I believe that if anybody ever had any misgivings about how
great Nelson Mandela was, that would have been wiped off completely this past
week.
As a young girl growing up in rural Driefontein, I never
quite knew who this Nelson Mandela was and what he had done to deserve to
perish in prison. You’d be sternly rebuked for even trying to find out why
‘they’ arrested him. I remember my cousin had a nickname ‘Professor Mandela’
and most adults used to say how that would land us in trouble. It never made
sense, but as years went by, I got to get bits and pieces of information about
him and ultimately understood.
The past week has been an eye-opener in many ways. As many
people would have observed, there were many history lessons dished out on
different media platforms. While many may have been irked by these since it
meant they had to forego their favourite
television programmes, they were welcome to most who for the first time got to
know who Nelson Mandela really was and the sacrifices he made for what we call
‘our freedom’.
One has read and listened to many commentators and for the
first time ever, I think even his detractors had to pause and admit that he was
indeed a great man. A great man who was still human and therefore fallible and
mortal as any of us. I don’t think as South Africans we had anticipated the reaction that we witnessed
following the announcement that Ntate Nelson Mandela was no more. Not even the
prior knowledge of Tata’s state of health could have prepared the nation. The
shock, the disbelief and the pain was just immense. And the pain cut across the
colour line.
As the song ‘Nelson
Mandela ha hona ya tshoanang le oena’ reverberated across the country, one could only imagine the difficulty of being
a Mandela at a moment such as this. It almost seemed like the family had to
abandon their need to grief so as to allow everybody else to mourn one of their
own. But then I guess when one of your
own lived for those he served, you are almost pre-conditioned for such moments.
We are told to accept death as a meaningful new beginning, whatever that means.
The challenge for those of us he freed, we are told, is to
ensure that his legacy lives on. Whether we will still remember this challenge
beyond his burial remains to be seen. But
maybe we should, each one of us, strive to do at least one good thing in his
memory, maybe not for him, but for us and for our children.
I cannot reflect on the past week without mentioning how
South Africans also demonstrated their creativity in the crassest of ways. Poor
Mandoza! He was an object for many of these cruel jokes. And when another icon
in the form of Baby Jake Matlala also threw in the towel, this also gave creative
minds something to work on. It was a week of a mix of sadness and celebration.
A nation and the world saddened by the passing of such a great man, and yet
feeling the need to celebrate a life well lived.
We will miss his unique voice. We will miss his Madiba
Shirts. We will miss the Madiba dance. We will miss his selflessness, his
dedication and commitment, his infinite love for children and his continued
strive for a peaceful existence of humanity devoid of lack and strife. We owe it to him and everybody else who contributed to the freedom we now enjoy to ensure that their sacrifices were not in vain.
Re a leboga Morwa
Mandela ka botho jwa gago le ditiro tsa gago tsa bonatla. Robala ka kagiso,
tiro o e weditse. Go mo matlhogeleng a gago go agelela mo letlhakung la gago.
