I realised today that I need the same three things in
order to write a blog article as I do to write a song: to be deeply moved,
space/solitude and time.
Today turned out to be a beautiful, bright, hot and
windy day in Cape Town. Not one for crowds, I nevertheless took a train to
town, to be part of the District Six Museum’s 19th birthday
celebrations. To my delight, there weren’t many people viewing the big Nelson
Mandela memorial service (at Orlando Stadium, in Gauteng) on the big screens outside
the City Hall, so I could walk through town easily. A few milestones happened
in my own life 19 years ago, so in a way it was a time of personal reflection,
as well. In 1994, I graduated for the second time, I got married, I voted in a
general election for the first time, and I became a mother. So - quite a
watershed year!
The atmosphere at the District Six Homecoming Centre (pictured above) was
celebratory, yet respectful of the fact that the whole country was in mourning
for our great leader, who died on the evening of 5 December. In her opening
speech, Bonita Bennett (head of the District Six Museum) made it clear that
they had had a dilemma about continuing with today’s event, but that they had
reached consensus that there wouldn’t necessarily be a clash of interests, as
all who mourned Madiba’s passing also celebrated his life and his great
contribution to the country and the world. She was right – we were there to
celebrate the museum’s 19th birthday, but we were all in mourning; people
possess the capacity to feel many emotions at once, so there was no
contradiction. Some self-righteous guy pitched up at the end of the event and
when asked where he’d been, made a point of saying - looking around to make sure he had an
audience - that he’d been making a statement, as he was opposed to the idea of
the celebration. Interesting that he’d turn up at all, considering the intended
‘statement’. Different strokes…..! I suppose there’s not much satisfaction in staying
home to make a statement if nobody knows. J
The programme was short, but interesting. The D6 Museum,
a living and growing museum, has a few projects running, and two of these were
highlighted today. There was a group of youngsters who had been put through a
course of recording oral history and the basics of curating, amongst other
things. They each received certificates. The other group that was acknowledged
was a group of senior people, who had been through a “learning journey” with
Mandy Sangster, the Education Officer at the museum – these people had been taught
the finer points of telling their authentic stories, and were going to be
involved in the daily work that the museum did on an ongoing basis. I was
inspired by the fact that the outreach and empowerment work of the museum
embraced both the young and the old.
A few members of the audience spoke, off the cuff, and
this part of the programme was also interesting. I’m always curious when
watching people with a microphone in their hands and a captive audience in
front of them – with some, you wish you could listen for much longer, and
others, you wonder if they’ll ever stop! J
Then, the main feature of the event was actor and
producer (I’m sure he wears lots of other hats), Basil Appollis. He did an
extract from his show, My Word, currently on at the Baxter Theatre (till 31
Dec.). If I understood correctly, it’s an hour-long, one-man show, where he
‘recites’ (there has to be a better word) extracts from the play, Buckingham
Palace, by Richard Rive.
I love meeting up with old friends, and this is what I
did at the event; I got chatting to five different people and that, to me, was
the cherry on top. There’s nothing like personal connection.
Afterwards, I made my way to the Grand Parade, a big
public space opposite our City Hall (pictured above), just one block from the Homecoming Centre.
I’d decided that, if there weren’t huge crowds (I’m slightly claustrophobic),
I’d watch some of the proceedings on the big screen, then write a message in
one of the memory books. When I stood in front of the big screens, I felt the
oppressive heat of the day and decided I’d rather get home before peak hour and
watch in comfort. I asked someone about the memory books, she directed me to a
security person, and within minutes I had written my short message in one of
the books. I felt like I had done something significant, even though it was
such a small gesture.
Like most South Africans, I’ve been reflecting on the
life of Nelson Mandela, thinking about the many aspects of his life. I can’t
help but be struck by a few things: his incredible strength of character and
conviction, his forthright manner of communicating, his skill as a political
and military strategist, and his depth of wisdom. But most of all, I’m inspired
by the consistency with which he dealt with people – quite simply, he treated
everyone with the same measure of respect, regardless of rank and all the other
superficial things we are socialised to heed when deciding how to approach
someone.
I am also deeply inspired by how he looked after
himself, eating simple meals and walking every day (until his health failed). And
I think we all loved his sense of humour. He was an insatiable scholar, he used
his incarceration to further his education, earning degrees while imprisoned,
and he emerged from his years in captivity championing education as a weapon
against poverty. He came out of prison on his own terms (I clearly recall how
many times we’d hear on the news that he’d been offered conditional release,
but that he had refused) and he shocked the entire world by preaching forgiveness
and inclusivity.
The real challenge for South Africa is to get back to
the vision Nelson Mandela had for this beautiful country. Yes, we can each
emulate him in our own lives, but we sorely need our leadership to stop
feathering their own nests, and to get back to what really matters –
eradicating the dire poverty all around us, building houses (and there’s
nothing wrong with RENTING, people!), creating jobs, and cleaning up the crap
in our education system. For starters!
What are we waiting for?
