Going to the Mountain

by Ndaba Mandela

  “What should I name him?” I asked.

  He said, “Why don’t you call him Ngubencuka?” (A Xhosa ancestor’s name that means “the wolf’s blanket.”)

  I nodded. “I like that for a middle name. I think his first name should be Lewanika, after my father.”

  The Old Man smiled. “Good. Lewanika. Very good.”

  I found it harder to be away from home after that, but there was a lot going on. I became a global ambassador for the Joint United Nations Programme on HIV and AIDS. Kweku and I went to Brazil, to the favelas—the hard-hit slums—and talked to orphanage administrators and sex workers, encouraging them to keep up the fight against misinformation and the ravages of HIV/AIDS. We promised to help them break the silence and reclaim a place in society. We looked at ways modern technology could be used to connect needs to the needful, not just those with HIV/AIDS, but also those with malaria and TB and so on. Fighting to raise life expectancy was high on our agenda, but we felt strongly that it was impossible to address this—or any other issue—without addressing the mind-blowing economic disconnect between the small, overwhelmingly white minority who composed 15 percent of the population and controlled 90 percent of the wealth in South Africa.

  On a brief stopover at home, I helped my granddad out to the garden, where he could sit in a comfortable chair and get some fresh air. He was quiet, but I was totally taken up with everything I was doing.

  “Entrepreneurship is key to the economy, right? And education is key to entrepreneurship. I mean, I just got back from France—beautiful country. Everywhere you look, there’s art, architecture. It’s great. But I see this gold statue on top of a building, and I go, ‘Hmm. Interesting. I don’t see a lot of gold mines in France. Do they even have a gold mine?’ So I do a little research, and of course, that gold—that particular statue—it came from Africa. From Mali, to be exact. And then I look at Mali, and I see this grinding poverty, and I look at Paris. I don’t see any poverty there—or very little.”

  The Old Man huffed and raised his eyebrows. He’d been fighting a persistent cough.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “Poverty exists in Paris. I know that, but I don’t see any Parisians risking their lives to peddle a little tiny raft across the Mediterranean Sea to Mali, okay? That ain’t happening. It’s not about poverty; it’s about opportunities.”

  “So what do you mean by all this?” he asked. “What are you saying to them? ‘Give me back my gold! Let my people go!’”

  “No, I’m not saying, ‘Let my people go.’ I’m saying, ‘Let my people live.’ Let them be rewarded for their labor. Pay them fairly for their natural resources. Don’t give three euro to a charity to help them. Help them by investing in African business. Help them build processing plants and universities and infrastructure.”

  This wasn’t my last conversation with my grandfather. In some ways, I wish it had been. He still loved tackling these big ideas and issues, and he was gratified to see me and Kweku stepping up to take them on.

  In December 2013, Kweku and I were in Brazil to participate in events leading up to the World Cup, powering through a tight schedule of media and appearances. Auntie Maki called and said, “Madiba is very ill, Ndaba. You and Kweku should come home.”

  “Um… okay. Yeah. We’ll cut it short, but we have to do this thing tomorrow, Auntie Maki. We can’t bail on it. We’ll head home right after.”

  After I hung up, I said to Kweku, “That’s just Auntie Maki. She’s always calling us to come home when Madiba is sick, and every time, we go home, and he’s fine.” We agreed that we should leave after the last event, the FIFA World Cup draw.

  He was a mighty cedar tree in my mind. My invincible granddad. The idea that I would never see him again—that was unthinkable. So I didn’t think that. Instead I thought about everything we had to do the next day. But the next day, Auntie Maki called again. She spoke with Kweku first. He said nothing. Just handed the phone to me. And I said nothing. Just listened.

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  The words hit the back of my knees like an axe. I had to tell myself to blink. To breathe. Strength and stoicism are two qualities that were carved into my character from the time I was a little boy. I knew, because I’d already lost both my parents, that this initial throat punch would pass, and then a wave of grief would hit me, and it would last for a long time. I cried a lot that day. I have never cried like that before or since. My brother Kweku held me, and after ten minutes or so, I went in the bathroom to dip cold water on my face. We made a few calls, arranged flights, and made the two-hour drive back to our hotel. The car was silent.

  Ndaba.

  Yes, Granddad?

  I’m thinking of going to the Eastern Cape to spend the rest of my days. Are you going to come with me?

  Yes, of course.

  Good. Good.

  I went with him to the Eastern Cape. My family and I. We drove for what seemed like an eternity, through rolling hills and across expansive savannahs to the place that was once called the Transkei. The colonial government had set aside this “homeland” (which could better be described as “reservation,” but only because it was too unwieldy to be called “concentration camp”) where they could warehouse black people while the government debased them, robbed them, tore apart their families, and cut them off from the rest of the world.

  And then Nelson Mandela happened.

  Akukho rhamncwa elingagqumiyo emngxumeni walo.

  “There is no beast that does not roar in its own den.”

  You alone reign over your own spirit. No weight, no spear, no oppressor can take that self-sovereignty from you. While my grandfather was at Robben Island, he wrote to the Commissioner of Prisons, “I have never regarded any man as my superior either in my life outside or inside prison.”

  Your resolve—your truth—that is the voice that roars within you. My grandfather taught me to listen to that voice within myself.

  Ubuntu

  Afterword

  The world mourned Madiba’s passing. Every media outlet was swamped with eulogies and tributes. Everywhere I went, I heard the resonant sound of his voice on TV and radio and internet. Dignitaries, world leaders, American presidents, and celebrities crowded the stands at his funeral in Qunu, and tens of thousands crowded into a memorial service at the football stadium in Soweto. I stood before the gathering in Qunu and read out the story of my grandfather’s life.

  “It is with deep sadness that the government and the world has learnt of the passing of the father of South Africa’s democracy, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela. He passed on peacefully in the company of his family around 20:50 on the 5th of December 2013. The man who became one of the world’s greatest icons was born in Mvezo, Transkei, on 18 July 1918, to Noqaphi Nosekeni and Gadla Henry Mandela. His father was the key counselor and advisor to the Thembu royal house. After his father’s death in 1927, the young Rolihlahla became the ward of Chief Jongintaba Dalindyebo and the acting regent of the Thembu nation.

  “It was at the Thembu royal homestead that his personality, values, and political views were shaped. There can be no doubt that the young man went on to bring about some of the most significant and remarkable changes in South African history and politics. It is through Mandela that the world cast its eyes on South Africa and took notice of the severe and organized repression of black South Africans. Yet, it was also through Mandela that the world would learn the spirit of endurance, the triumph of forgiveness, and the beauty of reconciliation. Indeed, the story of Nelson Mandela is so much so the story of South Africa.

  “When he was only 25 years old, Nelson Mandela joined the African National Congress. His political career would span decades more, as he himself said: ‘The struggle is my life.’ The young Mandela also qualified and practiced as a lawyer. Together with Oliver Tambo, he opened the first black legal practice in Johannesburg.

  “In the 1940s, he was instrumental in the formation of the radical ANC Youth League, which was determined to change the
face of politics. Mandela was elected the League’s National Secretary in 1948 and President in 1952. Much of the years that followed saw Mandela deeply involved in activism, rallying for political change against the increasingly aggressive apartheid government. He was a key player in the ANC’s Campaign for the Defiance of Unjust Laws in 1952 and the Treason Trial in 1961. During this time, he was incarcerated several times under the apartheid laws and banned from political activity. Realizing that the ANC needed to prepare for more intensive struggle, he became an instrumental force behind the formation of a new section of the liberation movement, Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK), as an armed nucleus with a view to preparing for an armed struggle. Mandela was the first commander-in-chief of MK.

  “He left the country in 1962 and traveled abroad to arrange guerilla training for members of MK. On his return to South Africa, he was arrested for illegally exiting the country and incitement to strike. Mandela decided to represent himself in court. While on trial, Mandela was charged with sabotage in the Rivonia Trial. This is his famous statement from the dock made in 1964: ‘I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.’

  “In the same year Mandela and the other accused were sentenced to life imprisonment in the Rivonia Trial and sent to Robben Island, near Cape Town. While in prison, Mandela rejected the offers made by his jailers to be released on condition that he renounce violence. ‘Prisoners cannot enter into contracts,’ he said. ‘Only free men can negotiate.’ He served a total of 27 years in prison for his conviction to fight apartheid and its injustices. Released on 11 February 1990, Mandela plunged wholeheartedly into his life’s work, striving to attain the goals he and others had set out almost four decades earlier. In 1991, at the first national conference of the ANC held in South Africa after being banned for decades, Nelson Mandela was elected President of the ANC while his lifelong friend and colleague, Oliver Tambo, became the organization’s National Chairperson.

  “In a life that symbolizes the triumph of the human spirit, Nelson Mandela accepted the 1993 Nobel Peace Prize, along with F. W. de Klerk, on behalf of all South Africans who suffered and sacrificed so much to bring peace to our land. The era of apartheid formally came to an end on April 27, 1994, when Nelson Mandela voted for the first time in his life, along with his people. However, long before that date it had become clear, even before the start of negotiations at the World Trade Centre in Kempton Park, that the ANC was increasingly charting the future of South Africa.

  “Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was inaugurated as president of a democratic South Africa on 10 May 1994. This world icon worked tirelessly even after the achievement of democracy in South Africa to continue improving lives. Even as he retired from politics, his attention shifted to social issues such as HIV and AIDS and the well-being of the nation’s children. As a testimony to his sharp political intellect, wisdom, and unrelenting commitment to make the world a better place, Mandela formed the prestigious group called The Elders, an independent group of eminent global leaders who offer their collective influence and experience to support peace building, help address major causes of human suffering, and promote the shared interests of humanity.

  “Mr. Mandela is survived by his wife Graça, three daughters, eighteen grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren.”

  Grateful to have gotten to the end, I folded the paper in my hands, took in a deep breath and shouted, “Amandla!”

  The power.

  And my family responded, “Ngawethu!”

  It is ours.

  IN 2006, LAILA ALI, the daughter of Muhammad Ali, came to visit, and when the Old Man shook her hands, he said, “I was a fighter.” Truer words were never spoken. He was a badass when he needed to be, but he was smart when he went into jail and wise when he came out. I didn’t always see the difference, but I do now, and I hope I get there someday.

  I still live in our house in Houghton. It’s a lot to manage on my own, but I manage it with a little help from Andile and Aunt Maki. Every day I wish that Mama Xoli was here, but she’s home with her own family now, which is where she wants to be. She certainly earned that. For so many years, her sister took care of her children while Mama Xoli took care of my granddad and me and our family.

  The Old Man’s office is still exactly as it was, but all around it, life goes on. On weekends, when my children are with me, they run around and play, and I know that if my grandfather’s spirit is lingering here, he’s enjoying the sound of their laughter. Our family has struggled since we lost our patriarch, but struggle is not new to this family. The Mandelas are strong. The Mandelas are resilient. The Mandelas endure.

  People in my family, like most South Africans, are very social. We’re very communal. I hardly do anything by myself. I would never have lunch by myself. Even though it’s a normal thing to do, people would be like, “Oh, Ndaba, is everything ok? Are you fine? Why are you alone?” No one goes out to eat by themselves. It’s our culture, man, and I love that. I’m comfortable anywhere in the world if I have great company. I’m about the people. It’s not just a cliché for me; it’s the people who make the place. Africans love a good party, a nice birthday, a family holiday dinner. At this writing, we’re making plans to celebrate Madiba’s one-hundredth birthday, and it’s going to be literally a “party all over the world.”

  I believe in Ubuntu, the essential interdependence of humankind. This idea was fostered by my grandfather in my formative years and resonates in my gut as an undeniable truth because I see it in action all around me on a regular basis. I believe positive changes will come to our world, but I know that those changes will come only in concert with unity, understanding, and action.

  “When a traveler comes to your village,” said Madiba, “if he doesn’t have to ask for food and water, that is Ubuntu.” It’s not just that you share what you have; it’s that you anticipate the needs of another and you’ve already made sure your own house is in order so you are in a position to care for others. A better way of addressing yourself is the first step to lifting up the community around you. You empower yourself, and then you reach out to others.

  We live in one world, and it is all interconnected, but we need to make sure that we understand how we are treating each other. We must strive for a more prosperous world for all. We must work to close the gap that exists between rich and poor, recognizing our common humanity. We can’t fight terrorism with terrorism; we can win that battle only with unity. Clearly, our governments will never do that for us. We have to change the world, starting within our own hearts and working outward. We must take control of our own destiny and not leave it in the hands of those who think they have all the power. They don’t. I am living proof, because I was born into apartheid, and now I’m free. They didn’t take those shackles off me voluntarily. Someone had to stand up for me. Someone had to be a fighter.

  What would happen if you stood up right now—on the bus, on an airplane, in the library, on the school playground, all alone in your room? Just stand up right now and hold your hand out toward the future and speak this truth to that person you will be tomorrow:

  It is in our hands.

  It IS in our hands.

  To change the world.

  Together, we can achieve everything.

  Okay. Now you can sit down again. How did it go? Did someone smile in your direction? Did you start a conversation or perhaps plant a seed in their mind about what’s possible for them?

  I’ve been presented with an extraordinary lifetime of opportunities to reach people with a message that combines new ideas with my grandfather’s legacy of peace, hope, and positive change. I’m constantly traveling to different parts of the world, speaking to a growing audience of young people who hunger for change and inspiration. As social media and
Internet access expand around the globe, Madiba’s timeless message promises to resonate for generations to come. I hope to see you out there sometime. I appreciate your taking the time to read this book.

  As a mentor and a father, I share with my grandfather a profound sense of humble gratitude, hope, and responsibility. I wish the Old Man could see Lewanika now—seven years old, starting to read, and always quick to stand up for his little sister. Not that anyone needs to stand up for her. At the age of four, she is so feisty and fierce. I love it. I see in my children all that blossoming potential my parents and grandparents saw in me. I’ll continue to do my best to be the person they hoped I would be, setting before my son the same example that was set before me, lifting him up, knowing that one day he’ll go to the mountain and return to me a man.

  Acknowledgments

  This is my truth as I remember it. Dialogue has been reconstructed for dramatic purposes, using letters, videos, and public records. I’ve done my best to stay true to the spirit of conversations, events, and relationships portrayed in this book based on my unique perspective. Others may remember it differently, based on their unique perspective, and I respect that. My journey has taught me a great deal about history, politics, and economics, and in this book, I share my opinion and respect the differing opinions of others. While I’ve spoken candidly here about my use of marijuana, I do not condone underage drinking, use of marijuana by anyone under 21, or any kind of substance abuse in general. No part of this manuscript should be construed or misconstrued as medical or legal information, testimony or advice. My opinions do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Africa Rising, UNAIDS, the Mandela family, or any organizations who have employed me or hosted me as a speaker or any organizations who may employ or host me in the future. Thanks to my agent Albert Lee and his team at Aevitas Creative, my editor Michelle Howry and her team at Hachette, my collaborator Joni Rodgers and her agent Cindi Davis-Andress.