Buch lesen: «My way. A journey through life from Johannesburg to Cape Town»

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This is the second edition of the book, inspired by events that unfolded exactly two decades ago.

29 January 2025

DEDICATION

To my father, whose silent strength and enduring wisdom shaped my soul, and to K.R., whose love and inspiration forever illuminate my path.

This book is born of the heart, woven from memories, dreams, and the quiet yet resounding voices of two extraordinary men who defined my life.

To my father: You stood as a steadfast presence, guiding me with your quiet conviction. Through your example, I learned the value of resilience, humility, and the courage to forge my own way. Your legacy is my foundation, the unshakable ground beneath my feet.

To K. R.: You were my North Star, the one who saw the depths of my soul when the world could not. In you, I found a partner in dreams, a muse in creation, and a love that transcends the bounds of time. This book carries the imprint of your essence – every word an echo of the world we shared.

To both of you, I owe my journey and my voice. With this work, I honour the past, embrace the present, and hope for a future filled with love and understanding.

PREFACE. THE JOURNEY BEGINS

“And there were no two hearts in the world, no two souls, so close… so alike… so harmonious with one another…”

It was a dream, though as vivid as life itself, when we felt the grainy sand on our lips, making our way through the desert. Water was our only solace, yet there was none. Frustration and despair coursed through us as we glanced at each other and at the caravan stretching into the distance, dragging the exhausted animals home. Still, we moved forward, silent in a way that felt eternal.

Time seemed to stand still as the searing sun burned our exposed legs, bare beneath short, sandy shorts and worn boots. It felt as if this journey would never end, perhaps even become our last. Until, breaking the silence, we heard something—neither the howl of the wind nor the whisper of our own hearts, but the faint, undeniable voice of something beyond. A few moments later, an abandoned cave appeared before us.

Descending into its depths, the darkness and dampness went unnoticed, overshadowed by the desperate longing for a single drop of water. Deeper we ventured, the noise growing ever louder, an eerie symphony of sound. Then it appeared: a waterfall cascading over grey stones, a vision that seemed too beautiful to be real. We were overcome, collapsing into sleep, our bodies entwined like a single being with two beating hearts.

Time had lost all meaning. In the cave, illuminated by the faint glow of the moon, we remained silent, as though afraid that even the smallest word could shatter this fragile harmony. The air was thick with mystery, and we pushed further into the cavern, guided by a voice within, an instinct beyond reason. When I injured my leg, husband was there to bandage it, his steady hands an anchor in the unknown.

In the faint yellow glow of our lantern, our eyes fell upon an ancient book clutched in husband’s hands. Its tattered, golden pages bore a language we could barely comprehend, yet the weight of its presence was undeniable. Together, we read aloud the fragments we could decipher, and their meaning seared into our souls:

Let your space be free,

and may the winds of heaven fill it.

For love does not bind you; it liberates.

Let the seas be your soul,

each drop a testament to freedom.

Fill two chalices, though you drink from one.

Do not divide the piece that is made for two.

Live in harmony but walk as one,

like the strings of a guitar echoing a single melody.

Trust in the path God has set before you,

for it will bring you home to your soul.

As we recited these words, the cave trembled, and a hidden door opened before us. Through the lush green thickets of vines and reeds, a sapphire-blue ocean stretched endlessly beyond the white sands of a forgotten shore. We had found it—our sanctuary, our home. Our hands clasped together, our hearts beating in perfect unison.

I woke from the dream, but its resonance stayed with me. It was more than a vision; it was the beginning of a story—a story of love, resilience, and the search for a place to belong. This book is my offering to you, a reflection of that journey, both within and without, from the deserts of despair to the oceans of hope.

CHAPTER 1. SAINT PETERSBURG – THE CITY ON THE NEVA

When colours disperse in the skies far and wide,

And the castle of white sand withstands the tide,

You’ll return to my side—not at end, nor at start—

Where the breeze and the shore wait, eternal at heart.

To write is to feel, to despair, to ignite,

To hope, to believe, to love, and to fight.

In words bound by rhyme, in dreams softly spun,

Is born the great fire that warms every one.

The weak in their body, yet strong in their soul,

Find truth in the search that makes them feel whole.

In verses are mirrors of dreams and of strife,

Where fable and fact intertwine into life.

My life never dimmed when you came from afar,

Through freedom’s wild walls, through storms that did mar.

A dark-winged angel, you pierced through my veil,

Releasing my heart from its desolate jail.

I soared like a bird through a limitless sky,

Your arrows let loose made my spirit fly high.

Not demon, nor angel, just lost in life’s gale,

You found in my soul the safe harbour you’d trail.

Your burdens forgotten, your sorrows erased,

Your voice found in mine, your spirit embraced.

With faith and with truth, you anchored in me,

And saw in my gaze all you wanted to see.

Yet tangled are nets that you cast in the sea,

Your nights cold and weary, still searching for me.

With hope in your palm, your heart you bestowed,

Now beating in mine where its light has bestowed.

But restless am I, though your soul I hold tight,

For yours will not own me, not morning nor night.

My life’s made of steps, small and often unseen,

Each guiding me closer to what I must mean.

To master life’s reins, to awaken the soul,

To grasp my own worth and to seek my true goal.

Yes, life is a school, its lessons immense—

Could I tame the wild steed called happiness?

This is my tale…

“Manuscripts do not burn.” These immortal words by Bulgakov resonate deeply as I begin this journey – not a memoir in the conventional sense but fragments of a rebellious heart. Here lie myths, fragments of biography, and intuition, woven together to form a narrative as boundless as the tides of the Neva.

To write is to be alive. To write is to love, to wait, to hope, and to believe.

This is a story of resilience, a testament to inner freedom, and the discovery of one’s soul against the relentless backdrop of time and fate. It is about the strength we summon from within – not bestowed by the world, but born of our defiance against it. This is the story of how I became who I am, of a journey from Saint Petersburg’s frostbitten streets to the sunlit roads of South Africa.

SAINT PETERSBURG – THE CITY ON THE NEVA

Here, the river whispers to gilded spires and pastel façades, its voice an echo of a city steeped in history. The canals glisten like threads of silver beneath the twilight sky, and every bridge arches like a poised ballerina, connecting not just shores but centuries. This city is a dream frozen in time, a testament to resilience and splendour. The Neva itself, at once serene and tempestuous, mirrors the soul of Saint Petersburg – a soul as enigmatic as the lives that weave through it.

It is here that my story begins, beneath the shadows of palaces and the glow of winter sunsets. The city has always been more than a home; it is a reflection of my soul, a place where past and present dance in an eternal waltz. Every cobblestone, every canal, holds the weight of history, the whispers of czars, poets, and dreamers.

My roots run deep in this storied city, entwined with the grandeur of its past. I am a descendant of an old aristocratic family, whose legacy remains etched into the fabric of Saint Petersburg’s history. My ancestors walked these very streets in a different time, their lives intertwined with the imperial court, their ambitions shaping the cultural and intellectual foundations of this city. Their portraits hang in halls where gilded chandeliers still cast their glow, silent witnesses to a lineage of strength, intellect, and artistry.

This heritage is both a blessing and a burden – a weight I carry with pride and responsibility. From a young age, I was taught to honour the values of dignity, resilience, and grace. My education was steeped in history, literature, and the arts, guided by the knowledge that I was not merely living for myself but for the continuation of something greater.

Yet, beneath the veneer of elegance and privilege lay a quiet rebellion. As much as I cherished my lineage, I yearned for a life beyond its expectations. I wanted to carve my own path, to discover a world unshackled by tradition and propriety.

THE CALL OF THE NEVA

But life is not a fairy tale. As I stood on the banks of the Neva, the wind biting at my cheeks, I felt the stirrings of restlessness. I was searching for something – though I did not yet know what. The city I loved so deeply felt at times like a gilded cage. Beneath its beauty lay a quiet sorrow, a yearning for something beyond its borders, a freedom that no bridge could connect and no canal could contain.

The Neva, with its endless current, seemed to mirror my own longing – a desire to move forward, to break free from the confines of my life, yet always tethered by the invisible thread of memory and belonging. The city, much like the river, carried my dreams and fears, flowing steadily through the labyrinth of my thoughts.

A JOURNEY BEYOND

One day, standing by the Palace Bridge, watching the Neva flow beneath me, I knew it was time to leave. It was not an escape but a journey. I wasn’t running away from Saint Petersburg; I was carrying its essence with me, weaving its legacy into the fabric of my future.

My first steps away from Saint Petersburg were tentative. It was difficult to leave the city that had shaped me, to part from its timeless streets and ethereal skies. But life often demands that we leave what we love in order to grow.

I set my sights on South Africa, a land so different from the snowy elegance of my home. The idea seemed surreal – exchanging the Neva’s icy embrace for the sun-drenched landscapes of the African continent. Yet, deep down, I felt that this journey would unlock something within me, something that had been dormant for too long.

As I boarded the train that would take me away from the city, I looked back one last time. The gilded spires of Saint Petersburg shimmered in the morning light, the canals reflecting the pastel hues of the sky. It was a farewell, but not an ending. The city would remain a part of me, its spirit interwoven with my own.

The train began to move, the rhythmic sound of its wheels a steady reminder of the path ahead. I clutched the small leather journal that had been my companion for years, its pages filled with sketches and thoughts, fragments of dreams and plans for the future. In that moment, I promised myself that I would honour the city that had given me so much by carrying its legacy forward.

As the Neva faded from view, replaced by the vast, open landscapes of the unknown, I felt a mixture of sadness and anticipation. The journey ahead was uncertain, but it was mine to embrace. And so, with the memory of Saint Petersburg etched into my heart, I turned my gaze forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

…From Johannesburg’s sun to Cape Town’s chill,

In winter’s embrace, I remembered her still.

Through long nights, I fought her, but now comes the time

To share her with you through reason and rhyme.

Through shadowy realms, where silver hair flows,

A spearless man found this book ’mid the rose.

Far from the eyes of despair or disdain,

He sat there in silence, and wept through the pain.

Within him, a dream stirred the birth of new light,

Where he walked as in Eden, in soft, golden flight.

Where love’s deepest wishes burned bright as the sun,

In a land of enchantment where dreams had begun.

Among violets and roses, in gold’s tender gleam,

Where the birds sang their tune by a crystalline stream,

An orchid emerged with its blossoms untamed,

A marvel of beauty, a love newly named.

“We were poor, but we didn’t know—we were free,”

Said the echo of ages, still longing to be.

Seconds slip past through the centuries’ span,

Untouched but remembered by woman and man.

Old age, like a whisper, will ask you to stay:

“Who’s your angel, your demon, to guide you today?

But don’t wait too long; break the net’s cruel embrace,

Rip the heart from the stone, and find freedom’s true face.”

That time has now faded, a shadow once near,

A sorrow forgotten, a burden unclear.

Time marches with purpose, with daring and grace—

Forget it, move forward; your soul finds its place.

CHAPTER 2. REFLECTIONS IN A MANSION

In the heart of Saint Petersburg, among the city’s storied streets and gilded canals, stood a mansion steeped in history. Once the home of the illustrious director Georgy Tovstonogov, it now played host to the city’s artistic elite. Beneath its elegant yellow and white façade, evenings unfolded like carefully composed symphonies, where the refined society of Saint Petersburg gathered to engage in what could only be described as an intricate dance of wit, ambition, and camaraderie.

This was no ordinary social circle; it was the pinnacle of cultural and intellectual life. Here, one could find playwrights and painters, philosophers and poets, mingling with noble descendants and wealthy patrons of the arts. Conversation flourished as freely as the cognac poured, ranging from impassioned debates on the future of art to the inevitable undercurrents of intrigue and subtle rivalries that accompanied such rarefied circles. For all its grandeur, this world also carried the hallmarks of human nature – whispered confidences, delicate power plays, and games of influence that both charmed and challenged its participants.

It was in this mansion, under its glittering chandeliers and amidst the heady aroma of polished wood and aged spirits, that I began to question my place in this elegant yet insular world. My life as a lawyer had been one of dedication and discipline, yet I could not escape the sense that something vital was missing. I longed for a purpose that extended beyond the gilded mirrors of society, a calling that resonated with the deepest parts of my soul.

A MENTOR’S WORDS

One evening, while the room hummed with the quiet intensity of animated discussions, I found myself speaking with an old friend of my late father – a man whose wisdom had been a cornerstone of my childhood. His presence was unassuming yet commanding, and his eyes, still sharp despite the passing years, seemed to study me with a knowing glance.

“You have your father’s resolve,” he said softly, his voice measured and warm. “But unlike him, you are not bound to this city. The Neva is a beautiful river, but it can also be a tether. Perhaps it is time you allowed the world to call you.”

His words struck me deeply, though I could not immediately discern why. They lingered in my mind long after the evening had ended, casting a shadow over the otherwise familiar rhythms of my life. It was as if he had given voice to an unspoken yearning, one I had long ignored out of loyalty to tradition.

A MEETING OF FATES

It was several weeks later, in the elegant office of a mutual acquaintance, that I met Konstantin. The room, perched high above the bustling streets, offered a breathtaking view of the city. Through its expansive windows, the Winter Palace and the spires of Saint Petersburg shimmered in the golden light of late afternoon. The interior was equally captivating – modern yet timeless, with sleek wooden furnishings and understated accents that spoke of quiet sophistication.

When I entered, Konstantin was standing by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the cityscape. He turned as I approached, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that was at once disarming and intriguing. His presence filled the room, not through ostentation, but through a quiet confidence that demanded attention.

“You’re like a golden panther,” he said suddenly, his voice low and deliberate. “Elegant, poised, yet with an unmistakable fire in your gaze. You do not simply walk into a room – you own it.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his audacity. “I assure you, I am no panther,” I replied coolly, though a faint smile tugged at my lips. “I am a lawyer, a practitioner of reason and logic.”

“And yet,” he countered, stepping closer, “you carry the kind of strength that cannot be taught. It’s instinctive – born of resilience.”

As the conversation unfolded, I found myself drawn to Konstantin’s vision. He was a man of remarkable intellect and boundless ambition, yet his dreams were rooted in a profound understanding of the world’s most pressing needs. He spoke with fervour about his projects – initiatives to bring water to arid regions, to empower communities through innovation, and to create a lasting legacy of sustainable progress.

AN OFFER AND A CHOICE

“I need someone like you,” he said at last, his tone earnest. “Someone who understands both structure and imagination. Someone who can see not just what is, but what could be.”

His proposal was nothing short of extraordinary. He offered me a chance to step beyond the familiar confines of my life in Saint Petersburg and enter a world where creativity and practicality met on equal terms. It was an opportunity to forge a path that was uniquely my own, to blend the ideals of my aristocratic heritage with the transformative power of modern innovation.

As I left his office, the evening sky casting a gentle glow over the city, I felt the weight of his words settle over me. The streets of Saint Petersburg, so familiar and beloved, seemed to whisper of the life I might leave behind. Yet, deep within, I knew I could not ignore the pull of the path Konstantin had illuminated. His vision resonated with the part of me that had always longed to create something enduring, something meaningful.

A LEGACY REIMAGINED

In the days that followed, I immersed myself in Konstantin’s world. His projects were as breathtaking in their scope as they were in their humanity. He had turned barren lands into thriving ecosystems, built factories that harmonised with nature, and empowered communities to rise above their circumstances.

To me, his work was a natural continuation of my family’s legacy. For generations, my ancestors had devoted themselves to education, art, and philanthropy. In Konstantin’s vision, I saw the chance to honour their spirit while forging a new chapter – one that blended tradition with innovation.

Our partnership was more than a professional alliance; it was the meeting of kindred spirits. Together, we dreamed of creating a legacy that would stand as a testament to resilience, ingenuity, and hope. And so, with the view of Saint Petersburg etched in my memory, I made my choice.

This was not a departure from my past but an evolution of it – a journey into a world where my dreams and destiny could converge.

I closed my eyes and recalled the summer,

On the thick-shaded veranda, we sat together.

A cigarette in your hand, soft smoke in the air,

And the weight of forgetting, of grief laid bare.

How I miss it… too late, I now see it so clear!

How I long for those days by the harbour, so dear.

How I miss all the lessons of life, love, and trust,

How I miss your presence in this house turned to dust.

That era, a shadow, your memory it keeps,

The hearts now in sorrow, in silence it weeps.

As if life was a dream, passing swift as I blinked,