My Sun and Shield E-Book

Eberhard Braune

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 460

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

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...

Leseprobe

Dedication

To Felicity

in loving memory

in joy and sorrow in His shadow

for our children and grandchildren

for God's children everywhere

Words to resonate

Every story is a perspective of its time and of the narrator. Germany, its people, its history, its culture, and its landscape are an everlasting source of joy and reflection for me. In Germany, I also experienced God for the first time through people who loved him. And as a German in Africa's vastness, the perspective expands almost to infinity - well, not quite.

"How often have we walked

on a narrow native path

through the middle of the steppes

when early the morning comes.

How we listened to the sound,

the familiar chant

of the carriers and Askari:

Heia, heia, Safari."

Hans Anton Aschenborn (1888-1931)

Grandfather Karl wrote to his grandchildren about to emigrate to Africa: "I didn't find any gold, nor any diamonds, but I still, today, draw on the inner wealth that the country (German South West Africa) gave me." The cup is full, yes, it is overflowing and wants to be told. This is not about the self, but about viewing a certain time on earth. From words of Pastor Sigi Oblander, also from East Germany, I learned, that it sometimes takes a whole lifetime of preparation to get to where God has intended it.

Without my mother, Tilla, becoming a loving bridge to the past and writing things down for us children, I would never have got over the start. Hearing her in these pages in her own words certainly brings the experience closer. If it hadn't been for my dear wife, Felicity, always compensating for human weaknesses, I wouldn't have the courage today to share my thoughts and experiences with others. The third trip to Germany would certainly never have happened without Gerda, Leon, Yorke, Marita, Surina, Louise, Beke and Judith. We have become brothers and sisters and are still traveling together in spirit. The story is for Germans, and so it had to be written in German – a difficult language. Nevertheless, I hope it flows and appeals. ‘Novum Verlag für Neuautoren’ (publisher for new authors) made it possible to get to a printed German book. Working with their professional team was a special experience. And now Novum have facilitated this English version. May it too bring out the highs and lows that every generation has to experience anew.

I am deeply grateful to my Creator, of whom I became ever more aware as "Sun and Shield" on my journey. And this is how I want to tell it, this is how it should resonate, captured here in my translation of a beloved German song.

No more beautiful country at this time,

than ours far and wide. …

May God grant it, may God direct it,

His is the grace.

Have a wonderful journey - Heia Safari.

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! It took me a long time to realize what my mother was sending with this gift: memories, memories of our Berlin home, of our Christmas celebrations in those carefree times, memories of what we had lost - and so I accepted her gift with deep gratitude. It was Christmas Eve in the family circle with many thoughts of all the precious things of our German Heimat.

Late in the evening, when everyone had already retired, I stepped out into the starry night with Runhild. Silence, infinity and grandeur surrounded us, almost too much for a human heart. From then on, a Southwest Christmas poem, expressing something of the African Christmas spirit, became part of every one of our Christmas celebrations in Africa.

The holy night is here,

as beautiful as rarely I have seen!

There is no snow, the air is soft and warm,

like German spring around the farm.

So far away, so far away all human signs.

No sound around, only in distant Kraal

the cattle stir, once more as in a dream.

The bush around stretching beyond infinity

In serious, deep loneliness.

And shining through the darkness ever brighter

the Southern Cross in its mysterious sparkle.

How difficult it must have been for each one of us when Okakombo, our new home, was sold three years later. The father suddenly had no job and no income. Tilla found a job as a teacher in Omaruru, and Wolfgang, after a long search, found a storehouse administrator position in Swakopmund, 300 km away from everyone. It took another three years for both parents to find a job in Windhoek and rent a back room apartment for the family. Eberhard, the school boarder, moved into a new home.

Those few years on the farm determined my whole life. I no longer wanted to miss God's wide open nature, wanted to constantly see it, hear it, touch it and feel it deeply, to be part of daily life. My profession as a hydrologist and my lifelong participation in water development in southern Africa were like a gift. In the first years of my work in Southwest, I traveled all over the country, my "bed" was usually under the stars. I was able to experience every mood of nature, the wide horizon, the yellow, waving grass, the blue mountains in the distance, the thick white clouds that pile up every day in the rainy season until it finally rains, and the incredible glow all around after the first rain.

But in the course of my life, a second home also grew. Germany was already somehow in me, through my mother tongue, through my parents' longing, through the many beautiful images, words and thoughts that constantly surrounded me as a young person, and which I soon consciously sought out more and more myself. It happened even more consciously for my sister Runhild. She had had to leave school early in order to help earn a living. But soon she married a young merchant from Hesse, with whom she created her own German home in Africa. And then a small miracle! While Runhild was still alive when her daughter married the farmer of the farm called Mecklenburg. Hard to believe for us Mecklenburgers! And by now, sister Runhild has been buried there under one of those beautiful thorn trees for several years already.

Origins

"Only being away from home can teach us,

what our homeland really means to us."

Theodor Fontane

There is something German, beautiful and strong in me that goes back centuries, even millennia. I feel deeply connected to Germany, its people and its history. Somehow it is more than my immediate family, it is whole landscapes, different dialects and customs and, of course, literature and music, from which all this resonates.

Everything I know about my father Eberhard Braune (born 1911 Schwäbisch-Gmünd, killed in action 1942 Voronezh, Russia), I have from my mother's stories and writings and from a folder with his documents. They were in a small cupboard on wheels in our apartment in Schwerin, probably put there by my father during his last leave from the front in 1942. My mother only knows that she took some things out of the cupboard before our escape in 1950, which were taken to West Germany and then to Africa. She opened this folder for the first time after many years and passed it on to me with a letter.

"From the ancestor table you can see that you are a descendant of Carl-Christian Braune, who was born in Anhalt in 1807. Anhalt lies in central Germany. The capital is the university town of Halle. Anhalt is a flat, fertile land and has fields of wheat and sugar beet as far as the eye can see. This part of Germany is crossed by the Saale, a river that is glorified in German folk songs:

“On the bright banks of the Saale, castles standing proud and bold

roofs are perished and

wind blows through the halls.

Clouds keep drifting over all."

Carl-Christian Braune was a farmer and owner of a large estate. He was a very intelligent farmer, highly disciplined and hard-working, from dawn to dusk. His son, Friedrich-Carl Braune, born in 1834, increased the estate many times over. His daughter Therese wrote to my mother from her memoirs: "My father had only attended the village school, but was a bright man and a "self-made man" in the best sense of the word. In the second half of the last century, when the first attempts at industrialization began in England, but there was still no sign of such a development in Germany, he came up with the idea of turning his estates into seed farms and selling the seed of his sugar beet.

The Braunes are from Anhalt

The mother beets were carefully selected in a large laboratory where up to 14 chemists worked. Various types of fertilizer were tested in experimental gardens with heated soil and only the best seeds were grown. Cuttings from these gardens went to various plantators who used them to grow sugar beet for the factories. His business relations and activities extended beyond Germany's borders to America. Tirelessly diligent, he sat at his desk at 4 o'clock in the morning to give his officials instructions for work. I had to bring the coffee at 5 o'clock sharp, then my father would go through the establishment, ride into the field, and later he would deal with the large volume of mail. For all his kindness, he was strict and demanded a lot from us: 'I can't ask my people to be there when my children are still in bed'."

My grandfather Alfred, the Benjamin of the family, and his sister Therese broke away from the company and were paid off by their father Friedrich-Carl, she through marriage and Alfred because he became an full-time officer of the German Empire. He was awarded the Iron Cross II and I Class for his service as a troop leader. Over and over, one could recognize the kind and ever helpful person in the soldier and superior officer. His sister recounted an apt story from the war:

The grandparents Braune and Schmidt

"Alfred Braune, the company commander, took his leave before Christmas. Although he had two young sons himself, it was a matter of course for him to spend the Christmas days, challenging for every soldier at war, together with his men. He left for home from somewhere in France at the beginning of December. When he said goodbye to his troops, he told everyone to give their wives his address, so that they could send small gifts of love to his address and he could bring them to them for Christmas Eve. Over the course of his three-week vacation, the love packages piled up to such an extent that he didn't know how to deal with them. And more and more and bigger and bigger packets arrived, and not just from the wives of his soldiers. He had promised to bring everything, but how? Then he had a saving thought: to organize a railroad carriage. And so it happened. At his expense, a railroad carriage took all the parcels, they arrived on time and brought his men the greatest possible joy."

In 1910, he married Hanna, daughter of the paper factory owner Heinrich Lange, also in Bernburg. Alfred Braune later settled with Hanna in Schwerin/Mecklenburg after he had survived the First World War as a captain and major. He bought the large, beautiful house in Schlossgartenallee, which was to become a refuge for many in the difficult later years. The three boys, Eberhard, Wilfried and Karl-Heinz, were joined by Axel after the war. Alfred was able to run a large house with lots of staff and was able to buy land and hunting estates in other parts of Mecklenburg. Alfred was on the sunny side all his life. He loved life, people, animals, flowers and trees. He was very musical and had a wonderful voice. But Alfred died in 1925 after a short, serious illness (leukemia). My mother recalls, his wife Hanna once telling her: "If Alfred was still alive, he would bring you a rose for breakfast every morning."

The eldest, Eberhard, was just 14 years old when his father died. Eberhard became his mother's helper in educational matters and also in financial matters. All four attended the humanist grammar school in Schwerin. Eberhard decided that they should all join the Bündische Jugend. This meant that there were no educational problems. A few black and white photos show a harmonious youth. The boys together in the big gardens of the Schweriner Schloss (castle) close by, at camps with musical instruments or in a canoe. Documents covering ten years make it clear what a formative role the Greater German Youth played for these boys and adolescent men. The Bündische Jugend had emerged from the Wandervogel movement during the First World War.

A travel report by Eberhard brings Mecklenburg to life: "A stormy day on the coast, the cornfields golden yellow, the farmer with his legs apart and the last harvest cart loaded high. Evening has come. As we approach Schwerin with a firm tread, the sun sinks flaming in the west. The towers of Schwerin, gilded by the evening sun, emerge. The cathedral, dominating the city, rises high into the sky. Tower after tower, a massive mass, our castle. There, soft lines, the Schelfkirche, a gem from the Baroque period, a jewel of the city, our Schwerin. Our Schwerin, our Mecklenburg rejoices in our hearts as we enter the city with a brisk step and a snappy song."

"Mecklenburg Fahrt" in Nationale Jugend, May 15, 1925

After leaving school in 1929, Eberhard served in the paramilitary Schwarze Reichswehr and then began studying forestry - in Munich, Hannoversch-Münden and then at the Forestry Academy in Eberswalde. The long reports written on a typewriter about his time as a forester speak of a lot of sweat. There is mention of forestry stations in Hinrichshagen, Dargun, Neustrelitz, Rowa and Moidentin near Neukloster. At the end of his Neukloster report from 1936, it says:

"Unfortunately, this marks the end of the best time I've had so far during my traineeship. It was the time when I had my own forest district, in which I had responsibility and where I had work in abundance, and that's why this time gave me such complete satisfaction. I was able to be out in the forest a lot, but not as much as I had expected. In any case, I had imagined the paperwork that a forester has to do, to be considerably less. And yet, the life of a district officer is wonderful in a district as beautiful as Moidentin."

I, Eberhard's son, know that without the war I would have become a forester too, somewhere in Mecklenburg. In my father's case, it was his father who had awakened a love of nature in him on his many hunting trips in the most beautiful parts of Mecklenburg. What a miracle that, in Africa, I found the profession of hydrologist so early on. The modern hydrologist sees himself more and more as an ecologist and conservationist. And no wonder that on my second visit to Germany, after 60 years, I covered more kilometers on forest and country roads than on the freeway. My diaries talk about the cranes at Schaalsee, the various songbirds in the Thuringian Forest, a hawk that snatches a dove right before my eyes, and everywhere between the written diary text there are pressed field flowers (die Küchenzelle, das Gemeine Waldveilchen - violet, Löwenzahn - dandelion, ein Himmelsschlüssel und ein Märzbecher).

The forestry station that Eberhard had always dreamed of, never came to pass. Sadly, war became the defining part of his adult life. He enlisted for military service in 1934, at the age of 23, and on September 1, 1939, the war, the Second World War, began. Eberhard was a lieutenant in Panzerabwehrabteilung 12 Schwerin, later known as Panzerjäger-Abteilung 611, and was adjutant to the commander, Prinz zu Waldeck und Pymont. His stations in Russia were the breakthrough through the border positions, the Battle of Smolensk and the breakthrough through the Dnieper position, defensive battles in the Yelnya arc, the Battle of Kiev, the capture of Kursk and defensive battles there and then the holding of the Voronezh bridgehead. There, my father, First Lieutenant Eberhard Braune, was killed. The division then became part of the armored forces that took part in the planned relief of the 6th Army at Stalingrad and was completely wiped out in January 1943. Thankfully, Eberhard did not have to be part of this anymore, nor in the march into captivity in the depths of the Russian winter.

Karl Schmidt, my maternal grandfather, also came from Anhalt. Wirschleben was the Schmidts' ancestral estate, where Karl and his six siblings grew up. But his father Friedrich, the Linden-Schmidt, later sold the estate and the mill that belonged to him, because none of his five sons wanted to take over the estate. Karl became a Prussian officer and enlisted in the Schutztruppe in South West Africa. Back in Germany in 1912, he married Mathilde Lücke. He was a soldier in both world wars, finally, at age 67, a lieutenant colonel.

His years in the German South West Africa as an officer in the Imperial Schutztruppe - Protection Force were the fulfillment of his life. It was almost tragic that he had to return to Germany after four years due to severe malaria. He lost the sight of one eye as a result of the malaria. Until his old age, he was repeatedly tormented by malaria attacks and terrible eye pain. After a long period of illness in Germany, he was given various commands in Berlin and East Prussia. He belonged to Regiment 147, the Hindenburg Regiment. In the First World War, he was seriously wounded during the assault at the Battle of Ypres.

After the war, his life-affirming nature brought him a new task. Together with General Kempe, he took over the "Reich Association for War Sponsorships", whose task was to find sponsors for orphaned officers' children. This was virtually impossible in Germany at the time. The large industrial concerns had been destroyed and the rich aristocratic houses had become impoverished. Grandfather looked for new ways and found sponsors and donors abroad, especially in Holland and the Nordic countries, and in particular in the royal and princely houses. Soon the office on Weidendammer Brücke took up an entire floor. In addition to the offices, there were now also storage rooms for the many incoming donations such as beds, mattresses, linen, clothing and food. In 1935, as part of the Gleichschaltung (the process of Nazification), the new National Socialist state liquidated all private social institutions, including the Reichsverband für Kriegspatenschaften. All employees were dismissed and their salaries and pensions were abolished. The order of honor of the German Red Cross can still remind us today of this rewarding time for our grandfather.

A special inheritance came into the family through Karl's wife, my grandmother, Henriette Ulricke Mathilde Lücke. For her engagement in 1935, a great-uncle, Willi Wollank, gave my mother a simple white Empire vase from the Royal Prussian Porcelain Manufactory with the words: "Cherish it, it's an old family heirloom." This vase was originally given by the famous Countess Voss (1729-1814), lady-in-waiting to Queen Luise, to the Huguenot preacher Mulnier at the royal summer court in Paretz. He was honored for his services to the Prussian royal court.

I saw the connection for the first time many years later, when I unfolded a large parchment paper with the family tree of the Lückes, also in my mother's papers.

Johann Friedrich Ferdinand Mulnier - Preacher (1768-1842)

Louise Auguste Mulnier (1803-?) & Daniel Liba (preacher)

Ulrike Marie Wilhelmine Liba (1826-1892) & August Friedrich Ferdinand Lücke (preacher)

Friedrich Wilhelm Otto Lücke (merchant, 1851-1911) & Clara Maria Auguste Wollank

Henriette Ulricke Mathilde Lücke (1885-1980) – my grandmother

The world history that goes with it, is the flight of thousands of Huguenots from France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nante in 1685. Around 20,000 settled in Brandenburg-Prussia, where Elector Frederick William granted them special privileges. Among them, there was an above-average number of skilled workers from the textile industry: cloth makers, wool spinners, cap, glove and stocking weavers, dyers, tapestry and silk weavers, linen printers, hat makers and others. The largest colony developed in Berlin itself, and around 1700 about one in five were French refugees who settled mainly in the newly established towns of Dorotheenstadt and Friedrichstadt. According to my mother, Grandma Mathilde still spoke French regularly with her mother Clara when they were alone. She also went to the French cathedral in Berlin alone every year on Christmas Eve, after presents had been given at home. My mother Mathilde (Tilla) was born in 1914 and her sister Wiltrud in 1917 in Berlin-Steglitz. She writes: "We lived in Lauenburger Straße. The Linden trees grew into our windows. I loved the smell of the Linden and the ringing of the bells from the nearby church. Our Berlin apartment was a very special place, large, spacious and flooded with sunlight, with the style and character that my father had given it. Paintings and trophies told of his four unforgettable years as a Schutztruppler in South West Africa."

When Tilla, at age of twenty-one, announced her engagement to Eberhard Braune, forester-in-training from Schwerin, her parents were delighted. The very next day, her father drove to the director of the Pestalozzi-Fröbelhaus, where Tilla had just started her training as a social worker three months earlier, and signed her out. The parents' respective reactions can be a reflection of that time, but also the complete contrast to what life still had in store for Tilla. The father: "You are now provided for, for the rest of your life. You are marrying into one of the wealthiest families in Mecklenburg. You don't need a job." The mother: "Now you'll learn something other than looking after poor people and ruining yourself in the process. You must now learn how to run a large forest station and estate."

The parents - Eberhard and Tilla Braune

In 1938, after a long engagement, they were finally able to get married. Eberhard was now a Mecklenburg forestry assessor and was to be given his own forestry station within a year.

But their happiness soon came to an end. War broke out in 1939, and in 1942 Tilla's father had to tell her the sad news that her husband had been killed on the field of honor near Voronezh. Brother Wilfried had already been killed in 1941, also in Russia. A year later, the family was dealt another blow. The Schmidt house in Lauenburgerstraße in Berlin was destroyed in a terrible night of bombing. All their possessions and precious memorabilia went up in flames. The next day, Karl and Mathilde stood at the door of the Braune’s house in Schwerin with a small suitcase. "We no longer have a home."

During this time, something new grew in 28-year-old Tilla: "I recognized the task that fate had given me. This task was you, the children, to preserve and protect you and to prepare you for life. Over time, I gained powers that cannot be explained by reason." Tilla soon signed up for nursing training with the German Red Cross and became a nurse's assistant after passing her exams. From then on, she worked daily in military hospitals and at the train station when wounded transports arrived. Later, she also worked in the camps for bombed-out people and looked after young women and their small children.

On the fronts, especially on the eastern front, the situation was harrowing. In February 1944, the youngest brother, Axel, was also killed in action in Russia. In 1945, things also became increasingly difficult on the home front. Many German towns were reduced to heaps of rubble by bombing raids. Once again, the whole family moved into Schlossgartenallee. Mattress dormitories were now set up in the large, elegant Gentlemen's Room. Grandmother Hanna had taken in the Schlabitz family, who had fled from Riga, as well as Tilla's parents. Refugee columns from the East were camped in the garden. The women cooked and washed in Hanna's large kitchen.

The conditions in the military hospitals had become appalling. All the schools had been turned into reception centers for wounded and sick soldiers. And yet there were still not enough beds or rooms. The severely wounded men were lying on the ground and in all the corridors. There were no bandages or medicines, only bits to eat and to and drink.

May saw the capitulation of the German Reich and a new difficult period under the respective occupying powers. For the first time there was real hunger, as the ration card system no longer worked. After a brief American and British occupation, the reign of terror under the Russian occupation was felt. It became a horror for the civilian population and meant death for many, very many.

The magnificent house in Schlossgartenallee had to be vacated from one day to the next for Russian occupation. There was no longer any contact with the family in West Germany, as there was no more postal traffic across the Russian zone border. Tilla writes: "It wasn't just food worries alone that made me almost despair. The new administration sent me a letter, probably the first letter I received after the collapse, which made me freeze. On a gray piece of paper with many stamps, I was informed that from now on my and my children's pensions would no longer be paid, because my husband had fought as a German officer against the glorious and victorious Russian army. There was no time to brood over this devastating news. Things came thick and fast. This time the news, which was printed in all the new newspapers, didn't just affect me and the family. Every German was affected. With immediate effect, all accounts, all savings and all shares were frozen. The new word was 'frozen'. Now we were all completely destitute. Dark and deeply shaken, the terrible year of 1945 came to an end for us."

Nevertheless, a new phase of life began for Tilla. The Russian occupation allowed the schools to reopen. Due to the great shortage of teachers, there were calls for teacher training. Men were either still in captivity, dead or had been in the Nazi party. Tilla applied. She passed her final exam in November 1946. Her wish to teach at the Gerhard Hauptmann School, very close to her home, was also fulfilled. "I had made it. I enjoyed my work, loved the children and they were attached to me. Half of them were refugee children, very poor, always hungry and always tired. Teaching was difficult. We teachers had no curriculum, visual aids or books. At first there wasn't a single book for children. Neither were there notebooks and exercise books. There was no paper. Runhild wrote on cut-off newspaper margins. We teachers were allowed to get pages from the files in the ministries' yards that the Russians had thrown out of the windows after their invasion - two years after the end of the war, and that was the only paper in the schools."

Life at this time as a woman alone with responsibility for two fatherless children always remained a great challenge. Tilla remarried in April 1947. Wolfgang Sydow was an agricultural teacher in Güstrow, at a reopened agricultural school outside the town. He knew Sister Wiltrud and had often visited the family in Schwerin and always had something special from the countryside with him, even real butter and farmhouse bread. We only realized that this was really special when we all moved into our first small apartment with Wolfgang next to the mill in Mühlrosin near Güstrow. Even in the countryside, the population had neither flour nor potatoes, not to mention meat and fat. The Russians had seized farmers’ carts and seeds, and in 1946 and even 1947 there was hardly any harvest. But it was still a paradise. We could pick berries and mushrooms in the forest. There was also wood.

Stepfather Wolfgang's life is a story in itself. Suffice it to say that he came from the Neumark and, after completing an agricultural apprenticeship in 1937, wanted to get a taste of the world before going to university - just like his father, who had seen the world as a ship's doctor when he was young. When no one picked him up from the ship in Angola as agreed, Wolfgang simply continued his journey to South West Africa. In two years, he learned a lot about farming in Africa - cattle and sheep farming. They were happy years with friendships that lasted a lifetime. But then, in 1939, the Second World War broke out and Wolfgang was interned with most of the country's Germans in prison camps in South Africa, thousands of kilometers away. In his camp, Andalusia, he was interned with German academics from Pretoria. They established a provisional camp university, where he studied agriculture and prehistory. The latter later became his hobby and real purpose in life. And with his agricultural training he was, can you believe it, employed as a teacher in Germany after his repatriation in 1945.

After a few months crammed together in the mill, we were given the ground floor of the "Villa Ulex", a beautiful house in the forest and on the Inselsee (lake). It was in terrible disrepair, but Wolfgang's talent for improvisation proved its worth and we were given a comfortable home. Wolfgang also managed to get Mrs. Ulex and her sister back into their house. When General Ulex returned home from Russian captivity a few months later, a community of destiny had already formed again.

"Helmut was born in January 1948. Everything went smoothly, although I was an emaciated little thing. But the boy was big and strong. It's almost incomprehensible, how that was possible. He could only be fed thanks to the Africa parcels. What luck! There was nothing to buy, except in the HO store, which I never went to, for a lot of money. The only thing mother and child were allowed was a ¼ liter of milk each. Milk, which little Eberhard brought back from the village on his way from school."

Yes, the Africa parcels - from Wolfgang's friends in South West Africa - suddenly started arriving in the Ostzone (Communist East Germany) at the end of 1947. They not only improved our diet considerably, but also made our lives easier. With coffee and cigarettes, we were able to exchange many things, such as a stove, bicycles and shoes. I, Eberhard, can only remember the delicious brown peanut butter in every package.

But what happened to the Braunes? Grandmother Hanna had stayed in Schwerin to wait for the return of her last son Karl-Heinz. I have photos of Grandma Hanna from the pre-war period, sitting in an armchair in the park-like garden with constant house guests from theater and orchestra. When we were already in Africa, the Russians released the Schlossgarten gardens and the villas and Hanna was allowed to move back into her house. After she and some helpers had restored the house and garden to a more or less livable condition, all the houses were confiscated again. In the end, she was allowed to live in one room in her own house. Her good fortune was, that Karl-Heinz really did return from Siberian captivity at some point and she managed permission to build him and son-in-law a second house on the property. Unfortunately, when Karl-Heinz died far too young, my mother's connection to Braune descendants in Schwerin was severed.

The four brown boys

There is also no longer any connection to the Anhalter-Braunes. From correspondence with grandfather Alfred's sister Therese (*1871), my mother learned that the Russians immediately confiscated the Braunes' estates and deported many of the men. Her own three sons had all died in the First World War. She said that there were no Braunes left in Anhalt and that their descendants were scattered all over the world. My mother writes: "Even if all possessions and wealth are lost and the wounds, that the war tore through the deaths of so many young Braunes, will never heal, the spirit of their ancestors lives on in their descendants, their efficiency, their commitment, their gifts and talents and their willingness to give all. From the highs and lows within the Braunes family, you can see that it is not money and property that are decisive in shaping life, but spirit and will."

My mother lived very much in the past, where her roots were, but at the same time she rebuilt and enriched many things out of her rich heritage. Without my mother becoming a loving bridge to the past and writing things down for us children again and again, I would probably never have gotten around to writing myself. On her 80th birthday, we children wrote to our mother in a congratulatory letter: "'They came with hopeful hearts', as the Schutztruppe song from old German South West Africa says. So you too, Mum and Dad, came to this country in 1951, and like the Schutztruppers you first had to suffer and fight for what you had hoped for. Your stations, crisscrossing South West Africa until the whole family was reunited in Windhoek years later, would be almost unthinkable for our generation. How wonderful that you can forget the hard times, even draw strength from them, and find rays of hope, beauty and uplifting things even in the hardest of times. Hardship and goodness are never far apart in your life, Mum. It is in your nature to always have to reorient and reshape your life, whether during the war in Schwerin, on the farm, then as the sole breadwinner as teacher in Omaruru and finally in the backyard room at Menzel's in Windhoek. How appropriate today are the words of grandfather Karl Schmidt, back then, when you left with us for Southwest: 'I didn't find any gold, nor any diamonds, but still today, I draw on the inner riches that the country, you are going to, gave me’."

The escape

"Only hope keeps everything ready,

to start afresh again and again."

Charles Péguy

My mother never talked about the escape, but the event is central to her writings. She writes: "Now that my life is coming to an end, I will try to write about the escape that shook our lives and changed them to the core. It is unspeakably difficult, but I want our descendants to be able to read about how we lived and suffered, how we planned and then dared to escape, thereby gaining a life of freedom for ourselves, our children and grandchildren. My heartfelt wish is that none of my descendants have to go through what German people, including us, went through back then."

Let my mother tell the story: "Our new start as a family with Wolfgang in Güstrow was certainly not easy, but there was hope again after the hopelessness of the collapse. Things were also progressing at the agricultural college, with additional teachers, lots of pupils and a good relationship between everyone. We thought we had overcome the worst period. Then a new blow hit us. Wolfgang was picked for questioning. Where to, why, what could the reason be? There were no answers. But the Russian commandant's office released him because Wolfgang could prove with his identity papers that he had been interned in the camp in Andalusia, South Africa, throughout the war and could not have been an officer in the Afrika Korps under Rommel. An informer had brought this up against Wolfgang. He had cited Wolfgang's high black leather boots as evidence. This was a warning for us. There were informers everywhere, including in Güstrow and here at the Inselsee. They were part of the system.

Three years had already passed since my sister Wiltrud had, in the last moment, managed to get to the West with her husband. We sisters, who had been very close, living together in my apartment for two years and had been together through all the suffering, now hardly knew each other’s circumstances. Of course, we knew of people who had managed to renew contact with their family in the West. We heard about possible border crossings here and there, we also heard about the dangers, the strict border controls, police dogs and even the possibility of being shot. The longing for Wiltrud and the desire to see her and her children grew stronger and stronger, and one day, when our baby, Helmut, was six months old, I decided to find a border crossing to see Wiltrud. I wanted to take the plunge, I was young, only 33, malnourished yes, but otherwise healthy, and there was no one else who could do it for me. My mother offered to come to Güstrow to look after the family, which of course I had secretly hoped she would do.

It started with a train ride to Hamersleben, where my Aunt Rieckchen had gotten stuck as a Berlin evacuee. There was supposed to be a usable crossing to the west. My aunt didn't know much either, and there was no map. An acquaintance was at least able to give us the general direction and the names of the nearest villages. Things got challenging, when Aunt Rieckchen said: 'I'm coming with you’. Oh my God, I thought, with Auntie at night and in the fog, when she's already constantly twisting her ankle on a flat road. She bravely held her own through two villages, but then, as we started to cut across country, Auntie suddenly found herself in a puddle of water - she had slipped. Shoes, stockings, skirt and coat, everything was wet. She had to hurry back, with only two hours left until sunset. There were tears as I continued on my own towards the West.

It was definitely going quicker now and I reached the last village in the dark as planned. It became eerie. The streets were empty, but all the dogs started barking. After that, there were no more villages, but no signposts either. It was a starry night and I tried to orientate myself by the northern sky. I was heading west across a wide, flat area - if my direction was right. Suddenly I heard something like a soft whistle. What was that? There it was, once again! I didn't dare to move. There was nothing to see. There was no dog pouncing on me either. I heard whispered words, very close. Then I recognized the outline of a man in uniform carrying two suitcases. I waited. A man in railway uniform came towards me out of the darkness. Quietly, I asked the completely superfluous question: 'Do you also want to cross the border? Are you also looking for the tree trunk?’ But this relieved the tremendous tension I was under. Yes, he also wanted to go west and knew the way well, as he did this every month to visit his wife and children. He was a railway worker in Berlin and there was no other way for him to get to the other Germany.

Now we were walking together. What a relief! Around midnight we finally reached the tree trunk. Just across and you're free! What an overwhelming and unfamiliar feeling. The tree trunk bridged a very deep, steep ditch. Water rushed below. The man immediately set off with a suitcase, came back, and now it was my turn. I only had a light rucksack and was in a trance. Nevertheless, I imitated him and slowly walked sideways over the trunk. And suddenly I was in the west. The second suitcase made it too, and without a word or a breather we continued on our way to Helmstedt station. We reached it as dusk was falling. There were lots of people sitting and lying asleep at the station and in the waiting room, probably all border crossers who had come from various crossings.

The first train to Hanover left at 6 o'clock. A real train, just like before the war - the compartments and seats were intact, real glass windows that you could open and close. From Hanover Central Station we took the tram along Hildesheimer Straße. Rubble and emptiness on both sides, the horrors of war. Finally, at Wiltrud and Rudolf's I was in a different world, starting with the welcome coffee and a white, wonderfully fragrant bread roll with real butter. Over the next few days, I went out into the street and into the shops and talked to people. You could buy bread and groceries without cards - and as much as you wanted. All you needed was money. Those who didn't have it, and that was a large part of the population, led a poor life. There were no pensions or annuities, just a kind of welfare support that was barely enough to get by. But those who were able to work, quickly achieved things that we couldn't even dream of.

I saw reconstruction in many places, but there were still no happy, carefree people. Nevertheless. Why was nothing progressing with us in Mecklenburg? Our towns had not even been destroyed, the land was fertile, and still, the people were starving. It was the Russians who killed every initiative, and what had been laboriously put into the ground and harvested, disappeared in the direction of Russia.

For my return, five days later, Rudolf had bought me American cigarettes. They were supposed to work wonders in difficult situations. I didn't want them, because I didn't have the talent for bribing, but Rudolf wouldn't let up. Wiltrud gave me a Cervelat sausage as a present and Rudolf packed me some medicine. By late afternoon I was back at the border station in Helmstedt. I joined a group of people outside the station grounds. They wanted to cross the border at night with a guide who knew the area. You could tell they were scared. I couldn't afford the guide and it seemed too risky in such a large group. I found someone else who had at least a broad sense of the route.

We set off as the sun was setting. It was getting dark, and once again the stars came out in all their glory. How lucky I was! On and on, and according to my time calculation, I must have been on the east side by now. There was no sign or object for orientation on the way. I became unsure, thought I had lost my general direction in the flat terrain, even believed I had been walking in circles. Everything suddenly seemed scary to me. No one else on the way? Suddenly, two figures with dogs emerged from the darkness. Police! They came up to me and quietly asked what I was doing here. I whispered back: 'I am on the way to the station to take a train to Güstrow. That's where I live. Rudolf, now your American cigarettes must work their wonders! Two packets, one for each of them, did the trick and I even got directions to the station.

Tired and exhausted, I arrived home at midday after the final walk from Güstrow station. The journey west had been risked and accomplished. Although our life continued in its desolation and hopelessness, something had changed. We had gained a new knowledge, a new hope: There is another kind of life, a life without pressure, a life of freedom. The thought grew stronger and stronger into a firm plan - we must flee: not just to the West, but further to Africa.

But how were we supposed to get to Africa? We had no money at all. In mid-1948, shortly after I returned from Hanover, the currency reform had taken place. We wouldn't get far in the West with our East German money - the exchange rate was 4:1. For us, the solution to the question of how to get out of Güstrow was even more important. Fleeing with three children and leaving all our possessions behind was unimaginable. So it wasn't until 1950, two years later, that we came up with a firm plan. But we soon had to learn to be much more careful with speaking our thoughts. When the block warden came to our house one morning and asked whether we wanted to emigrate to Africa - the children had talked about it at school - it was like a warning shot.