20. Durban, 1992 - Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika
In which tomorrow's problems can wait.
The University receives a special visitor. Some celebrate. Others mutiny. 
Eleanor
The stage is set up at one end of the gymnasium, low, skirted and flowered. Orderly rows of chairs face it. Tig and I are graduating together. While he started two years ahead of me, with his year off due to the bipolar, and his year longer degree, here we are together, brother and sister, with their parents, graduating from university.
Tig starts his job in January. I don’t have one yet. André Beckham, newly back from London, has told me just to be patient. It's not hearing anything that is driving me nuts.
I look at Mum and Dad, so proud of us. Henry is with Granny and Grandpa—he couldn’t understand and would be too much of a handful to try and manage today anyway. So Mum and Dad are relaxed, not having Henry to worry about. Mum looks beautiful in her new outfit, pink, flowery, hair immaculate.
Dad and Tig are in suits and ties, of course, Tig’s hidden by his gown. Underneath my gown I’m in the glimmery white sheath dress Granny helped me make. I’ve long progressed from sewing handkerchiefs for Dad, to sewing dresses for myself. I’m really pleased with the way this one has turned out. And now that I’ve filled out again, much to Mum’s satisfaction, the pattern fits perfectly. Mum’s fretting and nagging questioning over break had been infuriating. I was FINE. I just didn’t like dining hall food, was all. When Alasdair saw me earlier this evening, he’d given me an appreciative whistle and said I looked sexy in it, that it showed off my height and slimness. He’d promised to ravish me later. I’d laughed and pushed him away. He was going to do no such thing, I’d retorted.
By the time Mum and Dad graduated university, they were already engaged. Tig and I? Who knows when that will happen! Tig’s had some passing interests—but no one really serious. And for me there’s Alasdair, of course, and he’s fun and all, and my first serious boyfriend, but marry each other? No, definitely not! He’s graduating too today, over off somewhere to the left and in front of us, lost in the sea of faces. We’ve agreed we’re each free to explore as we start on the next chapters of our lives. He’s off to South America anyway after Christmas for an extended backpacking trip.
I look around the enormous space, filled with the faces of all the colors of South Africa. It’s exhilarating to see the new South Africa start to take shape. The mood is jubilant and expectant. We’re not just graduating university, we’re graduating into a brave new world, one that is still being hammered out at the negotiating table, but is clearly starting to happen, now, the long dark years of apartheid being consigned to history.
And we have Mandela to give the commencement address. Take that Amy and Rose and Heather and all the others at UCT, I think to myself. “Durbs” is not such a “dorp”. Just three years ago I stood next to Becca, watching him walk free on the TV. Now I see him walk onto the stage, while the student body rises as one, lifting the roof off the building with their applause.
The grandees do their introductions. I’m waiting for someone else.
And then her turn comes.
Meredith steps onto the stage along with another graduating student I don’t know. Meredith says he’s a doctor from the medical school. The two of them had negotiated back and forth with the University. They refused point blank to sing Die Stem, officially still South Africa’s National Anthem. For now, at least. Meredith told me they had told the administration that it would be an utter affront to Mandela to sing it. The University didn’t disagree, but were reluctant to have the two of them sing Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika1, the anthem of the African National Congress, and the anti-apartheid movement.
Meredith and her co-singer won the argument.
Now he opens the singing, his rich Zulu baritone filling the entire gymnasium. Meredith’s glorious voice comes in, then the University choir, with its rich Zulu harmonics. As one, most of the gymnasium stands up. Every single black and Indian person knows the words off by heart. Maybe a quarter of the white people do. I notice a handful of white people remain seated, looking mutinous. The ululations as the singing stops go on almost as long as the song itself.
Later, when it’s Meredith’s turn to walk across the stage, guided by her father, the student population rises as one to give her a standing ovation. I can’t imagine what it was like to start university sighted, and graduate blinded. But that’s Meredith. Pint sized, but a force to be reckoned with.
I get my cum laude. Will it be enough? André says I should at least be invited for an interview; that I’m strongly positioned. But, everything is in flux at the moment, as negotiations for the new constitution and government continue.
But for now, for today, I don’t worry about what is next.
Today we celebrate.
Tomorrow’s problems are for tomorrow.
Book Club #2: The Messy Middle, with Guests
Saturday, December 7 10am ET (US) 5pm South Africa
Mandela was free. The ANC was unbanned. The parties were at the negotiating table. And we were just emerging into adulthood. It was a tumultuous time.
In our second book club, we’ll be joined by three special guests: Kate (a diplomat’s daughter), Lois (inspiration for Meredith) and Neil (inspiration for Alasdair).
Bonus Material
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika: much more than a song
Xhosa. God Bless Africa.