I worked at a small local paper distributed on the East Rand and had no experience on reporting news. In fact I was still doing my practical training required to obtain my tertiary qualification.
Now the desire to share this story is burning.
I am certain that there will be numerous similar stories from people who had the privilege of meeting Nelson Mandela. But this man’s contribution to our country calls for all of these experiences to be penned and shared.
A black child had been shot and killed in Benoni at a plot. Although new to the profession, I was fortunate to have a contact who informed me that Nelson Mandela was on his way to the family of the child a few days after the shooting. The family members were employed as workers on the plot.
I was one of the first to arrive and as the minutes ticked by, the number of journalists arriving increased significantly.
As a baby journo, I was immediately intimidated by what I then called “the big boys” (national media) and I slowly but surely made my way to the back of the crowd. Fighting your way to the front of a group of journalists is a skill only acquired with experience.
I was young, green, uncertain and unsure but I knew the story was not to be missed.
I was eavesdropping on a conversation between two journalists from the national papers when a big black, scary looking man rounded the corner with an entourage following him.
The man leading the group barked, “Who drives a green Daewoo, registration number DVY 955 GP? Move your car for the presidential vehicle.”
No! It was my car. I was embarrassed. Journalists giggled and I turned red. I bowed my head and took off at a fast-paced walk that will shame any athlete.
On top of the embarrassment, I had to struggle my way through the group of journalists and past the group of scary looking bodyguards. The walk of shame or, more accurately, embarrassment, I thought.
“I am done with this job. I am such an idiot,” I told myself.
Head still bowed, calling myself stupid and walking blindly in a rush to get to my car, a black hand stretched out, appeared before my eyes.
Oh no, what now? Are they going to arrest me for parking my car in the wrong place? Surely getting to the scene first and grabbing the best parking is not a reason to arrest me?
I looked up and before me were kind eyes, the same eyes that became recognisable for its white glaze.
“Hello, and you are?” I couldn’t believe it. Now, I have to thank my father for raising me to realise the significance of this moment and cherish it for years to come.
I shook his hand and to this day I cannot recall whether I said my name or not.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I have to move my car,” is all I could get out.
“You are going to miss it,” he said and half smiled.
“Leave your car,” he said and nodded his head towards where the crowd of journalists had gathered as if to indicate to me to get my butt back to where it belongs … on the job.
I followed him back and did my job.
I later learned that he had difficulty walking the uneven terrain on the plot and his car had to stop some distance from the house. My car was blocking any car from getting closer to the house but before his guards and entourage could arrange closer parking, he got out of his presidential vehicle, made his way to the house, got my behind back on the job and did what he went there to do – console a grieving family who had lost a child.
It was at this moment that he became Madiba to me.
Now I am certain there are many who will read this and remark that this is not an objective view but I am simply sharing with you my few seconds I had with Nelson Mandela. But I also know that many South Africans wish that they could only have seen him once, met him or just touched him for he had such great presence.
I believe his role in this country was significant enough for every person, who had the privilege to experience Madiba in real life for even just a few seconds, to share those few seconds with fellow South Africans.
I am certain there are people out there, especially journalists, who had more meaningful encounters with this great man but what those few seconds meant to me is this: he helped me find the confidence and courage to turn back and follow him despite the embarrassment and do what I was there to do, report on the news. It meant that I should not be discouraged by a moment of embarrassment, as ultimately that moment created a memory for life. It was that moment of embarrassment that allows me to share this story with you today.
I am able to say, I shook the hand of a great statesman – the hand of Nelson Mandela, Madiba, Tata.
Tata, thank you for taking those few seconds, for I think it is only wisdom that made you recognise a lost, insecure child of South Africa and for making sure I didn’t miss it for it would have been as great a loss as your parting is to our country.
Lala Kahle Tata.
