Memories of an Iconic Statesman

　　The passing of an icon gives time to pause andreflect. I was fortunate enough to interact with and photographthe late President Nelson Mandela on several occasionswhile working for a media group in South Africa inthe 1990s. It was a time when the country was making itsstuttering transition from an apartheid white-dominatedregime to a new dispensation of black majority rule. Fearsof a looming civil war were whispered in all the corridorsand tensions were simmering. But Mandela showed forgiveness– making a visible and determined effort to leadby example. His actions shocked us all. While right-wingwhite South Africans were left unimpressed， the majorityof whites realized that change was inevitable and here tostay – relegating the old life of segregation into the dustbinof history.

　　In all his dealings with the media， Mandela was alwaysgracious， often remembering reporters and photographersby name. He would offer his incredibly soft hands ingreeting and more often than not tell media workers it was“good to see you again” as if we were the guests of honor.I recall his patience and humor - at South Africa’s first freeelections a white mother thrust her baby into his path askingfor him to bless the child. Without hesitating he pickedthe baby up. It howled in indignation， to which he quipped，“You must belong to the opposition party.” Everyone brokeinto laughter， after which the baby stopped crying andbegan smiling， refusing to go back to its mother.

　　Mandela was a relaxed person， happy in his own skin，who when out visiting schools， would think nothing ofwearing the school’s soccer jersey over his suit， or havehundreds of young students mob him for hours. I watchedhim at functions treat a young waiter and a head of statein exactly the same way and thumb his nose at officialdress protocol by wearing his famous golden shirts.

　　But the most special memory I have of Mandela has todo with a poem I wrote about him after he was releasedfrom prison in 1990. The essence of the poem was amother living in a rural South African village telling herdaughter that she need no longer worry about her future，because “Nelson was home.” At the time I showed thepoem to my mother， who after reading it suggested I sendit to Mandela as a gesture of goodwill.

　　“It will make him happy to know people feel he bringshope to the nation，” my mother said. I posted off thepoem to the President’s Office， forgetting all about it in thedays that followed. To my surprise， two weeks later a letterwas delivered to me from the President’s Office. The letterthanked me for the poem and said that it was encouragingwords and gestures like these that make the job of Presidentmuch easier. It was signed N. R. Mandela， President ofthe Republic of South Africa.

　　It remains my most prized possession. Mandela taughtus all to forgive and to know that if your actions have positiveintentions you need not fear the consequences. Takea good rest Tata Madiba – your infectious smile and longwalk to freedom has forever enriched us all.

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