Sabine Kuegler - Child of the Jungle: The True Story of a Girl Caught Between Two Worlds (Dschungelkind 01)

Copyright 2005 Droemersche Verlagsanstalt Th. Knaur Nachf.

GmbH & Co.KG, Munich

Translation copyright 2005 by Droemersche Verlagsanstalt Th. Knaur Nachf.

GmbH & Co.KG, Munich

Originally published in German in 2005 as Dschungelkind.

First publication in English by Virago (UK) in 2005 as Jungle Child.

All right reserved.

Warner Books

Hachette Book Group USA

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New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com.

First eBook Edition: March 2007

ISBN: 978-0-7595-7272-0

Dedicated in loving memory to Ohri, my Fayu brother. And to my children, Sophia, Lawrence, Julian and Vanessa, the pride and joy of my life.

S everal years ago, I was asked if I would be interested in writing a book about my life. At the time, I wondered what could be so interesting about my story that anyone would take the time to read it.

I have seldom spoken about my childhood or where I came from. Instead I spent years struggling to conform to a culture and way of life that was foreign to me. And yet, although it may appear on the surface that I have managed well, I cannot seem to find the sense of belonging or peace of mind for which I yearn.

I am unhappy. Feeling lonely and lost, I live the life of a vagabond, moving from one place to the next. My hope is always that in a new place I will finally find happiness. But each time I am disappointed.

The years are passing; I am getting older. After fifteen years in the modern world, shouldnt I have adapted to this way of life? And yet the older I get, the more my past seems intent on making itself heard, getting louder with each passing year. Buried memories are beginning to resurface, and the question of who I am and where I belong is growing stronger.

I feel like I am not living but merely existing. I go about my business doing what is required of me. Yet my mind is tormented by a burning desire I cannot explain, a feeling of homesickness for something lost.

I dont want to continue this way anymore. I want to feel alive again, to wake up in the morning with meaning in my life.

So I have decided to tell my storyto take a journey into the past, with the hope of discovering who I really am and where I belong.

But most of all I want to still the turmoil in my mind, to find the inner peace I so crave.

I want to tell a story, the story of a girl from a world lost to time. Like all mythic stories, it involves hate and love, forgiveness and brutality, and in the end, the beauty of life. But this story is no myth; it is a true story, and it is mine.

MY STORY

G ermany, 1989. It is the beginning of October, and I am seventeen years old. The clothes I am wearing were given to medark, oversized pants held in place by a brown belt, a striped pullover that hangs down almost to my knees, and ankle-high shoes that are causing me great discomfort. I have hardly ever worn real shoes before, so this is a new kind of pain for me. The jacket I am wearing looks like something from another generationits dark blue with a hood that falls over my eyes when I try to put it on.

I am shivering from the cold; the icy wind is biting into my ears and nose. My hands have gone numb. Having barely known the winter, I dont know how to dress properly and do not have on gloves or a vest or even a hat.

I am at the central train station in Hamburg. I gasp as a bitter wind whistles past, clenching me in its icy embrace. It is shortly past nine or maybe ten, I dont remember anymore. Someone had dropped me off at the station with instructions about how to find the right train. So confusing, so many numbers involved. After some time, I find the right platformnumber 14. Clenching my small bag tightly against me, I put down the suitcase containing the few possessions I was able to bring with me. I look at the ticket in my hand for the hundredth time, trying to memorize the number of the train car. Terribly nervous, with all my senses on overload, I carefully watch the unfamiliar white faces swirling around me, ready to defend myself should anyone attack me. But no one seems to even notice me.

An announcement blares through the speakers, but before I can understand it, the message is swallowed by commotion around me. Wide-eyed, I watch the scenario unfolding in front of me.

Then, for the first time in my life, I come face to face with a real train. It comes rushing toward me so fast, I step back in fright. This train looks different from those I had seen in pictures. It doesnt even have a smokestack. Instead, it is big and ominous, like a long, white snake slithering out of a black hole.

When the train finally draws to a halt, people start pushing and shoving to get on. I hang back for a few seconds, motionless, forgetting the cold as I stare with a mixture of curiosity and fear at the sight in front of me. A number on the side of the train car catches my eye. I compare it with the number on my ticket and realize they are not the same. I look to the left and then to the right. The train seems to go on forever. Blindly, I turn and hurry to the end of the train. Suddenly, there is a whistle; I startle and frantically look around. A man in uniform is holding up a strange baton. I start to panic when I realize that this must have something to do with the trains departure. Jumping through the nearest door, I get aboard just in time. The train is already starting to move.

Standing still for a moment, I am unsure of what to do next. My heart is beating so quickly. I spot what seem to be doors connecting the cars, so I set off toward the front of the train, making sure not to make eye contact with any of the passengers as I pass. I start sweating as I push my way forward; there seems to be no end to the line of cars. Suddenly, I find myself in a car that looks nicer than the ones I had passed through earlier; its the first-class car. I have reached the front of the train and still not found the right number! My eyes fill with tears.

At that moment, a man comes out of a compartment and notices me. I turn away quickly, but he still approaches me, asking if he can help. I glance at him; he looks to be in his thirties and is wearing a dark business suit. He has brown hair, and his eyes are a brilliant blue. I show him the ticket and ask if he knows where to find the car with this number.

A man in uniform comes walking down the aisle and joins us. When asked if he can help, he glances at my ticket and tells me in an offhand manner that I am on the wrong train. I feel the color drain out of my face. Noticing my fear, the conductor quickly tries to calm me down by explaining that there are two trains going to the same destination. Struggling to contain overwhelming panic, I ask him what I should do. He instructs me to get off at the next stop and take the next incoming train on the same platform. After checking the ticket of the blue-eyed man next to me, the conductor says good-bye and moves on. Standing alone with this stranger on a dark train in a foreign country, I feel a wave of helplessness and vulnerability wash over me. Wild fears of rape and murder shoot through my mind. All the terrifying stories I had heard, the dangers of this modern world suddenly seem much more real now. How can I protect myself? I have no bow and arrow or even a knife on me.

The man smiles at me and asks if I would like to join him in his compartment until the next station. I shake my head, saying that I would prefer to stand in the corridor. He tries again, explaining that I would be much more comfortable seated in a compartment. Now I am convinced he is dangerous and up to no good. I say no, pick up my suitcase, and take refuge in the little corridor between the cars. He follows, asking where I am from. Hamburg, I tell him, my voice shaking, silently praying that he goes away.