Nelson Mandela 1918- 2013 Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Born Rolihlahla Mandela,
in the Thembu royal family
in the village of Mvezo in Umtatu

His name Rolihlahla, meant 'troublemaker'
His clan name was Madiba.

His father prayed to the mighty god Qamata,
Qamata, child of the sun god, Thixo,
And the earth goddess, Jobela.

Many reeds, strong reeds, strong hands to bind them,
The women of Africa, knew just where to find them,
The sun said: dry them, the river murmured: wind them,

The young Mandela’s father practised polygamy
Four wives, four sons, nine daughters,
who lived in different villages.

On the boy’s first day at school
His teacher, Miss Mdingane,
Decided to call him Nelson
Fait accompli

The child grew up within his mother's kraal
in the village of Qunu, tending the family cattle

Aged 16, he was circumcised,
A tribal rite of passage into manhood,
Which brought him another name, Dalibunga.

Many moons, many suns and days had their passing,
The people of Africa looked, and they were working,
Drums for the first of the nation, Mandela is rising

He fled an arranged marriage
Settled in Jo’burg as a runaway
Meeting his first white friend,
A Jewish communist
At communist talks and parties,
All races mixed as equals

'No Easy Walk to Freedom'
Was his powerful speech
The title a quote from his hero
Jawaharlal Nehru

Disguised as a chauffeur,
Mandela travelled the country incognito,
Acquired another name: 'Black Pimpernel'

Two wives later, imprisoned on Robben Island
He was a convict,
Hard labour for 18 years in the island’s quarries
Breaking rocks, mining the land for lime

Held in a concrete cell
8 feet by 7 feet
Classified as the lowest grade of prisoner,
Mail censored, visits rare
All for speaking out against apartheid
A thin straw mat to sleep on

Often in solitary confinement
Forbidden to wear sunglasses,
The glare from the lime damaged the statesman’s eyesight

Aged 60, the world remembered him
Awards flowed in
His life was austere and simple
Even after release from prison
The head of 'the Rainbow Nation'
Died in his ninetieth decade

Many moons, many suns and days had their passing,
The people of Africa looked, and they were working,
Drums for the Rainbow man, Mandela is dying

His casket was draped in a lion skin,
an ox was ritually slaughtered
A family elder talked to the body's spirit

In his childhood village of Qunu,
His body was buried at noon,
when the sun stood at its highest
and the shadow at its shortest

On Sunday he was told 'Madiba, we bury you now'
His body, wrapped in a lion skin.

The people of Africa bowed their heads in mourning,
Mandela’s lion soul is passing, is passing

(Somelines are adapted from a South African Xhosa Stick Fighting Song, translated by Manfred Mann)