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

The early 1980’s 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 to cry out for democracy, freedom, the right to vote and be accepted as human with no references to race but rather be referred to 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 Areas’ zoning 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 like a flaring beacon in my memory.

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

Throngs of people gathered at 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 from work to his family.

The community hall broke out in an emotional outpouring of song and dance as Nelson Mandela strode in, men, women, and children wept as wave after hypnotic wave of this chant rose in unison to the rooftop and beyond into the night sky:

‘O, Mandela!  O, Mandela! O, Mandela! O, Mandela!’

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 to end suffering, promote the need for education and literacy for all, the hope for justice and equity regardless of race, socio-economic status, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation and religion.

The soaring joy of that moment lives on in my psyche as the legend enshrined in my parents’ home was now before me in the flesh, smiling, looking at all with love and hope without a trace of the solitude of twenty-seven years of incarceration and hard labour. Here was the symbol of grace, dignity, compassion and warmth spreading the word by his very presence that 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 oppressed nations around the world.

In that moment basking in the light of Nelson Mandela’s presence, I was as proud of my identity as was every other person in that small community hall – those who felt the full blight of oppression.

I have relived that moment, 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…