Hamba Kahle, Madiba

Kruger Park July 2013

We sat quietly, each one with their own thoughts, watching the sun sink down into the land which stretched before us. The silence of the bush seemed appropriately reverent. Far from the city lights and noise, we said goodbye and thank you to Madiba.

It was the first week in July and Madiba had been very ill. Everyone thought that his death was imminent. We were in the Kruger for three days and were out of cell phone range. We asked our game ranger to please inform us if he heard any news. We had just stopped at this spot when he told us that he had a radio message that Nelson Mandela had died. This piece of land, which belonged to all of us, thanks to the sacrifice and forgiveness of Nelson Mandela and others who had strived for freedom alongside him, seemed the best place to say farewell. 

When we returned to camp, it was a very apologetic ranger who confessed that there had been confused messages heard on the radio. In light of the seriousness of his condition, though, we all felt at peace with the time we had spent saying goodbye. In the months that followed, when there were rumours about his condition, news of fighting over his legacy and speculations over whether he was still alive, I felt fortunate to have had that opportunity to meditate on what he had meant to us. 

Last night I was sad to hear the news of his death, but this afternoon when I stood on the Jammie steps at UCT, the sadness was mixed with pride and a deep gratitude that I was able to stand on those steps as a free South African. Hamba Kahle, Madiba. Thank you for your sacrifice, your ability to forgive, your inspiration and the wisdom with which you guided us to democracy. May we never forget. 

Tea with Madiba

“Let the beautiful ladies step forward,” he says as we quietly enter the room behind my husband. It breaks the ice a little. I had been so looking forward to this but too scared to jinx it by getting excited or even telling too many people. Right up to the last minute I had thought it was not going to happen. What if he wasn’t feeling well? One hears so many different stories. But yes, we were being ushered in to see Madiba, and my daughter and I were the beautiful ladies he was talking about.

There he was, the most famous grandpa in the world. He was having a good day and was happy to receive visitors. He was sitting up with a blanket around his knees, catching up with the newspapers. (Was that the Afrikaans newspaper I spied on his lap?)

We had travelled through green countryside under rainy skies past villages with vegetable patches and goats and sheep outside their little thatched huts. It was like we were travelling back in time. We had passed through busy towns like Butterworth, where people snaked around the corner waiting to withdraw their hard-earned money from the cash machines for Christmas. And then for the best Christmas present ever...tea with Madiba.

What a journey from Mvezo/Qunu to Johannesburg, to Robben Island and the world, from herd boy to President.  And now back in Qunu. Last year after being very sick he decided that it was time to go home. Home is Qunu, the village in the Eastern Cape where he grew up, right next door to Mvezo the very rural village where he was born. It’s a peaceful place, and after almost 93 years, he deserves it.

I was a little sad to see him so “old”. In my mind he is eternal, like a shining beacon to all of us, and to the world. But right next door is a little baby who long after Madiba is gone will be chief of the Thembu. When Madiba plays with him as he does every day he must think of the future and delight in the possibilities.

Everyone wants to know what it was like, what he said – but it was more about just being there. It was like sitting down with our grandpa who was worried about why it was taking so long for us to be served our tea and whether the table was close enough to my husband, and smiling to himself when he saw how much my son had grown since the last time he had seen him. And he is still very charming...

A Job Well Done

It was back to school, back to reality, today. This World Cup which has taken up so much time and energy has come to a glorious end with fireworks and the surprise bonus of an appearance by Madiba, all wrapped up in furs against the Highveld winter. 

Going about my errands today I bumped into people who I haven't seen since before the tournament started.  It was an affirmation of all that I have been feeling. Fellow-South Africans are proud of what we have achieved. The general feeling seems to be that we did a good job.

I have always thought that in South Africa we live from one extreme to the other. We are either ecstatic about sporting achievements or down in the dumps about whether we can live up to the promise of 1994. We don't seem to be able to find the middle ground. We celebrate  because we have thrown off the heavy mantle of apartheid and then we descend into depression because we think we cannot handle concrete issues like crime and transport.

Perhaps we are too hard on ourselves so that we don't get disappointed. Then we cannot believe that we have actually managed to make a success of something. Maybe it is a legacy of living through oppression and injustice that has dealt such a blow to our confidence that we need to work at believing in our ability to be great.

I think the World Cup has gone further than we could ever hope to restoring some of that spirit. It has given us the opportunity to shine with the whole world watching. And we did it waving our flag - proudly South African. But beyond that we have emerged proudly African, part of the entire continent. Now we just need to hold onto that and keep moving forward. Amandla!