July 2010 was my first trip to the continent of Africa, and the only things on my mind were the World Cup and Nelson Mandela. What he represented as a man and a servant leader will always be beyond words, and I wanted to see parts of the country from which he had changed the world. We tried to get to Robben Island, but the cold seas worked against us. We got a peek of it from Table Top Mountain, and I wondered how the mountain must have looked from the island so far away. Images of the struggle from the apartheid museum and the Hector Pieterson memorial in Soweto still burn my brain, but the most enduring image was yet to come.
We scored tickets to the FIFA World Cup Final, and it was there, from seats way in the back of the stadium at the half way line that I got what I was waiting for, a chance to see Madiba. He came onto the pitch in a wheel chair with a blanket wrapped across his legs. The minute he came on, the entire Soccer City Stadium erupted. Some 90,000 people stood to welcome him with cheers, applause, and the sound of vuvuzelas. He stayed on the pitch briefly and waved at the crowd before returning to the warmth of the stands. I'd seen him!
We went on to watch the game between Spain and Holland. It was probably one of the worst I've seen, but it didn't matter. Sandwiched between three black and three white South Africans we were united by the match, but in reality, we had been united by Mandela. The luxury to sit in that venue, in that country was afforded us by that man. I know people have been much closer to him than I was, but my moment with Madiba is one I will always remember, and the opportunity he gave us all through his sacrifice, compassion, and forgiveness is something we can never forget.
The news of his passing saddens me. The memory of his courage gives me strength.
PV
No comments:
Post a Comment