I haven’t written about the passing of our nation’s Tata yet, because the words keep swirling and, frankly, there are people far more qualified than I.
But I will say this – there’s a picture of me, in my mom’s book, at around the same age my kid is now, wearing a handmedown dress, standing in the middle of what was then the Transkei, with my family, doing the Amandla fistpump. There’s pieces of my memory rolling around my brain, where I would wave at the security police as they followed my mother around as she ferried us to and from school, or the time we came home one night and our house had been meticulously picked through, and all seven-year old me could think was “They touched my Teddy”. In some respects, I am still that little girl in the picture. When you grow up like I and my siblings did, you don’t ever get to move on from the fear that your parents and people you love can be gone from you in a second. It happened all around us, and I am ever-thankful for whatever forces there were, that enabled my parents to live out their lives as they did.
The opposite thought, where I worry that my parents and siblings could have been taken, that they could have disappeared from me and I would never have known or been able to understand? Terrifying. We came close enough to that, with the death threat phonecalls that we’d laugh at, together (and the myriad other situations that now stitch together our family history), but that underlined the very notion that – yes, we didn’t know if we had that “extra hour” but we’ll thank people for it anyway (there’s a family joke in there).
But that was not the story for so many people. For so many families. For so many children, just like me. For many, the day Nelson Mandela was released from prison, they did not get to watch it on their television screens with their parents or family by their side. For some, they did not get to watch it all.
It is for those people, that I weep. It is for the families torn apart under Apartheid (what a fitting name, really – it didn’t keep us apart, it ripped us apart), whose liberation was propelled forward by the day he walked out of prison, that I weep. For, you see, there was incredible loss before he was released, even though many people did not know it, and some – crazily – still deny it. For you see, with every loss comes a liberation, and with every liberation, there is always loss.
I’m trying to raise my daughter to understand what Madiba meant to us, and why his story is so significant to us as a family, a nation and as a member of the human race. The other day, I said to her: “Imagine I was put in prison for 27 years and I could not see you…and then when I came out, I didn’t hate anyone. I just committed myself to ensuring that that never happened again for someone who was not afraid to stand up for what they believe in…that is what Madiba did”.
I like to think that when he arrived at the Pearly Gates, my dad was standing in the crowd in a Madiba shirt, holding up the poster we used to have stuck up in our lounge, and that my mother was shouting “Viva!” and wondering if he’d let her make him dinner. I am certain his social schedule will be just as busy in heaven, as it was when he was on Earth.
Tata, give my parents my love, embrace all who were waiting for you, and teach the angels your famous jive. We will miss you, but we will live on with you in our hearts. May our sorrow over you, unite us, for once and for all. You might belong to all of us, but your heart rests with your family now.
I wish them the peace and love that they need, as they navigate losing you…losing you not to imprisonment, losing you not to the world that clung onto every word you said, losing you not to the demands of your schedule, losing you not to the frailties of your age, but losing you to the master over all of us – time.
Rest in Peace, Tata. You have gone home.
Fuck. Crying xx
What an incredible tribute! And what an incredible family you have! I absolutely loved this post Cath X
I love and respect where you come from my dear friend. You always inspired me in all that you write about. I love you Cath!
Wow…