Unforgettable

Nelson Mandela’s name was and remains magical to the tongue, heart, and mind, to all who lived in hope of acceptance, tolerance, understanding, and democracy. Amidst the much-anticipated release of Nelson Mandela from incarceration into civilian life, a life of iconic stature, I waited with bated breath.   South Africa exploded in a tidal wave of celebration creating a carnival atmosphere of street dancing, a cappella singing and a profound sense of unity!

The early 1980s was conscientised by the ideology that students were the voice of a nation – students could improve the human condition that prevailed in South Africa by raising their voices in a cry for democracy, freedom, the right to vote and be accepted as human with no references to race,  to be acknowledged by nationality – simply ‘South African’.

The release of Nelson Mandela was palpable.   The moment hung on the ears and lips of a nation whose citizens were shunted into ‘Group Area’ zonings in a country where the Immorality Act made love across the colour line a crime.

Amidst the celebratory mood that prevailed, one night stands out as a flaring beacon, etched in memory.

Nelson Mandela was visiting the community I lived in, he was to address residents in this little monocultural town, to quell fear and spread wisdom that a peaceful transition to democracy was essential.

Throngs gathered outside the venue from around midday to secure a spot to see this iconic man in the flesh. He was the timeless hope alive in the human breast of apartheid oppression.

At 6:30 pm in strode a tall, lean, upright figure, smiling broadly, waving a greeting like a father returning to his family after a day at work.

The community hall erupted in an emotional outpouring of song and dance  – men, women, and children wept as wave after hypnotic wave of:  ‘O, Mandela!  O, Mandela! O, Mandela! rose in a unified chant to the rooftop and beyond into the night sky.

Strangers hugged each other and shook hands. I stood up on a chair to get a better view of Nelson Mandela, holding onto my little girl and husband both of whom were immersed in the jubilation of that moment – here was the man who held the promise of an end to suffering, the urgency for literacy for all, the hope for justice and equity regardless of race, gender, socio-economic status, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation and religion. We waited for him through long, dark and terrible days…

The soaring joy of that moment lives in my psyche – the legend enshrined in my parents’ home was now before me, in the flesh, smiling, humble,  caressing all with love and hope, without a trace bitterness from the solitude of twenty-seven years of incarceration with hard labour– his soul was unmarred. Here was the symbol of grace, dignity, compassion, and warmth, spreading the word by his very presence–  one can make a difference regardless of the challenges faced.

To denounce the identity, contributions, and presence of a people is tantamount to obliterating their very existence – such was the horror and brutality of the apartheid era in South Africa and many such oppressed nations around the world.

 Basking in the light of Nelson Mandela’s presence, I was as proud of my identity and the colour of my skin, as was every other person in that small community hall – those who had endured the full blight of oppression.

I have relived that moment –  of seeing the gigantic Nelson Mandela, many times in my life – it’s the wind in my sails, the fuel in my tank, it keeps me whole and free…

#RIPMADIBA (b.18/7/1918)

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