Remembering Nelson Mandela

Tiger Woods, Roger Federer and Thierry Henry are sitting on stage at Dubai’s Jumeirah Beach Hotel. It’s 2007 and 20 or so journalists, myself included, are spread out across the front few rows of an auditorium that would gladly seat 400. Outside, it’s raining like it means it. On the drive from the office to the hotel, sports cars, taxis and my VW Polo floated in the temporary lakes that had formed on the 8-lane highway. No rain on the other 364 days of the year means no drains.

Soaked to the bone and stressed from playing life-or-death aqua dodgems, I’m in no mood to bear witness to three of the world’s most famous and revered (Tiger was yet to fall from grace) sportsmen selling their well-groomed souls to the world’s wealthiest manufacturer of disposable razors. My excitement at being in such close proximity to above average achievement quickly wanes as a clutch of pretty girls wheel in three vintage-esque washstands and the talented trio begins to show us how they shave. It’s a bit like being reminded that celebrities put their pants on the same way as the rest of us, only they get paid millions for the pleasure.

With the horse and pony show finished, the question and answer session begins with the presenter demanding that we stick to sports or shaving – or else. An older hack from one of the Gulf dailies mumbles his name and proffers ‘Which other sportsman do you think would be worthy of sharing the stage?’.

‘Nelson Mandela,’ says Tiger Woods. ‘Nelson Mandela,’ says Roger Federer. ‘Nelson Mandela,’ say Thierry Henry.

Nelson Mandela, the epitome of grace and magnanimity. Nelson Mandela, the victorious freedom fighter who changed a nation. Nelson Mandela, the go-to guy for every celebrity too busy counting the dollars to pay attention to the question being posed.

I was 27 when I learned that Mandela had been incarcerated for 27 years. It was a few years after his release, apartheid had ended and he was the incumbent and first black South African president. For a fleeting moment, to try and fathom how much time that actually was, I considered a random collection of incidents from my own life. Living in Japan, basketball games, broken hearts and homes, catching tadpoles with the other kids in our street in the creek behind our block, petty squabbles and lost friends, fresh prawns, boiled and salted, for Christmas lunch, being dumped by the massive surf at Long Reef. During most of that time, Nelson was breaking limestone into gravel and thinking about the man he was going to be if he ever made it off the island. I was humbled for a moment – and then my life returned to normal with nary a backwards glance.

A diplomat once told me that if Nelson Mandela (or Aung San Suu Kyi, for that matter) had not have existed, somebody else would’ve effected the same change because ‘that’s what history tells us.’ This is a person of authority, so I nodded sagely and then kicked myself for not slapping her across the face, metaphorically speaking, of course. Certainly something had to change in South Africa, but for Mandela to make this happen so quickly following his release, without bloodshed or retribution, is a feat that has some commentators asking if Nelson should be compared to Jesus.

It’s these three incidents that I thought about while staring down from the top of Table Mountain a little over a month ago. Below the pretty city of Cape Town slid towards the sea while in the distance Robben Island sat squat and plain between me and the horizon. It was on this nondescript outcrop that Mandela spent 17 years of his sentence, banished for his ideals and hopes for a united and fair country.

As you can see from the above picture, I didn’t spend a lot of time or care photographing the view, preferring to enjoy the quiet and the beauty of my surroundings. I had been reticent to climb aboard the revolving gondola that makes the steep ascent to the vast plateau of Table Mountain – I’m not a fan of crowds, particularly when they’re made up of pushy tourists and their badly behaved children – but by the time we reached the top, I was glad that I’d been talked into it.

The rocky paths, unique and ubiquitous wildflowers and a blue sky mottled with clouds and fog were just the latest on the long list of surprises I’d experienced since arriving in the country a few days before. I knew that South Africa was going to be a naturally stunning country, but I was shocked by how comfortable I felt. High-profile stories in the West, giddy with news of the latest violent crimes and gossip about the levels of endemic racism had not prepared me for the safe – relatively speaking – and integrated society I was privileged enough to be visiting.

And when I spoke to our hosts about this, they said the person most responsible was Nelson Mandela. There was already talk at the time that he wasn’t long for this world, but it’s his legacy that lives on in hearts and minds, mine included. Since the visit and his death, I’ve done more reading and lots of listening. Nelson means so much more to me now. If one person can accomplish so much, surely it’s my duty to try harder too. So, I leave you with my favourite quote – if this isn’t a motto to live by, I don’t know what is.

‘May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears,’ Nelson Mandela

© Kate McAuley 2013