The story of how abandoned German children went to live with the San in the Omaheke is a poignant one, revealing how love always shines through even in the harshest of times.
I was on my way to Karolinenhof, a farm in the Omaheke region, bordering the Kalahari Desert, not too far from the town of Gobabis. The long blonde grass blew in the wind, warthogs rooted on the verges and a swathe of blue sky extended above the land like a large regal halo. The purpose of my journey was to erect a headstone for Karolina Lemcke, after whom the farm was named, who was the niece of Afrikaner president and renowned leader of the Boers, Paul Kruger. As I travelled eastwards to the sandveld from Windhoek, I recalled the story of the Lemckes who made their home there in the early 1900s.
I pieced together the intriguing and heart-wrenching story, softened and balanced by humanity, through conversations with the Lemcke grandchildren in various towns around Namibia. Their grandfather, Albert Lemcke, had travelled north by ox-wagon from South Africa via Bechuanaland (Botswana), settling on the German South West African side of the border at a place now known as Buitepos.
He had arrived in southern Africa long before then, however. He was born in Mecklenberg, Germany, and was one of the 3000-strong group of European volunteers who travelled to Africa to fight alongside the Afrikaans-speaking Dutch descendants against the English in the 1899-1902 Anglo-Boer War. Volunteers from Russia, Germany, Holland, Ireland and Scandinavia boarded south-bound ships to bolster the Boer ranks. It was somewhere on Albert’s journey by ship from South America to Lourenço Marques that he met his future wife, Karolina Kruger.
Albert’s service in the war was cut short when he was captured and interned in Ceylon. When he was released at the end of the war, he decided to remain in southern Africa. Leaving behind the poverty he encountered in South Africa after the war, he used his inheritance to purchase an ox-wagon and travelled northwards to the fledgling colony of German South West Africa. He settled in easily into the community of farmers, traders and hunters. Using the good language skills he had acquired, he set up a small trading post, trading cattle for goods from the colony. At times, he and Karolina would travel to Gobabis by ox-wagon and camp outside the town. Karolina was known to be a good seamstress and would set up her sewing machine and repair people’s clothes for additional income.
After several years, Albert decided to farm and applied to the German colonial government for land in the area. When it was approved, he moved onto the farm he called Karolinenhof, built a house and dug a 15-metre-deep well. In 1911, he received a loan for 6000 German Marks to buy the land, paying the first 600 up front with the agreement to pay the rest in the following five years. The family expanded year by year and by the time their fortunes would change in 1914, there were four sons and four daughters and Carolina was pregnant with their ninth child.
World War One disrupted their peaceful lives. Albert was enlisted to fight with the Schutztruppe and left his family on the farm in the care of his oldest son. While he was away, the situation in the eastern part of the country deteriorated dramatically. Stock thieves routinely raided farms, looting, slaughtering animals and destroying all in their wake. His girls would remember hiding in the well when they saw strangers coming. The situation was exacerbated when their mother died in childbirth and the oldest son didn’t return to the farm, presumably held in Gobabis by the German authorities when delivering cattle. The San farm workers took on the responsibility of caring for the Lemcke children. As it became increasingly dangerous to stay on the farm, they divided them into two groups and took them back to their homes in the wilds of the Omaheke.
When the peace treaty was signed at Khorab in 1915, Albert, as a reservist, was allowed to return home. What awaited him would shock him to the core. His farm was deserted, his orchards and well destroyed, his stock stolen or slaughtered – a few cows even thrown into the well – and a fresh grave marked the soil. There was no sign of his children.
It took Albert two years to locate and reunite with his children. He requested compensation for his losses but none was granted. Having lost everything he had worked for in his lifetime and not being able to advance in the Depression years after the war, he was unable to keep the farm and moved to Gobabis. He grew vegetables in his garden, selling them to make a living, and remained in the town until his death in 1946. The highlight of his later years, much to the annoyance of his daughters, was when his sons visited and took him out to the pub. They had become successful Botswana farmers owning large stretches of land. His daughters, with the exception of the youngest, who was adopted and went to live in South Africa, remained in the country and married into German-Namibian families.
Chatting to Albert’s grandchildren, I continued to piece together the story of the Lemcke family. They remembered that their mothers knew San bush lore and used plant remedies to heal various ailments. They were also fluent, not only in their native languages of German and Afrikaans, but in the San dialect of the area. One of the sisters was so proficient in the language that she found work translating in the courts. I realised that Albert Lemcke had not lost everything. His children, although lacking in material comforts, had been well-cared for by the San workers. They had repaid him in kind for his benevolence over the years. It reminded me that every act of kindness returns to you in the strange workings of the universe.
The Lemcke descendants were aware that Karolina had been buried on Karolinenhof, but without a headstone they assumed the grave was lost to farmland. When I contacted the latest owner of Karolinenhof, however, he knew the spot. One of his workers, Andreas Jacobus, had pointed it out to him. It was after all, Andreas’s great grandparents who had buried Karolina years before.
There was only one thing left to do then and that was to return to pay my respects to Karolina and to honour the San folk who took the children under their wing. I contacted the Lemcke family in Namibia and Botswana and we assembled at the farm to erect the headstone. Andreas led the way. It was the Lemckes’ first reunion after almost a hundred years. It was also the last loose thread of the story and one that ended a chapter of family history touched by the harshness of war by concluding it with a gesture of love.