"'Madiba' is no more," she would weep inconsolably. That was our first sense of what he meant to the country as the receptionist at our hotel broke down on hearing the news.
Back from cricketing duties after seeing an embarassing Indian loss, we knew it was time to take the streets to try and feel what Mandela meant to the Republic of South Africa.
Astonishingly hours after the news was made public, hundreds had gathered outside his home in Johannesburg's leafy Houghton neighborhood. We were the only Indian journalists there amidst a clutter of leading African media networks and international representatives in South Africa.
There would be those who would sing and dance. Some singing tribal songs others anti-apartheid anthems. "This is the way we do it. Of course we are sad. But his life has been a celebration and that's exactly what we are doing," said a dark skinned lady.
"He has done so much for our tribe," she added. Another middle aged fair skinned women broke down besides her. Her tears suggesting to her fellow South African, Mandela went beyond race and tribe.
A Zimbabwean female also in the crowd came over to console. "Generally at the funeral we cry but not with Mandela. He gave us hope. After him I hope Africa is the same," she said.
"Its so emotional. When I heard the news, just felt it was home, you can feel the pain so deeply," the random fellow who's thoughts I sought out turned out to be a New Zealander.
The streets on Thursday night were noisy and candle lit. The morning after, the crowd had multiplied.
For a man who lost the best days of his life in prison, one and all gathered at Houghton knew they owe their freedom to him.
Madiba' literally means father. That's what he was to South Africa. To each one of them.
Back from cricketing duties after seeing an embarassing Indian loss, we knew it was time to take the streets to try and feel what Mandela meant to the Republic of South Africa.
Astonishingly hours after the news was made public, hundreds had gathered outside his home in Johannesburg's leafy Houghton neighborhood. We were the only Indian journalists there amidst a clutter of leading African media networks and international representatives in South Africa.
There would be those who would sing and dance. Some singing tribal songs others anti-apartheid anthems. "This is the way we do it. Of course we are sad. But his life has been a celebration and that's exactly what we are doing," said a dark skinned lady.
"He has done so much for our tribe," she added. Another middle aged fair skinned women broke down besides her. Her tears suggesting to her fellow South African, Mandela went beyond race and tribe.
A Zimbabwean female also in the crowd came over to console. "Generally at the funeral we cry but not with Mandela. He gave us hope. After him I hope Africa is the same," she said.
"Its so emotional. When I heard the news, just felt it was home, you can feel the pain so deeply," the random fellow who's thoughts I sought out turned out to be a New Zealander.
The streets on Thursday night were noisy and candle lit. The morning after, the crowd had multiplied.
For a man who lost the best days of his life in prison, one and all gathered at Houghton knew they owe their freedom to him.
Madiba' literally means father. That's what he was to South Africa. To each one of them.
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