A few weeks ago, international icon, Nelson Mandela was admitted into a Johannesburg hospital to sort out a medical problem. The South African press worked overtime to report minute by minute developments relating to his hospitalisation.
A few weeks ago, international icon, Nelson Mandela was admitted into a Johannesburg hospital to sort out a medical problem. The South African press worked overtime to report minute by minute developments relating to his hospitalisation.
The coverage was akin to reality TV. A few years ago, Mandela had expressed his wish to be left alone to enjoy his well-deserved retirement. At over ninety years of age, his desire for relative anonymity has not been realised. Perhaps this is too huge a wish. Mandela maintains a unique position in global affairs. He is the celebrity’s ultimate celebrity. He has been transformed in to some sort of martyr to whom rock stars bow. He has become the unofficial pope of the world. In a world of pure ideals, he comes close to a sort of Nietzschean figure of the superman, a being beyond good and evil, which in an age of deepening democracy stands in polar opposition to public accountability. The realm beyond good and evil is an immoral universe even as it strives to attain a status of immortality. Mandela fulfills a deeply human need within us. In post-religious world, in an age of almost uniform banality, our collective craving for heroes, for superbeings has not reduced. The extremes contained in Mandela’s life assuage the collective longing in us to reach beyond the mundane. In a way, his life has fairy tale elements. After spending three decades in jail and being branded a terrorist, he becomes the president of the most powerful country in Africa. Such a contrast in a singular existence dwarfs all the semi-heroic tales an average human being in our age can deal with. And because of Mandela’s numerous achievements make our heads swirl and giddy, we constantly strive to push him out of the realm of the human into the pantheon of saints. And what’s more, he smiles like a saint. It won’t be surprising that that famous smile is indeed therapeutic. Famous names who have had the rare privilege of dinning with him wax eloquently about his charisma, the absolutely magnetic force of his personality. Some talk about going through a transformative experience just by sitting down for a chat. How truly inspiring. And so, we refuse to let him be. We refuse to let him play undisturbed the role of granddad and great-granddad to his offspring. Mandela, we insist, is global property and must remain so even in death. This speaks directly to the banality of our times, the sheer absence of the heroic and the extraordinary in our otherwise unremarkable age.
During the Fifa 2010 World Cup fiesta, Mandela was required to be present at the opening ceremonies in the chill of the South African winter. Unfortunately, at the last minute a tragedy occurred in the Mandela family and he had to be excused. It fell upon Jacob Zuma to inform the world that a Mandela offspring had been tragically killed in a car accident and so the patriarch of the Mandela clan had to left alone to handle his grief. But we forgot that we would have been unduly exposing the grand old man to the bitter chill of an African winter which could have caused all kinds of medical complications for him. Before the World Cup began, a teenager had said on national TV that Mandela must be present at the opening ceremonies. As she spoke, the headiness of youth reeled off every syllable she uttered. In the bloom of youth, she wasn’t aware of frailties of the aged, the slow decomposition of human flesh as age wreaks its havoc even as the spirit rages against the dying of the light. Even Mandela would be keenly aware of this natural process. But this seemed far from the understanding of our teenage fan. It never occurred to her to let the icon alone to soothe his aching knees and enjoy the simple pleasures of a chirping bird and the swish of the branches of trees in his garden. It never occurred to her that these simple pleasures might be far more important to him than enduring the long climb up the podium of the international spotlight just one more time. She couldn’t understand that the draining experience of having international attention turned upon him for the umpteenth time might rob her of the opportunity to know that Mandela is still able to smile and crack jokes in the privacy of his lounge.
We have transformed Mandela into a panacea for everything. During the xenophobic riots of 2008 that gripped South Africa, it was expected that he would proclaim loud and clear the spirit of ubuntu to dose the raging fames. It was expected that his saintly comportment was solve the problem once and for all. Politicians try to enlist his support for all kinds of projects. They try to have their photographs taken with his smile beaming on their shoulders. They conveniently forget that he is an old man who has fought long and hard to last more than one life time. They forget that he too serves the simple but wondrous pleasure of seeing a leaf fall off a tree in the peace and quiet of his garden. It would be great if only they could understand that they more he is left alone to enjoy these simple life-nurturing pleasures the longer we would sleep every night with the knowledge that he is still able to grant a radiant smile.
Sanya Osha is author of Kwasi Wiredu and Beyond, Ken-Saro-Wiwa’s Shadow and Naked Light and the Blind Eye (2010)
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