Devi: Madiba called me
I interrupted the president — and was forgiven
“MANDELA wants to see
who?” I asked, pressing the phone to my ear and raising my voice above the gabble at our local hangout in Durban.
“He wants to see you! Now!” Khalik Sherriff, my boss at the SABC, was on the other end of the line. “Ya, right,” I replied. “This is serious,” he said. “I’m coming to fetch you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
It was 1998 and a lazy Saturday afternoon in winter. At the time, Best Friend and I were both employed at Lotus FM and had arranged to meet a few friends before climbing on a bus that would take us to Estcourt where the radio station was hosting a
bhangra bash. “Why would Mandela want to see you?” Best Friend asked, her tone making it clear that this was something like aliens landing on the Marine Parade.
“Somebody’s taking the mickey,” I said, dismissing the whole thing.
“Khalik’s no fool,” Best Friend retorted. “If I were you, I’d be worried. The president of a country doesn’t summon people for nothing.”
Summon? I hadn’t thought of it like that. I racked my brain, trying to think of a reason why Nelson Mandela would want to see me. At the time I was presenting
Viewpoint , a daily talkshow on Lotus FM. It was controversial because of its straight-forward approach to topical issues.
“It must be about something you said on air. Again,” Best Friend prophesied.
Sherriff’s car screeched up and I got in. He explained that we were on our way to King’s House, Madiba’s official Durban home.
I realised only when we got to King’s House that I wasn’t appropriately dressed. I had on an old burgundy baby-doll dress (a remnant from my university days in the drama department) and gold sandals.
Up the long driveway we walked, flanked by blacksuited security and VIP police. My apprehension eased when I noticed that there were lots of other people there, including the likes of Ashwin Trikamjee and Amichand Rajbansi.
We were ushered into a room and Sherriff and I were seated at a long table while most of guests claimed chairs along the edge of the room.
Then there was a hush. Mandela had walked in.
I’d heard that he had this “presence” but I wasn’t prepared for it. It was a combination of excitement, energy and magic. Mandela made his way around the room, shaking hands with everybody, and when it was my turn he said: “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
I giggled like a giddy goat, completely star struck. Madiba took his seat directly in front of Sherriff and me.
He explained that he needed to understand the issues facing the Indian community. He spoke about the perception that Indians felt polarised and alienated despite our own struggle history.
As Mandela spoke, I knew I had the answers. For years, through Viewpoint , I had been speaking to Indian people daily. Their frustration caused by new government policies (including affirmative action), coupled with complicated social issues and a high unemployment rate, meant that the community was going through a tough time.
Before I could register what I was doing, I put up my hand.
Madiba stopped speaking. The room went deathly quiet. Sbu Ndebele, who was sitting to Madiba’s left, did not look impressed.
“You must not interrupt the president when he is speaking,” Ndebele reprimanded me.
Sherriff kicked me under the table.
“Let me hear what this girl has to say,” Madiba said, a soft smile playing around his lips.
Red-faced, I apologised for my lack of protocol and then gave Mandela a quick background to Viewpoint and the opinions workingclass Indians were expressing. I finished by inviting him onto the show.
“Yes, I have heard about you,” Madiba said. “And I accept your invitation.”
A few months later, on October 27 1998, Madiba appeared on Viewpoint and fielded tough questions from me and our listeners.
Afterwards Madiba shook my hand. “You are tough,” he said. “But I liked your questions. Don’t stop asking those questions.”
As a 26-year-old journalist it was the crowning moment of my career. Many interactions with Madiba followed and, whenever we met, he always lightheartedly asked: “Are you still asking those questions?”
My Madiba moment gave me the courage to speak out, even in the face of harsh criticism. That’s the life lesson he taught me. A lesson I will never forget and for which I am so grateful.
devi.sankaree@intekom.co.za