My way. A journey through life from Johannesburg to Cape Town

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

29 January 2025

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.

“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: