Ahmed Kathrada looked frail, but fit and always on the move, as he trod the concrete of his former prison. In the so-called Rivonia Trial, Kathrada was accused number five alongside Nelson Mandela and eight others. They were charged with sabotage and faced death. Instead a young Kathrada and his co-accused were shipped to Robben Island to serve life imprisonment in 1964.
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“We found out only later that life was to be life,” he says.
Kathrada spent 18 years of hardship and humiliation on Robben Island, followed by spells in other prisons, before he was released in 1990. Now 85, he is one of three survivors of the trial.
As South Africa celebrated 21 years of freedom, in April, Kathrada was back on the island wearing a black baseball cap with the words ‘Long Walk To Freedom’. A sign that this was a trip laden with symbolism. Upon disembarking on the ferry, he rejected a shuttle and walked for about 200 meters to the jail that robbed him of his youth.
As he spoke, standing on concrete patch prisoners used as a tennis court, he held his old cell key in his left hand; to his right was Christo Brand, the jailer who kept his eye on Mandela. Brand was 18 years old when he joined the prison as a warder, he’s now a manager at the island’s museum.
“We have our jailer among us,” smiled Kathrada.
Being a prisoner was no laughing matter. Alongside Kathrada was Vusumzi Mcongo, a former prisoner and now a tour guide on the island.
Mcongo told FORBES AFRICA the guard dogs would attack prisoners when they worked in the quarry. If the prisoners fought back they were punished. Officers thought more of the dogs than the humans they guarded.
“Black prisoners wore shorts because were regarded as boys and the Indians had long trousers,” says Mcongo.
Kathrada was back on Robben Island, now a World Heritage Site, because Google had launched a virtual tour application. It means anyone in the world can tour Robben Island for free.
This is a world away from the years that Kathrada and fellow prisoners spent on the island before they were released in the 1990s; they were still living in the 1960s.
“The technology revolution passed us by. The warden came to us and said ‘we received a fax from Pretoria, you are getting released’, after slight jubilation we asked ‘what is a fax?’” says Kathrada.
When Kathrada came out of prison he had never seen a motorway, nor a computer, not even an ATM.
“Not being able to see or interact with children for 20 years was possibly the most difficult thing to endure during my time on the island. There’s a poetic justice that children in classrooms all over world will now be able to visit Robben Island using this technology,” says Kathrada.
Kathrada, his friends called him Kathy, was a librarian in prison and earned an honours degree in history; he also became a father figure.
“There was a 15-year-old boy here, he was sentenced to 10 years. He did his matric here, his BA here, he started his B Juris here but completed it outside. Today, he’s the Deputy Chief Judge of the Constitutional Court – Justice Dikgang Moseneke – that was the boy,” says Kathrada proudly.
Long before Kathrada and his comrades were arrested, Xhosa Chief, Makana Nxele, was in chains on Robben Island. Nxele led a Xhosa regiment against the British in the Eastern Cape and was captured in 1819. In 1820, in an attempt to escape, Nxele swam from the island; guards caught him when he reached the beach at Blouberg, near Cape Town. The armed guards forced him to swim back. On the way back he drowned. You can google the rest.

Cyberspace Creeps Up  On The Island of Tears

Something as simple as a blanket most of us take for-granted can be a life-saver for the needy on a cold winter’s night.
South African social entrepreneur Carolyn Steyn, the founder of ‘67 Blankets for Nelson Mandela Day’ (celebrated on July 18, the late South African president’s birthday) in 2014, is now on her way to creating a record 21,000 handmade blankets to honor Madiba and the country’s 21 years of democracy.
“Madiba once said ‘it’s now in your hands’. And with our ‘KnitWits for Madiba’, it literally is, with each and every stitch we make. Blankets can be knitted, crocheted or sewn. It takes time to make a blanket and I believe that by doing so, it shows heart and caring. The recipient will hopefully realize that someone out there took the time and effort,” says Steyn.
The initiative came into being when Zelda la Grange, Mandela’s former private secretary, dared Steyn to make 67 blankets last year. Steyn gladly accepted the challenge and asked South Africans to lend a helping hand. Within a few months, she could not believe the number of people from around the world who joined in.
“When we began our distribution of blankets in the name of Madiba last year, I was completely taken aback by the thousands of people who simply do not have blankets…When you go to townships and poverty-stricken areas, into the old age homes, hospitals and orphanages and see the problem, your heart breaks,” says Steyn.
South African network provider Cell C has joined hands for the challenge, also teaching people to knit. A slew of celebrities, top CEOs, community leaders and politicians have taken on the challenge.
“Knitting, crocheting and sewing are skills one can use in life. And careers can be forged with these skills. This initiative is also about social cohesion,” offers Steyn.
In her personal capacity, Steyn has donated R210,000 ($17,500) to the school that produces the most blankets.
“If each one of us does something to make a difference, the world would be a better place. Naturally there is hunger all around and there are some incredible organizations who make it their sole mission to feed the hungry. ‘67 Blankets for Nelson Mandela Day’ has changed my life entirely and has become a full-time job for me and for many other people as well. We do not accept money at all. We trade in wool, ‘goodwool’,” says Steyn.
The movement will culminate on April 21 at the Union Building in South Africa’s capital Pretoria where the colourful woolies will be spread across the lawns before being distributed to charity organizations.

Nicole-Lamberts-Miss-SA-Top-12-Contestant-for-67-Blankets

Each and Every Stitch for Mandela

The living room of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s Soweto home in Johannesburg is all Nelson Mandela – there are portraits, photographs and perpetual reminders of South Africa’s first black President on the walls, floors, tables and showcases.
Yet, the most enduring mental image of Mandela and Winnie is from that bright afternoon on 11 February 1990, when Mandela, in a brown suit and tie, stepped out of the Victor Verster prison in Cape Town, one fist punching the air in a victory salute, the other holding Winnie’s hand.
We meet Winnie in her home in November. She is misty-eyed when she talks about Mandela’s final days, but smiles when reminded of that headline-grabbing moment when he was set free. It is a moment she revisits often, as it signalled the dawn of a new era in South African politics.
February marks a quarter of a century since Mandela’s release from prison.
“Isn’t that amazing? It seems like yesterday,” says Winnie, now 78, when we mention it to her.
She is dressed in the traditional attire of the royal Thembu tribe, worn for a year in honor of Mandela’s passing. She says she will wear it until the ‘cleansing rituals’ on the first anniversary of his death observed in Qunu in South Africa’s Eastern Cape where he was laid to rest.
In December, after the ceremony, Winnie made headlines when she told reporters the Qunu property is rightfully hers, and did not belong to Mandela’s widow Graca Machel, who she famously said ‘owns a whole world’ in her native Mozambique.
She challenged Mandela’s estate, seeking rights to the Qunu home, claiming the land was given to her during Mandela’s imprisonment.
Winnie was married to Mandela for 38 years. The couple divorced in 1996.
During our first meeting in November, Winnie had reiterated that future generations should be reminded that the family’s legacy is not about commercial gain.
“The African National Congress was not the ANC Pty Ltd, as some members of the family think sometimes… every family has its problems, and there are those who seem to think the legacy of Mandela is associated [with] material things. It can never be that… The legacy of this family is a political legacy. Therefore, I thank God it will be carried on by this side of the family.”
“We need to remind future generations that the Mandela legacy is not what you can make out of his name… It’s not about creating entities that are going to give capital to you because you happen to have the last name as Mandela. That was never the case. Our legacy is political, it was never about material gain… It’s not about how many millions you can make out of exhibiting whatever [has] a Mandela face. It’s not about the statues popping up all over the country, it’s not about egos… I never ever wanted to be associated with such things… Ours was a political sacrifice, it was not material.”
Her second daughter Zindzi, also present at the interview, said that those who want to celebrate Mandela should do so thoughtfully.
“We understand that he didn’t belong to us alone. But we never thought that even in his passing, he will still really not be ours, because there are constant reminders… people choose to celebrate him in the way they think fit without thinking of what traditional protocols are required, without thinking that the most decent thing is to consult the family first,” she says.
It is no secret that the Mandela moniker is a money-spinner. His face has graced coins, billboards, paintings and commercials. It has often been reported in the country’s press that his legacy status has been hijacked by government, private institutions, even some members of his own family.
Zindzi claims that people come up with ideas and then go to the family for endorsement. She sees this as a total ‘disregard’ to his wishes.
“In some instances, we have been shocked at how distasteful some of the projects and concepts are, because very often, it’s more about the people themselves as opposed to his legacy. Dad distinctly said when he retired that ‘I want you to rely less on my personal image… and focus more on my legacy. The greatest gift you can give me is to start living my legacy and values in my lifetime and my sunset years…’”
“It is very important for people to always introspect when they are thinking of celebrating him and when they are thinking about living his values. And if they are not sure, just to respect the simple protocol of consultation. Like any other family, we would never embark on a celebration of another icon without recognizing that… he didn’t exist as a tree trunk without branches, he had family. And it becomes so hurtful when it is overlooked.”

“We Are Shocked  At How Distasteful Some Of The Projects Are”

Denis Goldberg, who faced death with Nelson Mandela in the 1964 Rivonia Trial, was in a TV studio in London commenting on the great man’s release from prison.
Goldberg was released before the others after 22 years.
“I was absolutely confident that I was the start of a process. I wanted to be out to play a role in the liberation of South Africa. I was tired of being a symbol locked up in prison and I thought the time had come to move things along. There was the offer of releases and unconditionally releases, I decided to accept because I didn’t want PW Botha’s offer in 1985 just to evaporate into thin air, he made the offer out of weakness not strength, that’s the important part,” says Goldberg.
“I was able to tell the story of how the day we were sentenced, the head of the prison security said we should have been hanged and will never walk out of prison on our own two feet; they’d carry us out in a coffin. And then Nelson Mandela stopped the car he was in and he and his then wife Winnie Mandela walked out holding their hands into freedom, and the rest is history. I was able to tell that story. We survived and the old security colonel had passed away.”
Goldberg has many memories of Mandela but one that sticks in the mind is their first encounter after prison.
“He said to me, ‘hello boy it’s been a long time. He always called me boy because I was so much younger then he was. It was very sweet and touching. I also remember a bit later when we met again in Sweden, my wife and my daughter had to meet him. He greeted my wife rather stiffly not knowing who she is and when I introduced her, he bent down from his great height and whispered to her, ‘the boy is looking good you must be looking after him very well.’”
Zakhe Khuzwayo, Group CFO of InnoVent, was 14 years old and at boarding school at Hilton College in Pietermaritzburg. The school was dismissed early so they could watch Mandela’s first walk as a free man.
“The man was an enigma, I think I had seen a photograph of him when I was younger, I didn’t know what to expect. I guess it was more exciting and anxiety to see who this guy is and see what he actually looks like,” says Khuzwayo.
Twenty five years later, Khuzwayo runs his own company and enjoys much of the freedom ushered in by the release of Mandela.
“His role was instrumental in what this country actually became,”
says Khuzwayo.
Political analyst Thapelo Tselapedi was four years old in 1990 and remembers the humble Toyota Cressida that Mandela rode through Cape Town in. He also remembers seeing the man in the flesh four years later.
“In 1994, when I was eight, we went to the Mafikeng stadium where he was speaking. After he spoke, my sister ran to him to him to try and get an autograph. Nelson Mandela was surrounded by his bodyguards and my brother and I tried to go in and get an autograph but we couldn’t. My sister was the only one who managed to get one. She got in, got her autograph, he shook her hand and then she got out. I was sad that I couldn’t break through, but my sister always kept that autograph in her room, it was very nice,” recalls Tselapedi.
A quarter of a century later, his feelings are bittersweet.
“Sweet because he has to do the impossible to calm down black people but at the same it seemed to not have been enough as it was limited by the interests that the white people had also wanted, he had to find a home for everyone and that meant compromise. The bittersweet part is characterized by where black people are now versus where white people are.”
Like Tselapedi, Goldberg has his opinions.
“I am still optimistic but I am also distressed. I am optimistic because we have achieved so much despite our weakness, despite the legacy of apartheid leaving us with an inadequate civil service, with half the population illiterate, half the population unemployed and we’ve come a long way since then and the conditions of people have undoubtedly improved. My sadness is the corruption and what I call the patronage society,” says Goldberg.
The man who stared down death with Mandela feels his country has a long way
to go.

‘I Am Still Optimistic But  I Am Also Distressed’

December is the month we celebrate, give gifts, and restore joy to the world regardless of religious beliefs. This year, for the first time, we will remind ourselves of Nelson Mandela, as the anniversary of his death is recalled.
He taught us much about reconciliation. But my memories of him are always infused with his laughter, his sense of fun, his delicious wit, his ability to make light of serious matters thereby bringing them into human perspective.
Most times it would start with a phone call.
“Hello Peter,” that familiar voice would boom, “how are you today?”
While always joyful to get the call, behind the happy emotion was one of trepidation: what does the old man want from me?
Bill Clinton once said – after Mandela had introduced him as one of the best politicians in the world from whom he could learn a lot of tricks – that South Africans didn’t know how lucky they were.
“Mr Mandela is a pretty good and tricky politician himself,” Clinton said with a chuckle.
“When he calls and says ‘Mr President’ I know there is a matter of State to discuss. But if he says ‘Hello Bill, how are you?’ I know this call is going to cost the United States a billion dollars.”
It sounds like bragging to say he called me often. But he did, because of my job as editor of The Star. His relationship with the media was excellent, friendly, courteous, never demanding, always suggesting.
And he did like to see his picture in the paper. At the end of one year, I presented him with a framed poster ‘page one’ made from all the times his photograph had been on the front page: 27 times in that year, making him our favorite pin-up.
Yet he still complained that we were not giving him and his political party, the ANC, the space they deserved.
“If I put a picture of you on every page, you would still want more. You politicians are all the same,” I grumbled.
“Not on the back page,” he said. “I don’t want to be with losing teams.”
He called to invite me to breakfast and I had my children with me so asked if they could come, naturally he agreed.
When he heard I had named my daughter after Helen Suzman, he told my Helen, then seven, that he hoped she would be a fighter like Suzman.
“I want to be a vet,” said my Helen matter-of-factly.
“Well, I have some cows in Qunu,” he said, “will you come look after them when I have retired to the hills?”
“I don’t think so,” said Helen, undiplomatically.
Once inside his Houghton home I told my two daughters to please play outside.
“Let them stay,” he said.
“No, they will break some Ming vase or other irreplaceable gift, they can play outside,” I said.
“I am the president, you can stay,” he told them.
“I’m your father, leave and play outside.”
“Tell your father I am also his President and am instructing him to let you stay…”
They stayed, and my youngest daughter, Julia, wandered about the sitting room touching everything as I kept a beady and rather anxious eye on her.
Halfway through our intense political discussion, she stood behind him, tugged his head backwards and kissed him on his forehead.
Astonished, he asked: “What was that for?”
She shrugged her six-year-old shoulders and said: “You looked sad and grumpy. I thought you needed a kiss.”
He loved Julia forever after. When he spotted me at functions he would call out “How’s Julia?” as his greeting.

The Day A Sad And Grumpy Mandela  Needed A Kiss

Nelson Mandela, the artist, was born in 2003, with an introspective set of signed charcoal lithographs, 21 in all, completed under supervision. They harked back to Robben Island.
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Pains were taken to ensure that the pieces weren’t forged. The paper he drew on was watermarked. The prints also carry an embossed stamp of two joined hands. Hours of footage were shot, showing him hard at work on the pieces, to prove that he did in fact create them.
In the South African art market, the pieces have done exceptionally well selling for around $13,300, 10 times their value on release. They are expected to appreciate over time, a rarity in African art. At a London auction, a handprint lithograph, with an authenticated signature, sold for almost $27,000.
It’s good business that has brought some problems. Almost all of this art is going to end up outside of Africa.
“There is demand, mostly from foreign collectors. Most of our sales, around 80 percent, are to international buyers,” says Andre Blignaut from the Clock Tower Gallery in Cape Town, one of the two major dealers and authenticators of Mandela’s art.
Soon after Mandela’s hospitalization, forgeries of ‘no particular skill’ were said to litter the market. Fakes were selling at $4,500 apiece.  However, significant proof, beyond the inspections of a small group of Mandela art experts, of whether the pieces were counterfeit has yet to surface.
“It’s the name behind the art, that’s why they are valuable. A lot of artists are trying to capitalize on Nelson Mandela but this doesn’t mean it’s good. Good art sells, there is a lot of poor art out there,” cautions Blignaut.
At the same time, public art is also hijacking Mandela’s legacy status. The recent unveiling of a tribute sculpture known as Perceiving Freedom on the Sea Point promenade in Cape Town is causing controversy. It is an enlarged metal and plastic model of a pair Ray-Ban sunglasses looking on to Robben Island. Critics decried the piece as ‘advertising masquerading as art’.
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Rebecca Hodes, who wrote on the offending sculpture, warns: “In consenting to its installation, the City of Cape Town has made itself complicit in the corporate abuse of public land and in the hijacking of one of our greatest national icons for private gain.”
As South Africa remembers its national treasure, a year after his death, issues of how best to preserve his legacy must be understood and then resolved.

Nelson Mandela, The Artist

It was a sombre and belated ceremony. On August 19, after years of negotiations, South Africa welcomed home the remains of Nat Nakasa nearly half a century after he died after falling from a hotel window in New York. Nakasa was reburied on September 13 in Heroes’ Acre in Chesterville, Durban. The gravesite is a few kilometers from where Nakasa grew up.
<div id="attachment_3146" style="width: 310px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-3146" class="size-medium wp-image-3146" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/453858634-300x217.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="217" />CHESTERVILLE, SOUTH AFRICA- AUGUST 19: Minister of Arts and Culture Nathi Mthethwa, SA National Editors’ Forum executive director Mathatha Tsedu and Kwa Zulu Natal MEC for health Sibongiseni Dhlomo on August 19, 2014 at King Shaka International Airport in Durban, South Africa. The men attended a small ceremony at the airport to welcome back home well known late journalist, Nat Nakasa whose remains were brought back from the USA to be reburied in Chesterville Durban. (Photo by Gallo Images / The Times / Tebogo Letsie)</div>
In October 1964, the 27-year-old Nakasa enrolled at Harvard University to study journalism. It meant he left South Africa forever as his government denied him a temporary visa. Nakasa was the second African to receive the Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University. The other was his colleague Lewis Nkosi. Nakasa’s death in exile remains a mystery.
At the time, Harvard University made a statement saying Nakasa committed suicide because he was homesick and depressed as the United States (US) government refused to extend his stay. But there was speculation that Nakasa, who was believed to have been watched by intelligence services, could have been pushed from the high hotel window.
Although Nakasa had no political allegiance, the apartheid government feared that he worked for the banned revolutionary organizations of Nelson Mandela and Robert Sobukwe.
“As I have never been active in politics except as a journalist, I expect no difficulty in obtaining a passport,” Nakasa wrote to the Nieman Foundation.
“If I shall leave this country and decide not to come back, it will be because of a desire to avoid perishing in my own bitterness – a bitterness born of being reduced to a second-class citizen,” Nakasa wrote in a column before he left South Africa.
Former journalist and academic, Professor Keorapetse Kgositsile, knew Nakasa well. Kgositsile, who was in exile with Nakasa in the US, first met him in the early 1960s when he worked for the left-wing publication The New Age and Nakasa for Drum magazine in Johannesburg.
“The general assumption is that Nat committed suicide. But I am not convinced that he did. As I have said before, I have no evidence to argue that he didn’t but also there’s no concrete evidence that he did. And knowing him, and the general African attitude towards suicide, especially our generation, it would be very strange because I don’t know of any South African who committed suicide around that time. I find the issue of suicide very problematic… It was misguiding that Nakasa wanted to return to South Africa during apartheid. He understood clearly he would not be allowed back. Those who said he wanted to return were undermining his intelligence,”
says Kgositsile.
“I respected Nat because he didn’t have any complications. He was what he was. He was humble, almost reserved, quietly spoken, honest and frank. He was almost withdrawn. When you met Nat, the man was not different from Nat the writer. He wrote what he believed and lived.”
South African musicians living in New York, Miriam Makeba and Hugh Masekela, and photographer Peter Magubane raised money to bury Nakasa at Ferncliff Cemetery in Hartsdale, near where the assassinated Malcom X had been laid to rest few months earlier. At the time of his death, Nakasa was working on Makeba’s biography.
Nearly 30 years later, Nakasa’s plight stirred journalists back home. In 1993, an article by an Afrikaans newspaper journalist, Dana Snyman, pressured Harvard University to put a modest headstone on his grave. Five years later, the South African National Editors’ Forum inaugurated the Nat Nakasa Award for brave journalists.
In 2012, Kgositsile joined a South African delegation, including Siphiwo Mahala, the Deputy Director in the Department of Arts and Culture, and Vusi Shongwe, a KwaZulu-Natal provincial representative, to negotiate the return of Nakasa’s remains from New York. It took two years and went to the Supreme Court.
It was a sad end to what could have been a hopeful story for African journalism. A reminder of this hope is a picture of a young African in the front row of a Harvard scholars’ group, dressed in a tweed jacket buttoned over a thin striped tie. The context makes it even more intriguing. In 1964, America was a staid and conservative place. It was a time when many black people lived in fear of being lynched. A year before the country elected a Catholic, John F. Kennedy, for the first time in nearly 200 years of democracy.
Nakasa, the second of three children, was born in Lusikisiki in the Pondoland region of the Eastern Cape. Poverty forced Nakasa to leave school, without qualification, in 1954. His family moved to Durban where he cut his teeth working for the Ilanga Lase Natal newspaper, in both Zulu and English.
Johannesburg beckoned; Nakasa joined The Post and later Drum magazine and freelanced for international publications. He became part of the iconic Drum team: Henry Nxumalo, Casey Motsitsi, Can Themba and Lewis Nkosi.
Nakasa also became the first black columnist on The Rand Daily Mail,
a white liberal newspaper
in Johannesburg.
As Drum magazine struggled against growing press restrictions, Nakasa met John Thompson, an American who led the Fairfield Foundation, an organization supporting international cultural endeavors, at one of the mixed-race parties that Nakasa frequented. Thompson convinced Nakasa to found the first black-owned literary journal, The Classic, in 1963. Later, Thompson encouraged Nakasa to enrol at Harvard.
In another world, Nakasa would have returned to Africa as an erudite professor to enrich and train his fellow journalists; sadly, he didn’t.

The Native Of Nowhere Is Home

Last month, Glasgow bid farewell to the Commonwealth Games, but the debate about the importance of the organization will continue long after the athletes have left.
The relevance of the Commonwealth has been widely questioned in recent times. Some claim that the majority of its states are not very interested in the association and it has become virtually unknown among their people.
Others believe that the Commonwealth is needed more today than it was in its heyday of fighting for an end to racism in Southern Africa, the independence of Zimbabwe under majority rule, the freeing of Nelson Mandela and the ending of apartheid.
The Commonwealth, made up of 2.2 billion citizens from 53 independent nations spanning six continents, has divided opinion for most of its existence. But after celebrating its 65th anniversary this year, how relevant is the organization that is often described as an extension of colonialism?
At the moment there is disinterest and discontent within the organization itself. Formerly known as the British Commonwealth, it was originally seen as a way of uniting former British Empire colonies.
The Commonwealth is a network of networks; decisions made within it have the scope to resonate globally. That is the considerable soft power that the Commonwealth has when used purposefully. But is that the case today?
It should be noted that its present member states, including Britain, chose to be part of the Commonwealth, and to remain part of it. Two of these member states &#8211; South Africa and Pakistan &#8211; were withdrawn from the association by their governments at the time, but were subsequently brought back.
Two other countries have since been withdrawn &#8211; Zimbabwe and The Gambia. In the case of Zimbabwe, President Robert Mugabe’s government violated Commonwealth values regarding democracy. When the Commonwealth sought to suspend Zimbabwe from membership, Mugabe withdrew his country from the association.
Last year, The Gambian President Yahya Jammeh withdrew his country because he no longer wished to associate with Britain. He also claims the Commonwealth represents an extension of colonialism.
Many African commentators believe that the sole purpose of the body was to promote white interests and that continues to be the case today.
They also argue that the exits of countries were more likely in response to criticism faced from other member states on their human rights record. The Commonwealth is often criticized for being too lenient.
In 2011, a group made up of prominent figures from across the Commonwealth suggested that widespread homophobia needed to be tackled, particularly in countries where it interferes with HIV/Aids programs. But current statistics suggest little has changed. Of the 53 Commonwealth nations, 42 have anti-homosexuality legislation, with punishment varying from fines to the death penalty.
Controversies and politics aside, some argue that there is a human aspect to the Commonwealth.
A section of the organization commonly referred to as the people’s Commonwealth, which comprises of independent, professional, philanthropic and sporting bodies, works to help improve the lives of people in the organization’s countries.
Every two years, leaders meet at the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) to discuss issues affecting each country and the organization as a whole.
It is believed that by allowing equal representation for all states, the Commonwealth gives smaller nations an international platform they wouldn’t otherwise have and creates a forum for ideas that often do not get onto the mainstream agenda.
Only time will tell how long it lasts.

The Commonwealth, Why?

At the well-attended launch of her book Good Morning, Mr Mandela in Johannesburg in June, Zelda la Grange, Nelson Mandela’s trusted aide who he called ‘Zeldina’, was introduced “as the person who walked in the same steps as one of the greatest legends”. Archbishop Desmond Tutu said in a televized message on the occasion: “Your utter devotion to Madiba was so obvious to anyone…In many ways, it was a symbol of hope for the new relationships in our country.”
La Grange says ‘Khulu’ (grandfather) or Madiba always knew she would write a book. The Afrikaner, who was brought up in apartheid South Africa, started as a typist in the office of the first democratically elected South African President in 1994 at the age of 23, going on to work with Mandela in various capacities for 19 years. She started penning down her thoughts in 2009, “not for the purpose of it becoming a book, but to offload memories”.
“It’s a personal memoir and I want people to read the book and be inspired by my change,” said la Grange, ahead of the launch, when we caught up with her for more:
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Can you describe your first meeting with
Madiba in 1994 at the Union Buildings?
I bumped into him, he extended his hand and I said ‘Good morning, Mr Mandela’. That was the turning point of my life.
He broke all my defenses. I was brought up to believe this person is my enemy, and when he spoke to me in Afrikaans, I felt guilty and started crying. I felt responsible, that my people and I were brought up to believe that he is the enemy. And yet you can see the sincerity on his face, his smile; and [I was thinking] why was I so afraid of him. It was in complete contrast to what I expected and I cried. He told me at that first meeting I was overreacting.
Did you draw any criticism in the early years when working for him?
At first, there was a lot of criticism within his own political circles, about why he chose a white woman. He was very careful to relate that story to me at first, knowing I was sensitive and after a while, he would joke about it. He would repeat the entire conversation and say: “Can you believe they would say this?”
It also provided people with entertainment. Madiba’s and my sense of humor had a strange similarity; so we would joke about even these things. He was always looking for humor in any situation. There is nothing laughable about being in prison for 27 years, but he was always trying to find the lighter side of things.
Did he ever get angry?
He had vices and virtues like everyone else. He was a very determined, almost hotheaded person. You couldn’t sway him once he decided something. You knew not to mess with him when he was angry. [But] Madiba didn’t hold grudges, he would get over something very quickly but you would know exactly how he felt. If you look at the CODESA negotiations, he was really angry at F.W. de Klerk at some point – the photographers managed to capture his body language beautifully. He managed to change the narrative. He always had this mindset of reconciliation, of unity, and there was a strategy behind whatever he did.
How was the transition once he retired from the Presidency?
The morning after his retirement was quite a wakeup call. We thought we would pretty much have access to state resources, and we could rely on certain things from the government, but any retiring head of state is in for a full surprise. We had no media protocol, no foreign affairs – all of that was gone.
You have traveled widely with him. Any memories?
I am reminded of our visit to Iran, during President Khatami’s presidency. In the book, you will see how important women’s empowerment is for Madiba. He insisted on me going to the palace where women are not allowed. So we went to dinner at the President’s residence, and there were only male bodyguards and security. I was fighting off photographers, as Madiba’s eyes were sensitive to flashlights. I tried staying in the back so not to offend anybody with my presence. It was very noticeable I was the only female there. A butler then sent for me, and Madiba said, “Oh Zeldina, the President wants to have supper with you.” The whole time, the President asked about South Africa, and Madiba would not answer; so I had to speak. I was put on the spot.
Did you get to spend enough time with him in the final years?
The later years, from 2008, when he started slowing down, he stopped all public appearances and meetings. There was no business any longer to discuss. I tried to go once a week to Qunu [to meet him], more on a personal basis.
How did you come to terms with his passing?
Those ten days of the funeral, I will never want to relive again. You have to deal with the outpouring of emotions from the outside world, and you don’t have time to deal with your own emotions. I still find myself thinking, has it really happened, is he really not there anymore? I have never lost anyone close to me. I am very fortunate. Both my parents are still alive. This is a very new experience for me.
Are you still in touch with
Graça Machel?
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I am very close to her. She is true to her name; she epitomizes grace and strength and has been an emotional stronghold for all of us, through his illness. She was not there only for Madiba, but for us as well.
What kind of work are you
involved in now?
I am still contracted with the Nelson Mandela Foundation; at present [I take part in] leadership courses for the foundation, and I do a bit of motivational speaking, just telling people my story and conveying the lessons I have learnt.
Did you ever think you put your life on hold?
I think I have gained so much, and have been so exceptionally privileged that I wouldn’t say I put my life on hold really. It evolved into something greater. My working hours were nonstop. When Madiba was President, he would call at 2AM and say, can you get hold of Minister Trevor Manuel? I didn’t go for a movie for 10 years. I was too scared he would call and I wouldn’t be able to help him.
You were very special to him?
It would be incorrect to say I was the only one, or the special one. There were other people who played vital roles in his life. My role was confined to his public life, so people need to see it in the context of my duties.

How Madiba Changed Me

The Mandela Moment
It was Winnie Mandela’s first public appearance after the death of her former husband Nelson Mandela in December. Arriving at Orlando High School, she was welcomed by cheering crowds, African National Congress officials and photographers as she made her way through the gates ahead of the line and into the voting station. Mandela, seen here with South Africa’s Minister of Mineral Resources Susan Shabangu, left as quickly as she came, rushing off to Bekkersdal, where incidents of violence had been reported on the eve of the elections.
‘My Vote Is My Vision’
Twenty-year-old Bridgette Mashile cast her vote at Jules High School.
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“I just couldn’t wait to mark ‘X’ on the ballot paper because I already knew which political party I was voting for when the day finally came. Voting for the very first time has really had an impact on my life. The ink on my finger is good proof that I am now old enough to make my own decisions, especially how I would like my country to be run.”
For Madiba’s Legacy
The fact that she is blind did not stop 52-year-old Elizabeth Malebo of Alexandra township from participating. Malebo is grateful for the social grant she receives every month.
“Before 1994, black people were deprived of so many opportunities but the people who suffered the most were those living with disability like me.  I will continue to vote in honor of Madiba’s legacy.”
Grateful For Democracy
Patricia Abrahams, 53, has never missed a chance to vote in the past 20 years and is grateful for the opportunities of democracy.
“It is always the thought of the sacrifices of our late president, Nelson Mandela, that encourages me to vote. Apartheid had deprived us of the opportunities we now enjoy. I live in a previously so-called ‘white neighborhood’, an opportunity my parents’ generation never experienced. As an arthritis patient, I have the right to better medical treatment at any hospital without being discriminated.”
The Mandela Moment
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It was Winnie Mandela’s first public appearance after the death of her former husband Nelson Mandela in December. Arriving at Orlando High School, she was welcomed by cheering crowds, African National Congress officials and photographers as she made her way through the gates ahead of the line and into the voting station. Mandela, seen here with South Africa’s Minister of Mineral Resources Susan Shabangu, left as quickly as she came, rushing off to Bekkersdal, where incidents of violence had been reported on the eve of the elections.
‘My Vote Is My Vision’
Twenty-year-old Bridgette Mashile cast her vote at Jules High School.
“I just couldn’t wait to mark ‘X’ on the ballot paper because I already knew which political party I was voting for when the day finally came. Voting for the very first time has really had an impact on my life. The ink on my finger is good proof that I am now old enough to make my own decisions, especially how I would like my country
to be run.”
For Madiba’s Legacy
The fact that she is blind did not stop 52-year-old Elizabeth Malebo of Alexandra township from participating. Malebo is grateful for the social grant she receives every month.
“Before 1994, black people were deprived of so many opportunities but the people who suffered the most were those living with disability like me.
I will continue to vote in honor of Madiba’s legacy.”
The Art Of War 2.0
In the run-up to the recent South African elections, social media emerged a winner.
When Sun Tzu penned The Art of War, he probably had South Africa’s 20th democratic elections in mind. Never has the importance of military positioning been more important. Forget the rallies, the posters, the promises and speeches that either roused emotion deep in our bellies or left us reaching for the mute button. This war was not just about these traditional weapons of battle but for the first time saw political parties enter the social media ring in a fight for followers, likes, and retweets.
The dust has now settled. The bruised, the battered, and the victorious have claimed their places. South African political parties have certainly latched onto the hype of social media with the top four performers in the election, the African National Congress, Democratic Alliance, Economic Freedom Fighters and Inkatha Freedom Party, all ramping up their online artillery in the build-up to the elections.
The social media whirlwind has been an unmatched phenomenon that has changed electioneering tactics forever. It’s hard to believe that in 2007, when Barack Obama first made his presidential intentions known, iPhones did not exist, Twitter was the new cool kid on the block and Facebook had a mere 50 million users. It shouldn’t come as a surprise then that the ‘twittersphere’ has proven to be a reflection of national opinion and that Facebook has become the go-to space to talk party policies and how they are intended to shape our future.
South African political parties have woken up to the fact that in addition to posting the last weekend’s party photos, young people are gravitating to social media to voice their political opinions. The unwritten rules of the social media game open up a space for peer-to-peer engagement (arguably the most effective tool of influence), where the playing field is leveled in 140 characters, and where thought-leadership is not the preserve of a handful of insiders.
For the technophobes who haven’t embraced social media yet, consider this: Johannesburg has the highest number of Twitter users in Africa. South Africa has consistently recorded on average 100,000 new Twitter users every month in the past three years. In the 2008 elections, Obama claimed 70% of all the votes of people under the age of 25. According to the United Nations Population Fund, 88% of young people in South Africa have access to a landline, a mobile phone, or the Internet. You do the math. Social media in electioneering has very little to do with technology and everything to do with social behavior.
Like a first date, our political parties’ soirée with social media has been hesitant and somewhat cautious. As we build up to 2019, political parties that are the keenest to get to second and third base will be building their social media budgets, finding the right expertise, and ultimately claiming more virtual and ballot box votes.

The Poll Picture

It wasn’t your ordinary art theft. Whoever stole South African artist Conor Mccreedy’s painting of Nelson Mandela had a strange way of doing it.
Mccreedy was on his way to fetch the painting from a vault in New York. As he entered the vault he noticed a four-foot hole in the ceiling. He thought it was strange considering the ceiling was one meter thick concrete. He guessed that the company must be doing maintenance on the building. He then found a broken lock. What he saw inside stunned him.
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“There in my storage room, in place of my painting, was a pile of original photographs of Yoko Ono, John Lennon and Mick Jagger from the sixties on the Hampton River… It was like a scene out of a movie.”
Mccreedy’s painting of Mandela, along with a sketchbook of 30 drawings, were gone. A few hours later, his storage room was ringed with yellow tape.
“We had the CIA, CSI, FBI and Interpol all there. It was the first time meeting Frank Shea, my private investigator; he literally could have walked out of a movie. Shea had this comb over and perfect hair, with a perfect red tie and a pinstripe suit complete with Mont Blanc pen, like Donnie Brasco or 007. Then I thought to myself this must be a joke,” he says.
It wasn’t. No one could answer the riddle of Lennon and Jagger either. It was June and at the time Mandela was sick. Mccreedy thought the heist had something to do with hate mail, most of it from South Africa, claiming his portrait was merely jumping on the band wagon.
“People were running me down, saying I was a con. It was sad. But every time I get a negative comment my art goes up in value. Why do it if you hate my art? If you hate my childlike blue splash? It took me 27 years to do that blue splash,” he says.
The next day; it got worse. At 6AM, New York time, Mccreedy’s insurance company phoned him. The painting was insured in Africa, not New York. The only thing to do was for Mccreedy to fly back to South Africa, knock on the door of the art collector who bought the painting and buy it back with an envelope containing R100,000 ($9,280).
“It wasn’t even my favorite piece. I did it in Europe in 2008… The painting was in my trademark MccreedyBlue on a A4 canvas board, but that was it,” he says.
The robbery made headlines around the world and the story was just beginning. Interpol, the international criminal police organization, declared the missing artwork was priceless; it gave Mccreedy a claim to be the only living artist to have a painting declared priceless.
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Almost a year later, clues are as elusive as the painting itself. The artist has found a way to recoup the loss. Mccreedy is now selling 46664 replica prints, the same as Mandela’s prison number, for $100 each. Five percent goes to the Nelson Mandela Centre of Memory in Johannesburg.
It’s just one of the bizarre stops along the way for Mccreedy, who was born and bred in Johannesburg and making a name for himself in New York. At school he was a talented footballer whose trademark was scoring from corner kicks. There he had a chance meeting with Mandela that changed his life.
“When I was eleven I had the opportunity to meet Mandela personally. Out of a hall filled with 600 school boys he chose to speak to me. I’ll never forget it. He said to me ‘you have powerful eyes, use them’. Mandela and Picasso are my greatest inspirations,” Mccreedy says.
New York didn’t start well for Mccreedy. He was broke and dropped out of Art College when blind chance landed his first solo exhibition.
“I bought an old third-hand Iranian carpet at a store and I needed someone to help me move it. So we went to my studio, a four-flight walk up the stairs, and the man helping me comes up and sees all this art that I’m working on, adorned on my walls, and he’s like: ‘This stuff is crazy! You know what? You’ve got to meet someone.’”
The carpet carrier knew the curator at the National Arts Club, in Manhattan, just down the road. It resulted in Mccreedy’s first ever exhibition sold out two days before the opening. What’s more his former lecturers from art school, who had written him off, came to the opening and were impressed, Mccreedy says.
These days Mccreedy is no longer a struggling artist. His art is selling from Africa to Asia. On the morning of meeting FORBES AFRICA in March, he sold a painting for $33,000.
“Art is an investment and can bring in big business. Art auctions in South Africa sell for R450 million ($42 million) a year, but I’ve seen auctions in New York sell for that in one night. People haven’t realized the opportunities art can bring,” he says.
Clearly Mccreedy has.

The Case Of  The Missing Mandela

For days, it had been tense in the cells beneath the Palace of Justice in Pretoria, in an eight-month trial punctuated by fear, loathing and laughter. For Nelson Mandela and his co-defendants, it was to prove a harrowing dance with the death penalty. Mandela was convinced he was going to die, according to his fellow defendants, and had started passing on his wishes to his fellow accused Denis Goldberg.
“He thought he was going to hang,” says Goldberg.
There was a good chance that they were going to hang. All were charged with sabotage against the apartheid regime. It was an accusation so serious that, if the prosecution proved a case to answer, the onus was on the accused to prove innocence—rather than being innocent until proven guilty.
The ambitious prosecutor, Percy Yutar, laid on the evidence with a shovel. He painted Mandela and co as desperate terrorists who had enough explosives to blow up Johannesburg. In giving evidence, Yutar would occasionally turn and smile to the special branch men in the gallery. Goldberg recalls how the special branch men would look at him and draw a finger across their throats in a threat of death. Goldberg gestured back with a jerk of the middle finger.
The antagonism worsened. Yutar ventured to the calm intellectual, Walter Sisulu, that life for the black man in 1960s South Africa was not all that bad.
“I wish you could live for just one day as we are forced to do and you would not make such a remark,” flashed back an angry Sisulu.
There was laughter when Ahmed Kathrada, one of the three survivors of the trial, gave evidence in the witness box. He was asked about a man, clearly him, referred to in evidence merely as ‘K’. He was asked did he know anyone with a name beginning with the initial K?
“Khrushchev,” replied Kathrada, referring mischievously to the Soviet premier of the day to the laughter of his fellow accused.
It all led to one moment that was to transform the public perception of those in the dock from terrorists to freedom fighters—the Benjamin Franklins of Africa in the eyes of the world press, in the words of defence team member George Bizos. To kick off the defence, the accused had opted for a statement from the dock. Mandela led the way with a speech that took six hours and went down in history.
&#8220;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 will live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to see realized. But my Lord, if it needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.&#8221;
The late Arthur Chaskalson, then a young member of the defence team, told me in 2010: “There was a dramatic silence you could almost hear the silence in the court, you could feel it. It was absolutely quiet, not a sound.”
When the accused came up the steps to the court on June 12, 1964, they still thought they were going to hang. What they didn’t know was that a combination of the prosecution’s failure to press the case, diplomatic pressure and reluctance by the authorities to make martyrs out of them, was to save the necks of the Rivonia trialists.
When the judge almost whispered a life sentence, instead of death, the relieved trialists looked at each other and laughed out loud.
“Life and life is wonderful,” Goldberg says to his mother in the gallery.
More than 30 years later, Mandela, in one of his many shining acts of reconciliation, invited Yutar, the man who tried to hang him, to tea.
A few years later, Mandela opened the Constitutional Court in Johannesburg, on February 14, 1995, that was to be led by Chaskalson. The next day, the court was to debate the death penalty and Mandela knew this was a moment for his impeccable timing.
&#8220;The last time I appeared in court was to hear whether or not I was going to be sentenced to death. Fortunately for myself and my colleagues we were not,” says Mandela.
“If he had been executed what would have happened?” asks Chaskalson in 2010.
I dread to think.

Death, Life  And Laughter

Broad and tall, Francois Pienaar is a big man in every sense of the word. A man who ploughs his own furrow. He muscled his way to win the Rugby World Cup before millions of viewers and nearly 20 years later had the guts to dress up as a potato chip in a Lays commercial.
“Sometimes you will be remembered for that, not for the rugby career. When I check-in at the airport the lady at the counter would look at me and say: ‘Oh, the Lays guy,’” says Pienaar.
In many ways, Pienaar is an enigma. He is the law graduate who never argued a case; the conservative Afrikaaner who led his reluctant players to coach black youngsters in the townships; a man as South African as a springbok, who now spends most of his life outside of the country. On the way, he is trying to find the next Pienaar destined for rugby glory.
The image of Pienaar accepting the World Cup trophy from former president Nelson Mandela, dressed in a number six jersey, is one that lived long in the memory.
“Seeing Mr Mandela wearing my jersey was very incredible, emotional and humbling,” says Pienaar.
Overnight Pienaar became a household name through that unifying moment—an Afrikaaner and a former political prisoner together.
“For Mandela to ask everyone in the country to support the Springboks as their team was unusual but also visionary. The 1995 story was a story about human triumph, where a country that was much divided got an opportunity to celebrate together. All religions and creeds became world champions for the first time.”
The celebrity status stuck. In March this year, Pienaar the businessman shared a stage with Steve Wozniak, the co-founder of Apple, and Jordan Belfort, the American stockbroker, at the South African Success Summit in Johannesburg, before 5,000 delegates.
Pienaar and Belfort grew up worlds apart but both saw their life stories told by Hollywood. In the 2009 movie Invictus, Matt Damon played Pienaar. Leonardo DiCaprio played Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street.
The only disappointment about the movie for Pienaar was the rugby.
“It’s the human story of how South Africa came together and there are a lot of emotional scenes that I like about it but I don’t like the rugby scenes. They are awful. If you played the game, rugby is more beautiful than what is shown in the movie. But, I can understand it was made for the American audiences.”
Pienaar has business interests in university sports development, media and entertainment but says his initiative, Make A Difference Foundation (MAD), is his way of giving back to the poor. Pienaar is the chairman of MAD and it enjoys the support of other former international captains, such as David Kirk, the first winner of the World Cup for New Zealand in 1987, John Eales of Australia, Martin Johnson of England, John Smit of South Africa and Nick Farr-Jones of Australia.
“Make A Difference gives back to the poor people. We founded it 10 years ago in order to help kids in the townships and impoverished areas,” he says.
“We get them to good schooling and give them financial backing to achieve success. One of our first learners we brought on board will be receiving an engineering degree at Harvard University this year,” says Pienaar.
Pienaar says these days he lives for sport development. He runs a business called Varsity Rugby which was founded in 2008. It gave birth to the Varsity Cup tournament, in which eight universities compete. A second tier competition, the Varsity Shield, arrived in 2011 and was then followed by the under-20 category, Young Guns.
“I am passionate about sport. My first love at school was cricket but rugby took over. I have been very privileged to see how sport can change people; it can transform people as well as communities and a country.”
Varsity Rugby not only makes money, Pienaar says it has produced nine Springboks (players that have represented South Africa internationally) and hundreds of professionals in the domestic leagues.
“Sport is powerful; it can unite or divide a nation. Rugby in the years of apartheid divided us and in the democracy it united us.”
Pienaar was among the first group of South African rugby players to play in Europe. He signed with Saracens in London and became CEO of the club, before returning to Africa to live in Cape Town.
He thinks it is naïve to stand in the way of players who want to maximize their earning potential in the richer overseas leagues. This is the exercising of freedom that Mandela would no doubt have approved of.

What Mandela’s Captain Did Next

It’s hard to find an article on Stedman Graham that doesn’t mention his media-mogul fiancé, of 22 years. The hype and media frenzy that surrounds the queen of talk, Oprah Winfrey, could mean he often lives in her shadow.
“The beautiful thing about it is that even though people in the outside world define me by that, that’s not how I define myself… The bottom line is you’ve got to be a pretty strong person to even be with a person who is able to self-actualize herself and who is a woman, you can’t be weak, you have to step up,” says Graham.
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Growing up in Whitesboro, New Jersey, Graham had yet to find the self-awareness that he is now blessed with. He grew up with two disabled brothers and a family with a low self-esteem which rubbed off on him.
“I was defined by my race, I was defined by my background and I was defined by my family, all of those things,” he says.
One of his first jobs was as a prison guard, for five years. He then worked in the recreation department and later the education department. But it was a trip to South Africa that changed his life.
In the mid-eighties, Graham took a job in South Africa where he delivered food and clothes to people in the townships on behalf of an aid organization.
“I was working with a gentleman [Bob Brown] and he educated Nelson Mandela’s children. He was a nominee for the ambassador of South Africa and I worked for him and traveled all around the world with him. He was also a special assistant to president [Richard] Nixon, so we had very close ties to the White House. We had a network of folks that we would do work for as a business consultant and South Africa was one of those places that we came to.”
Graham saw the suffering of the South African people and although he is black, he never bore the wrath of racists.
“…as a South African you experienced the racism, but if you were an American you were treated differently.”
Almost 20 years since his first visit to South Africa, Graham retuned in 2013, to speak at a Mega Partnering Event on maximizing one’s potential to achieve success, and was surprised at what he saw.
“I love the way that you’re transitioning and transforming the country. I love the diversity of South Africa and I think that’s the key word… The message [for the people of South Africa] should be: If you want to invest in South Africa, invest in yourself.”
As for Graham’s secret to success, it is all about making the most of the 24 hours you have each day.
“I know that success is when preparation meets opportunity. Now, South Africa has the opportunity, it’s about how you prepare the people for the opportunity. When you prepare the people for the opportunity you’re going to get a booming economy. Your country is only as good as the skills of its people, it’s only as good as the education of its people,” says Graham.
Although South Africa has made many strides, Graham says one of the country’s biggest challenges is the belief that it can succeed on its own. He says businesses need to make use of the resources and opportunities that international investors want to offer.
“It’s like Nelson Mandela said, ‘this is not about black empowerment, it’s not about white empowerment, it’s about people empowerment. When we get along, we realize that we’re all in this together and it’s about a world-wide economy and what we want to do is empower as many people as possible worldwide and educate them worldwide.’”
Beside every strong man is an even stronger woman; but beside every strong woman is a man who is secure in his identity.

‘You Can’t Be Weak You Have To Step Up’

Former South African president Nelson Mandela, in his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, puts it best when he says,
“I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.
“I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come.
“But I can only rest for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not ended.”
These words resonate when assessing just how far women have come since the advent of democracy in South Africa, almost 20 years ago. And more importantly, how much more still needs to be done to realize gender equality and the fundamental transformation for women.
Looking back, there is no denying that change, even if it is slow and patchy in some areas, has impacted for the better, on the lived realities of women in Africa’s largest and most diverse economy.
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Today, women are sitting at the head of the table in politics, business, the judiciary and almost all aspects of society.  South Africa’s Constitution and Bill of Rights wiped off the statute books several laws which sought to make African women in general and black women in particular the appendages  of their husbands, brothers and fathers.
It also restored to women their cultural rights, and ensured that these rights are protected by law. This provides some respite from the negative implications of some aspects of various cultures, which often see women pulling the short end of the stick.
South Africa has provided women leaders to Africa in the form of Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, who is now the chairperson of the African Union Commission. South African women also serve the globe, with the appointment of former deputy president Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka as the head of UN Women. These are just two examples of quality leadership developed and home-brewed in South Africa.
The economic rights in the country’s Constitution, at least on paper, also give legal recourse and protection to the indigent and marginalized. And given that poverty, disease and inequality remain feminized, this inclusion of second-generation rights is of particular significance for women.
While head-counting alone in the political arena is not always a true yardstick by which to measure gender equality, it does reflect critical mass, and marks just how important the visibility of women in leadership positions ought to be.
In the South African Cabinet, women are well represented, holding key ministries such as transport, defense, agriculture, home affairs and international relations. Of the nine provinces, five are led by women premiers, and the country’s massive police service is headed by Riah Phiyega.
One of the newest political parties  to contest the 2014 general elections, Agang, is headed by Dr. Mamphela Ramphele, a medical doctor and acade-
mic, who at the age of 65 has decided to run for political office.
Looking at the economic baro-meter, the picture is not as rosy, but it does show some slow progress. The 2012 Women in Leadership Census is a report conducted by the Business Women’s Association. Based on a survey of JSE-listed companies, state-owned enterprises and government, it shows that women in private enterprises occupied 4% of CEO or MD positions, 6% of board chair positions, 17% of directorships and 21% of exe-cutive management positions.
The report also found that women in executive management positions were more likely to be white than black, but that women holding directorships were more likely to be black.
Women are also lagging behind in the judiciary. South Africa’s justice minister, Jeff Radebe, says women continue to be under-represented as judges in the country’s court system, with only about a quarter in permanent posts.
He has also pointed out that of the 233 permanent judges appointed to different superior courts in the country, only 65 are women. Of that number, 45 are black and 20 are white.
This under-representation is not limited to judicial appointments. The allocation of legal work and briefs to legal practitioners is another area where there is almost a complete absence of women.
But change is afoot, according to Radebe, who plans to radically overhaul the criminal justice system to ensure gender parity and greater equality for women.
During Apartheid, however, women had to fight to make change happen.
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On August 9, 1956, 20,000 South African women embarked on a march to demand the scrapping of the hated Pass laws. Marching in their thousands, their war cry rang out clearly: “Wathint’ abafazi, Strijdom! Wathint imbokodo uzo Kufa! (Now you have touched the women, Strijdom! You have struck a rock! You have dislodged a boulder! You will be crushed!)”
Even then, women made it clear that they would defy any efforts to prescribe their place in society. Even then, when repression was at its peak, women were determined to bring about change that would eventually see them participate as equals in the drafting of the country’s covenant, regarded as among the most progressive in the world.
This is why South Africans celebrate not only International Women’s Day on March 8, but also National Women’s Day on August 9. And as a mark of just how important gender equality is, the entire month of August is commemorated as Women’s Month. It not only allows for celebrating the gains made, but is also an opportunity to reflect on the drawbacks, the impediments and what more ought to and should be done to deepen gender equality.
Former South African deputy president, Baleka Mbete, who also serves on the African Peer Review Mechanism (APRM), remembers the key role women played in negotiating the new dispensation. She says that even in the ruling African National Congress (ANC), women still had to battle to have their voices heard.
“Even in the ANC, it wasn’t smooth sailing. The key was to be visible. Activism was at the root of what women were about. We had to do a lot of convincing to impact on the process. What we realized was that we needed to work together as women.”
Former Constitutional Court Judge Yvonne Mokgoro says the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are the two single most important documents that have changed women’s lives in South Africa.
“Poverty, as you know, is feminized, so too is indignity. For me, our Constitution and Bill of Rights are of particular relevance to women.
“Our Constitution is a covenant between us as a people. We didn’t sit in dark corners when it was drawn up. We – and I include us as women – negotiated that Constitution.
“What we need to do when we give life to what is contained in our Constitution is to dig deeper, do more. Set up monitoring mechanisms to ensure proper delivery of those services for people, but also for women in particular,” she says.
While the political struggle has seen great dividends, change in South Africa’s boardrooms is slow and often resisted. Back in 1994, Gloria Serobe, together with Wendy Luhabe, Louisa Mojela and Nomhle Canca, started a company called Wiphold, specifically to grow women’s investments. They believed that political emancipation without economic gains in the boardroom would constitute a pyrrhic victory for women.
Serobe, an accomplished and savvy businesswoman, who is wise in the ways of the world of commerce and high finance, says she and her co-founders realized that “true economic empowerment would require a process of wealth mobilization and accumulation, and that this would be especially important in the case of women’s empowerment”. She says this led them to explore the use of women’s investment clubs as ‘empowerment vehicles’.
Using workshops and educational forums, they crisscrossed the country, ratcheting up support from women across various socio-economic groups. The founders, after raising seed capital of $50,000 formed the WIP Four Company, Wiphold in microcosm. The company listed in the Investment Trust sector on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange five years later.
“Wiphold is the first organization dedicated explicitly to women’s economic empowerment to achieve a JSE listing. All board members are women. Voting control rests  with the Wiphold Investment Trust. In early 2000, value created for the Trust stood at $6.85 million,” Serobe says.
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Wiphold later delisted from the JSE, but Serobe points out that of all the empowerment companies formed back in the 1990s, Wiphold is “still standing”.
Mbete and Mokgoro concur that South Africa in 2013 is a much better place for women in politics, business, government and in the social sphere. They are also united in the belief that the journey which started 56 years ago, when those courageous women marched against the Apartheid system, has to continue. Especially if women in South Africa are to achieve a real and qualitative shift – not only on paper, but also in behavior and attitude towards greater freedom, equality and gender parity.

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