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The thin oak branches silhouette against a clean winter sky. The pock of bat on ball echoes in the morning air. The large white fortress seams peaceful, hiding behind its walls the countless mysteries of relics and a stairway leading nowhere, or maybe to heaven.

I first see the gleaming white of the Kweekskool (Buildings of the Theological Department of the University of Stellenbosch) from in front of the old Dutch Reformed church. Under cover of the age-old oak trees I retrace the steps of a certain celebratory procession of an age long gone. At the gate of the Kweekskool I read 'No trespassers.'

Two palm trees stretch upward on either side of the path leading to the door. Beautiful bright green lawns, the marble-grey of a statue we will get to later, and the pock sound as a young theologian hits a cricket ball into the shrubbery.

About ten steps lead up to the large wooden doorway. A cool wooden smell confronts me as I step on into the marble foyer. It takes a moment to adjust to the dark, and then the huge wooden stairway materialises. The impression of history, the whispers of the long since departed, are everywhere. To the left and right the walls are lined with plaques commemorating a '75 year anniversary', '100 year anniversary' and '125 year anniversary'.

On a poster headed 'Die terrain en gebou' (The terrain and building) the history starts unfolding. On 8 November 1679 Simon van der Stel stepped into the valley that would later carry his name. Here he found a small island surrounded by water, and on which tall trees grew. He called it Stellenbosch. In 1685 the Baron van Rede decided that a magistrate should be erected and a town developed on and around the island. The first man to live on the premises was the magistrate Johannes Mulder. The building, even at that time, was quite large, for Van der Stel and his entourage often stayed over.

I hear footsteps. Looking around, I am just in time to see an old man disappear down a side corridor. But to spite my qualms, the building I'm standing in is not three hundred years old. In December 1710 the magistrate's building burnt down along with most of Stellenbosch. The building was rebuilt with a 'typical symmetric facade and narrow gable'. But in 1757 the second magistrate's building also burnt down. I start to see a kind of fire sermon, a cleansing by flame until from the dust there arose a theological seminary. But that would only happen years later.

In 1767 the third magistrate's building was completed. It was built in a Cape Dutch style and had a very special Baroque gable. From this building a large proportion of the colony's affairs were run until these functions were taken over by the magistrate of Swellendam. In 1827 the British government no longer deemed it necessary to have a magistrate in Stellenbosch and the building was transformed into living quarters.

Someone calls my name, and suddenly I'm shaking the hand of my guide Bertus Jordaan, a fourth year theology student. 'Waited long?' he asks. And even though I know what he is asking, I keep thinking 'Three hundred years'.

He starts leading me down a wide corridor. And suddenly I feel like Adso in Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. I am transformed into a 12th century Italian monastery. 'This section was built in the sixties,' my guide interrupts my thoughts.

We stop at a display case lining the centre of the corridor. The scull of some unidentifiable animal, a sword, Tibetan scriptures on the verge of falling apart, a Qur'an and a few sticks of incense. 'In the Middle Ages,' my guide tells me, 'most churches or monasteries had a collection of relics. These are, of course, not relics, but most of them have some religious significance.'

He leads me on, round a corner down some stairs, and announces the library. Inside I'm amazed by the activity. Students milling about, old men in suits, Pastor Jack from Tanzania. 'We are looking for something on the history of the building'. Five minutes later the librarian has handed me three books. After a bit of paging through, my guide excuses himself. 'You sure you'll find your way out?' he asks. I hesitantly say 'Yes'.

With the bustling whispers of the library around me I start reading. Throughout the first half of the nineteenth century there was great debate in the colony as to whether Theologians should be trained in the Netherlands, or whether a seminary should be founded locally. Of those who campaigned for the local training of theologians Abraham Faure is singled out. In the hundred years anniversary edition (Eeufees Uitgawe) of the Kweekskool Stellenbosch, he is described as the father of the Kweekskool.

Those in favour of a local theological seminary argued that as in most other countries we should train our own theologians. It was also considered that training them in South Africa would allow more people to be trained and thus the substantial need for men of the cloth, especially in outlying areas, might be satisfied. Others again felt that local training might represent a fall in standards. In retrospect the debate at its foundations seamed to rage between those that still saw Europe or the Netherlands as home, and those who were beginning to think of the colony as a separate entity from the 'motherland.'

On November 1, 1959 the Kweekskool opened its doors. According to the Gedenkboek van die Teologiese Seminarie, people from as far away as Tulbach came to join in the festivities. According to reports the Dutch Reformed Church in Stellenbosch that day held eight hundred people, and a further eight hundred listened from outside. After the service the procession moved to the seminary. I read about a great arch of flowers, girls in white dresses and farmers from far conversing on the lawns. I remember how I had this morning retraced those steps, but on the concrete sidewalks, and under trees that then surely did not stand so tall.

John Murray and Nicolas Jacobus Hofmeyr were the first to teach at the institution. And it's to them that the statue in the garden is dedicated. In that first year they had four students. At the time many students still preferred to study at Utrecht or Leiden in the Netherlands, but ten years later the flow of students to Europe had almost dried up. The Kweekskool had become a success. In 1920 it became a faculty of the University related to the University, and in 1963 it became a fully-fledged part of the University.

It has become quiet in the library. The lady behind the counter smiles at me as I leave. I take the stairs I remember having come down by. But I am uncertain. After a few minutes of staring down unfamiliar corridors I come to a stairway. Trying to follow it, I come to a dead end. It simply goes into the roof. I hear footsteps and, rushing down, I see that my guide has come looking for me. 'It's the stairway to heaven,' he answers my question. I would later discover that the stairway had been built like that in anticipation of future expansions.

He leads me through the labyrinth and a few minutes later I am once again in front of the poster where he had found me the first time. In 1868 the building was changed into a double-story building with living quarters on either side. In 1904 the building's appearance was substantially changed. Since then it has remained the same with the exception of ironwork that was replaced by white pillars in 1952.

My guide leads me though a side corridor, through a room with a fireplace and to a secretary's office. She informs us that Doctor Jurguns Hendriks is still in a meeting with a delegation from the Presbetarian church. A few minutes later, his meeting done, Hendriks tells us how the Kweekskool is changing. He says that before the apartheid days people from various ethnic backgrounds were trained here. In the apartheid days, however, things changed. He tells how Allan Boesak was refused permission to his PhD, and instead went to study in the Netherlands. I recall murmurs that I have heard, describing the Kweekskool as a Broederbond stronghold.

But in 2000 the Kweekskool opened its doors even to people from a variety of other Christian churches, not only Dutch Reformed. 'We want to accommodate as many Christian denominations as possible,' Hendriks says. He continues to explain that the meeting he had just emerged from had dealt with the possibility of training for also the Presbetarian church being done at the Kweekskool.

Back outside the day has passed without me. The tall figures of the two palm trees cast parallel shadows. My eye catches the statue of Murray and Hofmeyr. I make my way across the lawn feeling my feet sink away. And for a moment I stair into the granite eyes of John Murray and freeze. I cannot escape the feeling that I have trespassed.