A SUITCASE, A SIN, A SAVIOUR...

Talitha was only nineteen when she left home, a one-way ticket to London in her hand, R5,000 in her bank account, and a suitcase carrying all she owned. Her parents had bought her the ticket, perhaps as an escape, perhaps as an opportunity. She said goodbye to her family, her friends, and her job as a freelance makeup artist for a Christian magazine. She was walking into the unknown, no place to stay, no contacts, no job, and no certainty of where her next meal would come from. But she was desperate—desperate for something more, for a sense of purpose.

Landing in Heathrow, one of the world's biggest airports at the time, was overwhelming. Exhausted from the long flight, she started asking around. “Where do the South Africans go?” she asked anyone who would listen. A polite British gentleman directed her to the Underground. She had never stepped on a train before, let alone navigated an intricate subway system. The map in her hand was confusing, the crowd rushing past her intimidating, but she took a deep breath and boarded her first tube ride.

Manor House. That was the place where South Africans gathered. She arrived, ears perking at the familiar sound of Afrikaans being spoken around her. It was a strange comfort in an otherwise foreign land. She found a house where she could sleep for five pounds a night. The conditions were degrading: a filthy mattress with no linen, overcrowded rooms, people sprawled on couches, anywhere they could find to rest their heads. She quickly realized that without a job, her money would run out fast. She had to act quickly.

Word spread among the newcomers about the TNT magazine, delivered at street corners. The moment it arrived, people scrambled to grab a copy. It was the key to jobs, opportunities, survival. For three days, Talitha walked the streets of central London, her feet blistered and aching. Then, she turned a corner and found herself in front of a champagne bar.

Stepping inside, she saw a tall woman with short red hair, cat-eye glasses perched on her nose, black high heels clicking against the floor. “Hello, can I help you?” the woman asked in a strong British accent.

Talitha took a deep breath. “Hello, yes, please. My name is Talitha . I’m from South Africa, and I’m a very hard worker. I’m desperately looking for a job.”

The woman, Kelly, was the owner of thirteen champagne bars across central London. Without hesitation, she hired Talitha on the spot. Talitha started working at the St. Paul’s bar, where real champagne and designer wines flowed freely, accompanied by the finest black pepper kettle chips, mixed nuts, and gourmet sandwiches. She worked double shifts every day except for weekends, catering to high-end clientele—lawyers, bankers, brokers, all indulging in Dom Perignon, Cristal, Moët, and Brut over lunch.

Talitha was thriving. She made new friends from Australia, Denmark, New Zealand, and Canada, her colleagues and managers from the various champagne bars. She was making money, earning generous tips, and experiencing a new world. London’s nightlife pulled her in, intoxicating her with its energy. Clubs, music, bright lights—it was all so exhilarating. Then came the drugs: ecstasy, cocaine. Each night out topped the last, an endless cycle of indulgence.

She moved into a penthouse on Charlotte Street, gazing out over London, living a life she had never imagined. Then she met Daniëlo, a beautiful young man from Sydney. They fell in love, but after a year, he returned to Australia, leaving Talitha heartbroken. The pain consumed her, and she spiraled further into the abyss of addiction. The once-thriving, ambitious girl lost herself in a dark hole of regret, sin, and self-destruction. She had abandoned her dignity, her faith, her purpose.

One night, staring at her reflection, hollow-eyed and lost, she remembered where she came from. She thought of her moral values, her biblical roots, the close relationship she once had with her Heavenly Father. She was the prodigal daughter, lost in a godless place, longing for home.

The decision was clear. It was time to go back.

She booked her ticket to South Africa, her heart pounding with a mixture of relief and fear. But this was only the beginning. A journey of repentance awaited her, a journey of forgiveness, of cleansing her soul. She needed to be reborn in Christ, to find healing through Him, to fill the emptiness with the Holy Ghost. As she boarded the flight home, she whispered a plea to Abba Father: to restore her, to redeem her, to make her whole again.

Her real journey was about to begin.

The Dagger 🗡️