Rolihlahla

Rolihlahla

In the summer months of 1918,

Far south in the depths of winter

A baby was born named

Rolihlahla - troublemaker.

In the Yuletide month of 2013,

Far south in the warmth of summer

An old man died

Named Nelson.

He was named Nelson by a woman who was not his mother

or grandmother or sister or aunt or cousin or friend.

He was named Nelson because his skin was dark.

Because his skin was dark they painted his name white.

A teacher painted him Nelson

And the world liked the colour- a nice, white name for a clever black boy.

But underneath the layers of lacquer, Rolihlahla lay

quietly (at first).

Troublemaker.

Nelson Mandela, Mandiba Mandela was a hero, a great man

And so much more than that.

He was Rolihlahla - troublemaker.

Today I remember the whole man.

I strip off the layers of polite speech and sound,

Benevolent words from world leaders,

Who wanted him wiped away when he was trouble

But who rub what's left of his life into their own suited skins

Now he is Nelson. 

I strip away the thickness of quaint image,

Smiling with the Spice Girls,

Soft white hair, soft hands, soft folds of skin around his eyes,

Smiling, always smiling.

And slowly,

As the paint is peeled back

There is a gaze of steel,

Forged from his iron name

In the flames of division.

Rolihlahla.

The one we don't want to see.

We don't want to see the whole man.

We don't want to see the fighter, the anger, the pain.

So we look at an old man's smile,

Bask in the comfortable shade of his painted name

And avoid the steady stare beneath

That challenges us to stand up

For that which we know to be true

But we are afraid to wash away the layers of paint and find what burns below.

We are afraid.

"A great light has gone out in the world. Nelson Mandela… a true global hero." - David Cameron

We call him Nelson - a nice, white name for a clever black boy.

We call him hero, champion, a great light.

But his name is Rolihlahla.

Today I remember the whole man

And I challenge myself to stand.