Life, fate. Our star child lost, returned to life through Drops of Hope, shortly afterwards I found my long-lost father.

February 12th is always a special day. On February 12, 2006, my beloved mom passed away. Since then, a candle has always burned that day, also in my heart, while meditating, while praying.

Mid-twenties, orphan, all alone. The passport reads: “Father: unknown”.
I never knew my father. He was not important.
I never asked any further. He wasn’t missing. My mother was everything to me.
For a long time, I got along well on my own. Adolescence, work, partnership and the desire to have family and children fully fulfilled. But no one can be whole and one with one half alone.

With the return of hope and confidence, through macro photography, more spirits found their way back to me. One of these messengers of fate awakened the irresistible desire to rediscover my native Cameroon and look for my father there. I didn’t know much about him. He was supposed to be from a neighboring village. A healer, a serpent worshiper.

A magical figure, so far and yet so close. So close, in Cameroon, just a few hours’ flight away; so far, in the heart, far away, at a safe distance. The stranger who had never looked for me, who promised danger, risk and pain in the soul.

I’m starting a new series. Drops of Fate. It is an expression of the Cameroonian joie de vivre, the warmth of the African continent and the search for father and family. The need for identity, for belonging, for unconditional love finds expression in energetic photographs. The passion is revived. The emotional sparks ignite the fire for countless happy hours of photography, immersed in fantastic dreams and hopeful expectations.