A small tribute to Nelson Mandela.

Remember me:

I have read that we lose our innocence the day we understand our mortality. But I have learnt that we discover our greatness when we learn to play the beat that can unite a nation. 

You were the drummer and we danced to the rhythm of your beat

We remember that beat.

We continue to dance.

Remember me for I am the son of those forgotten.

From the womb I felt the earth quake.

My mother whispered to her womb, were my ears pressed against to embrace every word…

She said fear not. These are your people who sing and dance to the beat

A beat, which overcomes limbs, shakes bones, and makes blood ripple with euphoria.

 Oh did the wind whistle in awe at the spectacle before it.

We beat the ground with our feet and ululated to the wind as if to remind nature itself that this world was married to us.

That this world loved us, and was loved by us.

 The world I was born into was to see its people divorced from its land.

Born into a catacomb of hopelessness.

The first smiles I saw loving, caring as they were could not mask the plague that ravaged those touched by sun.

I was born a leper to a world that judged my tone, before the worth of my bone.

I could not live in this world and wished for the warmth of my mother’s womb. Wished to hear the wind whistle, and the earth quake once more.

But to run away would surely see pride that filled my bones, and gave breath to my words, forever locked away in a tomb of hopelessness

A tomb my people were made to call their home. Their prison.

I was filled hatred for nature may have taken my innocence, but this world took my hope. 

Remember me for I refuse to be forgotten

They called me kaffir.

They called me nigger.

My bones vibrated

As if to remind its flesh, that words do in fact cut deep.

So deep that they can morph even the beliefs.

Beliefs, which are kept secret in our hearts, locked so deep in a blood pact with our bodies that even pain cannot dare touch.

The called me kaffir.

They called me nigger.

My eyes drowned

In a pool of hatred so deep, my lungs forgot how to gasp for air.

It filled me entirely. Cleansed me of childish follies of hope, love and forgiveness.

It hollowed my entirely. Robbed me of my childish virtues of hope, love and forgiveness.

Remember me for I remember you

We have embraced the heroes. We have been witness to the martyrs.  We have heard leaders speak

But have we loved them?

We have touched the blood filled sand that served as the arena for the gladiators of freedom.

As the spectators witnessed the massacres in black and white. Our vision was to forever be stained with red.

They spilt their blood.

They spilt the blood of mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters.

They spilt their childhood.

They spilt their innocence.
All done so one day they could regain greatness stolen.

I was to learn that with enough hate even the red of a just war could lead to the darkness of a hopeless future.

The world we faced was black.

Not sun touched.

The world we faced saw only blood red and this I feared would only lead to darkness

Africa faced blackness…

Blackness not sun touched.

This is the narrative of an African heart at its darkest.

In remembering Nelson Mandela we must honour the greatest gift he gave to humanity. It was not the struggle. It was not his leadership of South Africa.

It was the hope that would change the narrative of a nation, and a continent.

For the narrative of Africa has been too filled with the red of hate and blood and the blackness of hopelessness, untouched by the African sun.

You will be remembered for your ability to bring colour to the world.

You will be remembered most because of all those who fought for a cause, who stood at the precipice of greatness, you were the easiest to love, and that truly is the embodiment of humanity.