The Long Walk to Freedom - Written By Rahaf Saadeh

 The sun descends from the sky, hidden behind the hills and shallow valleys. My mind drifts to a wonderful world of my own where my worries are distant and faint. But my dreams are rudely awakened when I face the reality of my real view… Black rusty bars. Out of the window I only see the concrete of the prison exercise yard. 

 My legs need to stretch–I need to sit up. It has been a rough day. The little light I see dims, the last colours of the sky disappear into blackness. A single mesh-covered bulb in our cell burns day and night.  Today’s arguments whirl through my head for the umpteenth time. The thought  that I no longer have the right to live in my house upsets me. I'm innocent! I pull out a pen and a crumpled up paper and start writing the words.

1960 From Nelson to my loving family

My darlings, 

Once again I have slept on the thin straw mat on the bone-chilling stony floor. My hands are frigid but my heart is scorching with love. I have missed you very much and I hope that I come back home very soon. The prison guards aren't treating us well.

I’m classified as the lowest grade of prisoners, Class D. This means that I’m only allowed one visit and one letter every six months. 

My heart aches for freedom and equality. My longing to see you and your mother is stronger than ever. I hope that one day we will once again reunite as a loving family. I only ask you to follow the light that may seem faint in the darkness that is swallowing you in its tight jaw. 

It might seem to you that freedom is a far- away dream. A dream that will never be achieved. A dream that will change the lives of South Africans forever. A dream that will bring back the true rights of all colours. While all these dreams seem impossible, I ask you never to give up hope and never stare back at the murky and indecent past but look up to a shiny future. Remember that hope is a powerful weapon even when all else is lost.

Your loving father and husband, Nelson.

1970

Today is not a good day for me. I can't imagine what's going on outside of my prison cell. I have no way of knowing. I'm isolated from the outside world. I open the box I had received earlier from my daughter Zindzi. It is a box filled to the brim with newspaper clippings of the African National Congress. I take out the first crumbled up clipping and read…

1950   Abantu-Batho Newspaper

Shocking news

Four black students have started the sit-in movement. 

Refusing to leave a whites-only lunch counter. The movement is starting to spread widely. Will the law hold back people fighting for their rights?

Black people were caught trying to use the whites only buses  and restrooms and waiting rooms. Apartheid is no longer able to chain people down.

I push the newspaper clippings back into the box. My heart is bursting…so many people standing up for what is right. Great drops are threatening to fall out of my resisting eyes.  It is so encouraging to see people being strong. But I can't help but wonder at what price for them? I allow a rare selfish moment. What will my future look like?  I don't have to think about it. I know it will be more of the same.

I do slightly envy people who still have an uncertain and unpredictable but pleasant future– those who aren't chained. But I can't waste time on selfish thoughts.

But  I can't help but reminisce. I recall the bright musical instrument which I used to hear people in the Mvezo village play. I remember sitting down on the new bright green velvet covering the hillsides casts of shadows of clouds moving lazily through the sky. Every time I hear someone play it. The music always reached out its warm hands and touched my heart. My mind goes wild. The music truly talks to me. I can hear its mourns of misery, its happiness and Joy.  Thinking about it makes my mind at peace.

 Your loving father, Nelson

1980 From Nelson Mandela to Zindzi Mandela

My Darling,

I wake up this morning with dampness surrounding me.  The roof of my crown is grazing  the cement wall while my feet are  on the other side of the wall. The authorities say that we prisoners get a balanced diet. I agree that it is balanced, a balance between tasteless and uneatable. We prisoners support each other and gain strength from each other, whatever we know, whatever we learn, we share. I never seriously consider the possibility that I will not emerge from prison one day, for""I never think that a life sentence truly means life and that  I will die behind bars. Perhaps I am denying this prospect because it is too unpleasant to contemplate.’’ You must remember 

“to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains , but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others. Prison far from breaking our spirits is making us more determined to continue with this battle until victory is won." My dream to  make equality become part of South Africa, has been stronger since I have been imprisoned. I must admit that my life was nothing more than politics and fixing the  crises that were happening, but now I see more to life than you could imagine.

Your loving father, Nelson.

1985/1 / February From Nelson Mandela to Zindzi Mandela

My Darling, 

Guilt is stabbing me once more.  It’s the thought of  leaving you and your sister alone in the  world that is daunting.  Neither your mother or I will be there to hold your hand, or reassure you that everything will surely work out in the end. 

 The sad truth I hold down deep is that I’m not sure I will ever see you again. Encouraging others to believe that the world is with you is something. But doubting yourself is another.  I’ve heard that the first person has landed on the moon. No wonder they are forgetting about me.

I'm not surprised the world has unleashed its ignorance, hidden its faults and shone in the spotlight of inequality. I remember when I was a child I was always too young to know what was happening to my people, my father’s land was taken off him and my father’s house where Mother and I  were banished from our house in the Mvezo village. I didn't think much of it. I was too young to realise that this wasn't right. When I went to my first school at the age of seven I had to wear a shirt and trousers to enter school. I couldn't wear the traditional clothes of my village.  A blanket was wrapped over one shoulder and pinned at the waist. People treated me differently to other boys because of the colour of my skin. I started studying for my BA degree at the University of Fort Hare in 1939, but this was interrupted after I was suspended in 1940, because of my radical political activism. So you see life was very hard but you know that your dear father will never and still hasn't given up.

Your loving father, Nelson

1990/4/February From Nelson Mandela to Zindzi Mandela

There's been a lot of whispering between the prison guards but it seems like I'm the only one hearing them. I can't help feeling I must be going mad. William, the guard has been staring at me in disbelief all day. I am wondering what's going on. I did ask him what was up with the staring but he just walked away. I am feeling very vulnerable. I have a lot of fear inside of me. All the other prisoners seem fine. Please don't worry.

Your loving father,

 Nelson

1990/8/February

What is it? I think in my head, what do they want from me? The two prison guards are standing outside my door, it's wide open.  They  usher me out, my body has gone numb. I slowly stand up. I hope I've made the right decision. I walk past them to where they are directing me; I do recall hearing them talk about me in the prison corridor while they were doing their night shift patrolling. I could not quite hear what they were saying. I have caught a few words from the conversation and can’t put them together. Their voices are ringing in my brain. Surely he would know sooner or later I hear the guards saying. I remember jumbling around with the words and trying to understand. I finally understand! But surely not! After twenty seven years in prison.  I walk down the corridor and  reach the head office where all the important officers are looking at me. I knew this was the day I had been holding onto for so long the reason. I had not lost hope. I know what he will say. Before my eyes stands South African President F.W. de Klerk who starts a conversation that sounds as if it could be straight from a fictional mythic book.

His grim expression is plastered to his face. His grasping hands are  full of lines marking his old age. I keep looking  at him, the power that is trying to take what is ours. Soon we will own the years of our lives. The years I have lost so the future generations may live in happiness and peace. I am a human, equal to the man in front of me. I stand up boldly in front of him, staring into his glassy blank blue eyes. I am a free man. “You have reached your minimum  detention period, the case management committee has activated the process.  Approximately six months before you  completed the minimum detention period, you will be released on the 1990/11/February which is tomorrow” he says. What! I am bursting with happiness. I will  no longer be in the prison cell that has caused great sadness? But it has  also been my home and without my knowing, given  me great confidence in myself. My dreams that I will be back with my family have come true. I will live a life. I thank Mr de Klerk. Mr de klerk, I would prefer to have a week's notice in order that my family and my organisation could be prepared. I can  tell he was surprised by my wish, “Very well I will consult my advisers, please wait here Mr. Mandela.” I wait.  I had got used to whiling  away the hours conferring with myself.  Mr de Klerk, came and swiftly walked behind his desk once more with the air of a man who had done it multiple times, “Mr.Mandela I must say  that we cant to afford to waste anymore time. I must insist for you to check out– it may be against your wish but that is the way it is.” 

I walk back to my prison cell guards on either side of me.

I lay down on my straw mat for the last time, thoughts buzzing around me and go to sleep. 

1990/11/February

I walk through the gate of the Victor Verster Prison in suburban Cape Town. An explosion of joy fills  my body with warmth, as I walk hand in hand with my wife. Seeing the world without rusty dark bars, no longer interrupting my view. Masses of coloured people cover the over-flooded streets, cameras flash in my eyes, the cheering crowd are whistling, clapping and laughing, after all these twenty seven years in prison I have won my freedom. I lift up my fist in the air doing the African Salute. I stand up onto the stage holding the microphone in one shaking hand and hold my bravery in the other "Comrades and fellow South Africans, I greet you all in the name of peace, democracy and freedom," said Mandela. "I stand here before you not as a prophet, but as a humble servant of you, the people of South Africa….”

And in that moment, I know: I am free.