My younger brother and I grew up with 2 cats, a little white dog with long hair, 5 to 6 sheeps, huge rabbits and a chicken family  in our garden. Between corn fields and right next to a big forest, around 15 k’s away from the next little town. Our beautiful village was pretty small, had no shop but a farmer who sold eggs and fresh cow milk .It had just one bus station and only 25 houses… And as it usually is, the whole village population knew eachother. 

There are moments today when I get those flashbacks.Flashbacks caused by the smell of summer rain, lilac, old basements, fresh cooked semolina and hay we fed the animals with. They always remind me of my childhood and let me think about what kind of little rebel I was between 3 and 8,  what kind of stubborn little creature which didn’t accept any limits or a simple no. I’ve for example cut off a wisp of my kindergarten teachers hair just because I didn’t want to eat spinach for lunch, stole the barby dresses of girls with long blond curly hair who didn’t want to play with me and slushed them down the toilet, I opened the dovecote and let the pidgeons fly away so that my grandpa didn’t make them to land on my Easter plate ( they usually always fly back home but not in this case- smart birds). I also sneaked into my grandmas kitchen and ate the half of the bday cake of my not so loved, very pretty, “girly”cousin who was going to be the carneval princess… Everybody played with “white” dolls but I wanted a “black” one ( which for my parents was a big challenge to find)…  Oh and I didn’t even accepted my name, Nadine, I preferred Katharina more and informed everybody crossing my way about the, for me very important, identity change… I never weared dresses and loved to wrestle with the village boys in old farm barns.  


All this, and more dilemma happened  until my 6th school grade. My grandma couldn’t stop yelling after me, my mother didn’t know what to do anymore and my father was just quiet. I think my parents got kinda used to it with the hope it will change when I get older. And it changed… 


I honestly believe that I drove my parents crazy and sick by worrying about me.I was not scared of anything, jumped out of my window at night to party with my friends, had my first boyfriend ( I guess my mums biggest nightmare, she grabbed him and kicked him out of the house) lots of weird other friends and started a house party while my parents went on vacation ( the neighbors had to call the hotel where my parents staid in and they needed to fly home earlier). There were times when my dad didn’t speak to me for weeks and my mum just tried to be strong, still in her hope that I will turn into a good young lady. Well let me use the excuse that I had a very strong  puberty which ended when I was 17… Probably.


I finished school and left the village. There was no way for me anymore to live there between all this farmers. I felt like nobody understood me and wanted to live on my own to see what is behind the fields and the forests… 

My parents always helped me with paying all my living costs so that I had a free head to study. My mum visited me almost every 2 weeks and we went shopping and ate cake… 

One night ( I had my first abroad job as a translator in Afghanistan) my brother called me to tell me that our mother died ( She had bad cancer since 9 months but she was already on a good way to be fine again, very soon, according to the doctor) I believe it was the day when Lucifer decided to give me an uninspected visit and threwed me into ice cold water, to challenge me in worse emotional ways, to make my being on earth miserable and I felt like there is no morning coming anymore. I couldn’t understand and realize what happened and started to think about the way I’ve treated my mum when I was younger. How good and nice she always was even though I behaved evil and selfish. I regret that I didn’t spend more time with her, didn’t call her back the same day she tried to reach me, didn’t hug and listen to her more… She was the one who lived only for my brother and me, raised us up to very strong and independent personalities, was always there for us and never gave up. She was a great mum and died with only 52 years… She had no time for herself, to enjoy her life after we kids were grown up. 


Today I understand that I just didn’t know it better, I was to young and had nothing to compare with. I thought my mum is a normal mum like anyone else has, nothing special. It was normal for me to have the newest clothes on, to have my own big room at home with a PlayStation and a TV, my first cellphone with 14 and lots of freedom.. 

My life in 3. world countries and especially here in Morocco taught me that appreciating what you have is the most important thing. Here kids don’t have the standard what we have, they need to leave school very early, sometimes with 12 years, just to start working to support their families at home to have enough food and some money for clothes and education. No iPhone or PlayStation. No own room at home with a tv, no brand new mountain bike or a skateboard…