I looked
up at the sky, the clear blue with wisps of white clouds scarce, like the
greying head of an old man. The clouds provided little obscurity from the rays.
The midday sun had my skin burning and brought colour to the land around me.
The sand was a rusty red, a stark contrast to the blue. Like an overly tanned
Latina, Mother Africa laid proudly under the scorching heat of the sun. It
looked like the land was bathed in blood. I remember thinking to myself of a
line that I heard in some movie, though it wasn’t the exact words I’m sure but
the notion was this, that there was so much bloodshed in Africa that even the
deserts are tainted red. Perhaps it was true, that the blood that was lost
seeped into the earth as a constant reminder of the blood shed that once was.
It was an
era where the world was divided by the colour of peoples’ skins. You were told
where you could live and you had to only live where your “kind” lived. You
weren’t allowed to own a property and you were not allowed to cast a vote. All
your public amenities like toilets, parks, buses, schools and hospitals were
segregated carefully and even more so carefully, made inferior. There were
bureaucrats hell-bent on ensuring segregation so much so it was made an offence
to be sexually involved with anyone from another race. Those who stood against
these laws were criminalised and scourged. What we take so lightly these days
were once out of reach by many. It was a time that taints the history books as
one where black people were oppressed, persecuted and their liberties
controlled, all by a white minority government that reserved carte blanche in
their reign. The feeling of apartheid was so clear in everyone’s minds and
especially in those who did whatever it took to enforce it effectively.
For you
and me, we will never be able to imagine or empathise with this. You and I
belong to a time where we only know these through history books and
documentaries and are yet grappling with the facts and reality of it’s extent. Amidst
all these rose a man for the people. He was a man who decided that it was
enough that the civil liberties of the blacks be withdrawn. He envisioned a
country of racial reconciliation and of equal opportunities. While achieving
this ideal, he was willing to pay the price for it. Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela
was a hardihood man charismatic, intelligent and indignant of the apartheid. So
much can be said of this man and to me, while there are unsung heroes, his life
just hasn’t been sung enough.
Madiba, as
he is ever affectionately referred to, was a man with many faces. He was a
leader, martyr, revolutionary, terrorist and a criminal all rolled into one.
All that set those faces apart from one another were the eyes that looked upon
him. To the oppressed masses he was a leader, a revolutionary and their voice.
That was all that he needed to be because faith needed something to believe in,
and in Madiba they believed. He was a beacon whose words were so genuine and
were the epitome of truth that it tugged on their heartstrings with much
passion and conviction. It would stir and reach into their souls and give them
a sense of hope so immensely addictive that nothing would be enough except
unconditional freedom. With his arrival, now it seemed achievable.
Twenty
seven years he was imprisoned, a sentence that was initially meant to be
indefinite. For most of us, by that time, we would have amassed a collection of
pictures starting from infancy, to pictures of us when we were toddlers, to
pre-school, high school prom night, college, university graduation pictures,
pictures of our first car, first house, our wedding and even our children among
a million selfies. The irony of it is that his captivity came because of his
undying thirst for freedom. During that time, he was refused to attend his
mother’s funeral and his eldest son’s, a state that could rankle the resolute
of men. His letters were severely censored by the prison staff and his visitors
limited to once every six months. Completely cut off from the world he chose to
increase his knowledge from inside the 3 walls and a set of bars. He studied
Afrikaans, learnt literature and history among other things. He wanted to come
out better, smarter and changed his approach to overturning the apartheid. The
loneliness that sets in to a man in these situations is eternally damning. In
our days, when staying away from Facebook for one day is a challenge in itself,
Madiba endured what no man should have, to have a huge chunk of his life thrown
into nothingness. No memories of the world or it’s evolution except the colour
of the limestone he broke and the walls he stared at.
After
being put through all of this, having his liberties taken away and in the face
of deprivation he still stood unyielding in his ideals and principles. Most of
us will be willing to crush those ideals in a matter of seconds if threatened
with captivity but not Madiba. No, he was a man built to withstand the most
arduous and tormenting of times. He could take a beating in life and still push
forward with his fists tightly wrapped around that imaginary hope of
freedom. What is most remarkable about
him, is his willingness for reconciliation, to forgive and move forward
together as a nation instead of settling scores and personal vendetta. Years of
oppression and injustice would have the best of us riled up in scornful fury
and ready for vengeance. But Madiba, at his election parade, held the hands of
the last president of apartheid-era South Africa F.W De Klerk in unison and
froze in time an image that will come to signify the new South Africa, one that
speaks of unity and racial equality.
One of
the most moving image of him I have in my mind is of the time that he got
released. I watched a video of him walking the streets with his wife Winnie
next to him, waving with a fist instead of the usual open palm gesture that
most politicians adopt. It is a gesture that resembles victory, for many
sportsmen punch a fist up into the air in the fervour of a victorious moment.
Following that Madiba was set to make a speech to address the thousands that
turned up and the millions who were watching on TV. His begun his speech with
the same words that ended his last speech at the Rivonia trial. A choice of
words made so wisely that it till date sends a shiver through your body with
his sheer conviction resonating through each line and word.
“During my lifetime I have
dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people. I have fought against
white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished
the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together
in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for
and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to
die.”
Those
words, sum up his entire life. It sums him up as the leader of an
anti-apartheid movement. Those words, by their saviour, were the drops of honey
they so much thirsted for.
When God
created someone like him, he made us realise that there are the best humans
around. That there are people so capable of such greatness and that not all
these people aspire for self-gratification or fiscal rewards but instead, are
able to put their lives down for an ideal. An ideal that today, we take
advantage of. Most people may think that his work never benefited us over in
Asia or in Europe and that it only helped the people of Africa. They cannot be
any more wrong and foolish to think so. He made politicians look stupid, even
our own politicians for that matter. He made us realise that politics is not
rocket science, like how some would have us believe. The simplest and most
practical approach of using something as trivial as rugby to unite a nation,
proved how much foresight he had and above all, how he wasn’t afraid to look
foolish in the process.
Though
I’ve never met him, I’ve heard his name growing up. Never did I understand how
much he did and what he sacrificed until much later in my life. But I am glad I
came across his name, I am glad that I lived in a time where he lived. He is
the epitome of what the human spirit is capable of. Courageous, convicted and
forgiving he was the quintessential human being.
Thank you
Mr Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela for being the best of us.
Rest
In Peace Madiba.
- by Mugi
K
P.S.
During my time in South Africa, I had the honour of meeting 3 local guys from
their military. I remember how fondly they spoke of Madiba and how enthusiastic
they were. So much zeal they exuded when speaking of him. Having said that, I
still have, in my mind, an image of an older black corporal saluting a much
younger white captain, the juxtaposition still a reminder of how far South
Africa has to go. But it will get there. Just give it some time.
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