If we could Emulate this man: Abroad & Motherland

By Kipkoech Tanui (sent by Nyabuto Mangerere)

When that day comes, and it may come sooner than you think, when I reach the next world, the first thing I will do is to look for a print of the African National Congress."

– Nelson Mandela

The African sun brightly shone over Arusha as our presidents were ushered into the private home of the legendary Mzee Nelson Mandela.

I was about to come face to face with the hero I just knew from TV screens, books and newspaper pages. Security was tight that day in August 2000. The modest home was a freedom gift from former Tanzania’s President Julius Nyerere. There was as many tape recorders and cameras as the concealed guns. In a few hours the then US President Bill Clinton would be making a noisy arrival.

Twenty-four world leaders were here to discuss Burundi’s bloodletting. Because no one was allowed in except presidents, I ended up chatting with retired President’s Moi’s aide-de-camp, a Col Rono, and our then Internal Security minister, Mr Julius ole Sunkuli, on the lawns. Only Mandela’s guards, identifiable by the coiled wires of their listening devices, had unbridled access. They were ironically white, the colour of his jailers!

Half way through the pander on the grass, spiced with adoration for Mandela’s grace and the marvel at his sage wisdom, the doors opened and journalists went for Mandela as the other leaders made for their cars.

Before a journalist could shoot the question of the day, Mandela, walking with a slight limp, evidence of the torturous years in Robben Island and later Verster Prison, came to us. He then pulled the rug under our feet, asking us the question, which should have been his.

"Do you think the Burundi peace talks will succeed?" he asked with a smile, but there was no answer. Then he added: "Okay let us go and see.’’ He obviously did not belong to the ‘Read My Lips’, ‘Write What You Want’, or ‘No Comment’ clans.

I was not listening well, my world had stopped! I first came across him in schoolbooks. I did not need to sit down for a cup of coffee with him. Every second with him is a memento encrypted on the heart.

It was in his name on February 11, 1990, as an emaciated, but tall and unbowed Mandela was about to stride out of Verster Prison that we, the rowdy university students burst into the streets of Nairobi. In the heat of the moment, my overzealous colleagues, buoyed by the release, confronted two policemen tugging along a suspect they had arrested. They chased away the policemen, who in the spur of the moment, represented Mandela’s jailers.

The suspect could have been a mugger or a pickpocket, but he was not a prize bull. After Mandela was released, he too was ‘freed’, but not before he was kicked around.

Later when Mandela came to Kenya for the signing of the Burundi Peace Agreement, we were at State House and he was on the VIP table. Apparently the old man’s eyes are sensitive to flashes of light but ecstatic journalists continued clicking away, ignoring request by his aides.

Mandela desperately held his hand over his eyes. He was in pain and Mr Moi, on seeing his discomfort, stood up and with the sweeping gesture of his massive hands ordered an end to the flashes.

Few knew Mandela could not shed tears because his eyes and glands were damaged in the hard labour camps quarrying limestone.

Lawyer Mandela was only 24, the age when many are dependent on their parents, when he joined ANC. Today at 89 he says he is walking in his sunset. It matters not that he did not jump off the plane to greet us one time at JKIA. Not even the fact that he pricked the conscience of our nation and its leaders when he used his first visit to Kenya as a free man to ask where the widows of freedom fighters, Dedan Kimathi and General China were.

Long before retirement he told us: "I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way.

But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come.

But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended."

Mandela the Great, born July 18, 1918, is never one to rest. The prison ravaged his body, but never broke his spirit, otherwise he could be long dead.

He is 89 and going strong, Africa’s blessing. Hail Mandela, hail the soldiers of freedom.