Ghosts of the Past

AUTHOR’S NOTE

1 AUTHOR’S NOTE

The town of Aus, South West Africa, formerly a German colony, now a protectorate of the Union of South Africa and the British Empire, 1915

This is a story of Africa and of love, which means it will be doubly sad.

My name is Peter Kohl. I am the camp doctor here, administering to more than 1500 of my fellow German prisoners of war. Before the conflict began in Europe and spread like a veld fire to Africa I was a physician and a farmer. If I may record the truth on these pages, I preferred the latter vocation to the former.

I have seen too much bloodshed in Africa. I favour the company of horses and cattle to that of humans, so it is ironic that I am penned here like one of my former livestock.

When I was a free man my neighbours were the dainty springbok, the muscular gemsbok and the sly predators that lay in wait for them. We had to be careful, animals and humans alike, of the desert lion and the brown and spotted hyena, but we knew clearly who our enemies were and we respected them. I miss those simpler days.

In times of war, one side seeks to demonise the other. Accordingly, the South African soldiers who have invaded this colony at the behest of their British masters will soon begin gathering evidence of Germany’s wrongdoings as a colonial power.

The subject of their enquiries will be the last war that was waged here, when we Germans fought both the Herero and Nama people, our neighbours in this corner of Africa, who had the temerity to rise up against the Kaiser and fight for their rights. Although this conflict ended eight years ago I can recall the events as if they happened yesterday.

I am writing this account because I am certain I will be brought to trial, for the murder of a man in 1906.

I do not want this story to be published, but it must, nevertheless, be told, for the sake of the people involved and the peace of mind of their families, as much as for the benefit of any vengeful investigator.

In Africa, war is tribal and seemingly never-ending. Before the campaign against the Herero and the Nama, the white tribes across the border – the British and the Afrikaner Boers – killed each other between 1899 and 1902. And it is there, in South Africa, where my story has its genesis.

However, this tale starts at the end, in 1906, when I was sent by my superiors to kill a man who was sleeping with my wife. 2