally the boat trip to Africa, and now the first Christmas in South West. Southwest, that is South West Africa. We, that's my mother Tilla, my father Wolfgang, my older sister Runhild, my younger brother Helmut and me, Eberhard, who turned ten in April. I was born in Schwerin/Mecklenburg. I became a Südwester in my first year on the farm. You have to know the Südwesterlied, written by Heinz Anton Klein-Werner in 1937, to understand that. It says: "Our country is as hard as camel thorn wood And its rivers are dry. The rocks are scorched by the sun And the animals shy in the bush. And should you be asked, What is holding you here, yes, holding you, We could only say we love Southwest." How I love the sun and the light, the camel thorn tree, an umbrella acacia and landmark of the country, the "Riviere", the rivers that became my work, a lifetime as a hydrologist. And the bush and its bird and animal life, there is nothing more beautiful. The first farm was Ibenstein at the Schafrevier, about a 2-hour drive from Windhoek and my boarding school. When I was able to go to the farm for a long weekend for the first time after three months at school and the dormitory, the joy was just too much. I was on the back of the truck and kept banging on the roof of the car, whereupon the driver couldn't help but stop and check that everything was OK. Every moment was an experience. I learned to ride a donkey in the wide, sandy river together with the "pikanins", the little black boys on the farm. And of course I quickly learned Otjiherero, the colloquial language. "Omonenne" means big and "katiti" is small. My father's predecessor as farm manager was called Katiti Müller everywhere because there were so many Müllers. Farm Ibenstein had only been a temporary stopover with friends, until stepfather Wolfgang was able to find his own farm manager position. This became the Okakombo farm, an hour's drive from the small town of Omaruru, but 400 km from Windhoek and the school hostel. We farmed with Karakul sheep and cattle. It was exciting when the sheep came out of the pasture in the evening and ran to the water trough. The sheep are counted every day when they try to get through a small gate, all at once, into the kraal, which is the name of the cattle enclosure around the watering trough. Counting is not easy at all, and the advice for beginners was always: "Just count the legs and divide by four." The highlight, however, was the branding of the young cattle. In the kraal, they are caught one by one by the hind leg with a leather strap, thrown over and held down by three men, while a fourth man applies the sign of the farm to the hind leg with a branding iron. You have to imagine the scene - dust, bleating and men shouting. The Hereros are simply experts when it comes to handling cattle. I remember the long Theodor, who outdid everyone when it came to branding. Jeremias was the sheep specialist, important for the regular slaughter of the lambs. The skins have to be stripped off and stretched on a frame to dry, to be sewn together one day to make a smart karakul pelt or coat. The furs are auctioned off, where experts assess the quality of the curls and determine the price. On the Okakombo farm Okakombo is 5000 hectares in size, with 1 hectare being 100x100 meters. The farm is divided into various fenced-in "kamps", each with its own water point. This is needed to move the cattle regularly between the kamps in order to preserve the pasture. You can get to the kamps on narrow sandy paths by truck or on horseback. A passenger is always needed to open and close the many farm gates - not easy at first, as each gate has its own wire patent. The drive is an adventure every time, because you never know what will suddenly appear out of the dense bush - a couple of meerkats (small mongoose) sitting upright on the edge of the pad, two porcupines on the move or a huge kudu bull that disappears into the bush in one leap. The only way to get to school from here was by train, first by narrow-gauge train to Karibib and then by mainline train to Windhoek. There's a photo of me from the train window at Omaruru station that could mean: "Grit your teeth or the tears will come." It was never easy to go back to the school hostel, but Runhild and I were able to go home to the farm twice a year during the big vacations. My mother wrote us something about the first Christmas in the Southwest, 1951. "In mid-December, all five of us were together on Okakombo for the first time! The joy that filled us all is impossible for me to describe. The children had had six weeks of school vacation and were now to find a new home on Okakombo after all the horrors, fears and worries that escape from East Germany and homelessness had brought. This was not difficult, as there was something new to experience every day: the magnificent landscape with the Herero mountain of the gods, Okonjenje, in the distance, the indigenous people and their expressive language, the work on the farm, the cattle in the kraals and the game in the bush. First of all, a lot of preparations had to be made to accommodate everyone in the 'house'. Wolfgang had already laid a water pipe from the wind engine to the house, prepared a niche in the house for the bathtub, which had stood in the largest bathroom in the world, namely in God's great outdoors, had the corrugated iron roof of the house covered with more large stones and supported the large veranda with pillars." The first Christmas shopping in Omaruru, 60 km away by sandy road, was for the farm workers. Each man was given a shirt and trousers and each woman 8-12 meters of blue print fabric for a dress. This was used to make the well-known Herero traditional dress, the long Victorian dress with the many petticoats and the high headdress. The farm was able to supply milk, butter and eggs for the Christmas baking, and the cookies were a great success. I had been desperately looking for red apples for the colorful gift plates for weeks. The summer Christmas had made a bit of a mess of everything. But two days before Christmas, red apples suddenly appeared. Fortunately, I didn't know then that they did not taste special at all. December 24th dawned. The heat was almost unbearable, even by the standards of the season. Around midday, Wolfgang handed out a double weekly ration of food to everyone who worked on the farm or in the house: Coffee, tea, sugar, cornmeal - their staple food - kerosene and matches. Milk for "omeire" (soured milk) was given to them in the morning, right after Anna had milked. But the meat for the feast still had to be distributed. Jeremias, the foreman, had suggested to the new "Baas" (farm master) that the "crazy" cow should be slaughtered, and so it was. To make the handover of the "presente" (gifts) a little more festive, wooden crates were covered with white sheets and green branches from the field. The presents were then decorated with cakes and "Lekkers" (sweets). Now we had to dress up festively before our natives arrived. Only now could we take the candles out of the cooler, otherwise they would have melted long ago. Soon there was a long procession from their huts to the farmhouse. Wendoline led the way, no, she was striding, like all Herero women. They were all neatly dressed, and Anna, the old milker, had fastened her dress, from which one breast usually peeked out, with large safety pins. We were a bit anxious, but Wolfgang had instructed us how the ceremony would take place. While all the men and women lined up in a semi-circle in front of the veranda, I lit the candles. And now they began to sing. O You Joyful, O Christmas Tree and Silent Night. We were very moved to hear German Christmas carols in a foreign language, Herero, here in the middle of the bush. Wolfgang gave his speech in German and Jeremias translated. After a glass of wine for everyone, Wolfgang handed out the "presente" and the spell was finally broken with lots of thank you - "dankie Baas", "dankie Mister" and "dankie Missies". We were now allowed to laugh and talk and wish everyone a "Merry Christmas". After dinner, we still wanted to celebrate Christmas with the family. When the time came, I put the candles in the holders and Wolfgang lit them. A little bell had been found somewhere, so the children could be called, just like they were used to at home. Eberhard told the Christmas story and Runhild recited a poem. Singing our old, beautiful Christmas carols didn't go badly at all, without a gramophone or musical instruments. Then it was finally time to look at and unwrap the presents. The two older children had hand-crafted them for us. Bright eyes, smiling faces, Christmas joy! We unwrapped the two parcels from my parents in Schwerin and Wolfgang's sister Gudrun in Munich together by the soft light of the kerosene lamp. A Meissen coffee pot emerged from Gudrun's parcel. From the porcelain manufactory Meissen! Here at the end of the world! There it stood, in the middle of the meager Müller furniture, not feeling well at all. But it brought us a greeting from a world that had become very distant, and I felt as if it was giving me a special message - you will create an atmosphere for yourselves and your children that is fitting for the lifestyle you knew. In my parents' package were several tins of gingerbread from Haeberlein in Nuremberg. My horror was greater than my joy. How much jewelry did my mother have to exchange for West currency, to place this order with Haeberlein? Oh no, Mum, I thought, you shouldn't have done that!...