Docile lions and angry elephants

Monday 21st September

Boekenhoutfontein, North West

Another day spent at Pilanesberg, this time entering by the KwaMaritane Gate and focussing on the east of the park. 

 

Elephant, Pilanesberg

To begin with, all was quiet and apart from a solitary rhino, things were not as exciting as last time.  Soon, though, excitement came in the form of a lone male elephant crossing the road in front of us before taking a bit too much of an interest in our car and getting a little too close for comfort.  It was all a bit reminiscent of the elephant kiss of last year.

 

A little later, we spotted four elephants heading in the direction of a dam so parked up at the side of the water and waited for their arrival, spotting several hippo as we waited.  Three of the four eventually arrived, and the fourth followed but went to the other side of the water, keeping its back to the other three at all times.  It was clearly in the huff about something.

 

As we drove on, it struck us that, unusually, we hadn't seen a single giraffe today.  At least, not a live one.  A huge giraffe lay dead on the plains with only its skin and bone remaining, all of the meat on its carcass gone.  Vast herds of zebra and wildebeest stood looking at it in solemn assembly, seemingly unaware that the same fate may soon await them.

 

We stopped for lunch at Pilanesberg Centre, where they had cleverly left a salt lick in view of the terrace to attract wildlife, which duly arrived in a steady stream - first wildebeest, then a giraffe followed by four zebra and then a herd of impala.

 

Giraffe, Pilanesberg

The giraffe made up for the lack of its companions that morning by posing, strutting and putting on quite a show for those watching.  Giraffes are like that - they seem entranced watching people and love nothing more than to be noticed.  (See Rhinos, Rhythm and the Referendum)

 

And giraffes were all we spotted for the next hour or so, herds of them bending over to get a good look through our windscreen.

 

Soon, though, all was quiet again - little to see and little sign of things improving.  We spotted a couple of hippo beside a watering hole, so went to the nearby hide for a look.  As we approached the hide, a man started gesturing for us to look to the left, and suddenly things got a lot more interesting.

 

Lion, Pilanesberg

There, lying on the opposite side of the water were three female lions.  They soon got up, revealing the male, and remained in view for only a few seconds before moving off, but watching them was still magnificent.  A little further along the road, we were just able to see the four of them through the bushes again.  Our first daylight sighting of a big cat and, though brief, it did not disappoint.

 

No sooner had we passed the lions and we were surrounded by elephants, zebra and giraffes - including lots of young.

 

As the light started to fade we headed for Bakubung Gate and then home, delighted with today's encounters, but at around 2km from the gate, we got stuck in a traffic jam... of elephants.

 

We sat in a trail of cars, all trying to get out before the gate closed, surrounded by elephants on both sides - at least sixty or so to count, including some very tiny babies.  The adults were becoming agitated, and we soon worked out that this large herd had been crossing from one side of the road to the other until the line of cars had split the herd, separating mothers from their babies in the process.  They began getting very angry.  Trouble was that the cars had nowhere to go - they were being held hostage by an elephant obstinately standing in the middle of the road at the head of the queue.

 

Eventually, it began to move, and the queue started to creep forward, only to startle the elephants who began to charge.  One angry female lurched at our car, just as we pulled forward so that she missed the back end by only 2 feet.

 

Finally, the elephant in front moved and the cars were able to make enough gaps for the herd to be reunited and we made it out of the gate with just moments to spare before closing time. 

Pygmy hippos and presbyterians

Sunday 20th September

Boekenhoutfontein, North West

We worshipped this morning in a small Presbyterian church in Rustenburg, which tipped so far over the 'conservative' end of the scale that the pastor was even praying for pestilence to be wrought down on the city so that people would turn to the church.  Abhorrent theology aside, it had all the little Presbyterian traits one could imagine so much so that I could have been in Rutherglen rather than Rustenburg.

 

Listening to a congregation of Africans drone their way through 'Rock of Ages' at dirge pace makes it clear that the hymn book may not be our best export.  At a time when the church in Scotland is realising the spirituality to be found in African music, it was very disappointing to find it absent in its homeland.

 

Crocodile River

Once our dose of fire-and-brimstone was over, we again found ourselves passing through Hartebeespoortdam (all roads lead to Harties?) as we headed out to the Crocodile River for some white water rafting.  The continuing water shortage meant the river level was low, and not very much of it could be described as 'white', but there were a few rapids and two very large weirs to contend with so there was some excitement to be had.

 

For the rest of the way, it was a leisurely paddle down the river, giving us a chance to get up close to some wildlife from a very different angle.  Grey herons were aplenty, hammerkops flew overhead and a family of whiteface whistling ducks swam alongside us, the ducklings bobbing under the water periodically and popping up beside the raft like a jack-in-the-box.  Most impressive, however, were the two water monitor lizards basking on the banks: the first small and slender and the second as large as I've ever seen.

 

As the sun began to set, we arrived back at the lodge and went in search of Matilda, the pygmy hippo that is kept here as part of a conservation programme.  On the search, we came across two male gemsbok locked horn-in-horn, fighting fiercely.  They were so engrossed in their battle that they failed to notice - or care - about presence and we were able to get within a few feet of them.

 

Matilda then dutifully turned up just as the last light was fading and we headed home for the night.

 

Frogs seem to be a leitmotif here as I ended up sharing a shower with one while getting ready for dinner.  The shower is outdoors in the bush which, while invigorating, does leave it open to visitors with all number of legs!

A very surreal day

Saturday 19th September

Boekenhoutfontein, North West

No-one came to pick us up.  The agreed time came and went with no movement in the bush and no sign of the Land Rover which would take us back to civilisation.

There was absolutely nothing we could do about it - no phones, no contact with the outside world.  We had to just sit there watching the ostrich and facing off the monkeys, ever hoping that someone would come to our aid - a very surreal feeling.

Eventually, and nearing the point when we seriously considered hiking through the wilderness, some rangers passed on a bakkie, heading to the bushcamp.  We managed to get them to send a message back to reception and at last, help was on its way.  (While all this was happening, a monkey managed to rob us of a loaf of bread, so breakfast ceased to be a possibility!)

Leaving here also meant leaving Botswana.  We headed through the capital Gaborone and out through Tlokweng Border, possibly the most confusing and intimidating border crossing yet. 

Giving no clue as to how to proceed, the official grew increasingly angry as we did it wrong - things like not realising that the duplicate paper form she gave us shouldn't have been filled in as duplicate, but separated and each leaf filled in individually.  Eventually, we made it past immigration with just customs and condom distribution to go.

The South African side of the border was much easier, and soon we were heading down past Madikwe to the N4, past Groot Marico and Woodridge Palms back to Rustenburg.

The visit to Rustenburg was for a very important reason - the purchase of a Springboks top.  The Rugby World Cup started yesterday and tonight saw South Africa's first game, against Japan.

We're spending the next three nights at Boekenhoutfontein, once the farm of former president Paul Kruger.  Now it is given over as a Kruger memorial and museum of the Anglo-Boer War.

Strangely, this means the place is full of colonial memorabilia, and as we sat in the bar to watch the rugby we were surrounded by military honours, British Empire weaponry and looked over by Cecil John Rhodes.  Members of staff were dressed as their former oppressors, carried guns and swords and wore Victoria Crosses.  Another very surreal situation.

In the end, South Africa were beaten on the last play of the ball by Japan of all teams.  Now, that was surreal, and the Springbok's top was soon carefully packed in the suitcase, destined to jinx the team no more.  (Although, "too many old toppies" seemed to be the verdict of the gathered company.)

Oh, and speaking of surreal, we are currently chasing a frog around our bedroom.

Alone

Friday 18th September

Mokolodi Nature Reserve, Botswana

We're in the middle of nowhere... well, we're all alone, deep in Mokolodi Nature Reserve.

 

A ranger dropped us here around noon with just a backpack, some matches and a can of Jungle Formula and he'll be back tomorrow morning to pick us up.  Apart from that, we're alone, with only a remote control panic button as a means of contacting the outside world.

 

Mokolodi Nature Reserve

We're staying in a small rondavel overlooking a dam which has almost dried out due to the serious drought currently gripping the country.  When we arrived, we were greeted by a rather large ostrich, but it didn't hang about long.  A single eland drank from the waterhole, but after that, all was quiet.  Until, that is, the warthogs came along - one family at a time to roll in the mud next to the water.

 

Soon after, a troop of baboons arrived and were fascinating to watch.  The alpha male sat back, arms folded and in a pose like Buddha, surveying the scene while the rest of the troop, including several infants, drank from the water and foraged in the mud.  Then, after a good half-hour or so, he changed posture and this signalled they should get ready to move.  He led the way and the others soon followed him over the horizon.

 

While the baboons were at the water's edge, a giraffe and a hartebeest arrived, but each held back and formed a queue.  The giraffe got bored od waiting and left for other pastures, but the hartebeest patiently waited until the last baboon had gone then proceeded to the water for a drink.  Clearly the baboons rule the roost around here.

 

Springbok

As the midday sun began to cool, a herd of springbok arrived, but to our surprise did not approach the water.  Instead, they climbed the bank and began to graze around us.  They came to within 3m of us and didn't seem bothered at all by our presence.  Each had three or four birds on its back, presumably they were eating some kind of parasites from the boks.  They stayed beside us, freezing if we moved but not running away, for about fifteen minutes until they were chased away by our next visitors - monkeys.

 

About twenty vervet monkeys surrounded us, their leader with his bright blue balls choosing to sit alongside us.  Unlike the springbok, they never froze or startles at all - quite the opposite.  These monkeys had arrived with the sole intention of terrorising us, or so it seemed.  They prowled around us, refusing to be chased and one proceeded to rip open our bag of charcoal and strew its contents around.  Not frightened of us in the slightest, they were rather intimidating with their group movement and their incessant chatter, which was clearly monkey-Tswana for "Come ahead!"

 

Vervet monkey

Like the springbok, they were only to be chased away by another group of visitors - this time baboons.  They stayed with us until darkness fell, but kept their distance unlike their smaller cousins.

 

After that, a single wildebeest coming down for a drink brought in the sunset.  As darkness fell, the chatter of the baboons ceased, replaced by the barking and howling of wild dogs and the gentle trill of crickets.

 

There's a lot of action around the waterhole at the moment, and something large is splashing about, but it's too dark to tell what it is.

 

Sunset

Our eyes are instead drawn upwards to the most spectacular sky imaginable, with distant galaxies clearly in view.  The scale of it all reminds us of what a tiny part we play in this vast universe, and for such a short time, rather like the fleeting visit of animals to the water.

 

"When I consider the glories of the cosmos, I cannot help but see a divine hand behind it all." - Einstein

Standing out

Thursday 17th September

Mokolodi, Botswana

Today, everything seemed closed.

 

We had heard about a collective of weavers in Oodi, set up in the 1970s by Swedish missionaries as a way of creating employment for local women.  They produce tapestries showing scenes of rural life and enjoy showing off their skills to passers-by.

 

Interested to find out more, we headed off to Oodi, only to find the road there closed and the diversion causing us to once again go off-roading in a VW Polo, this time across the fringes of the Kalahari Desert.

 

When we arrived in Oodi, there were few signs of life.  Approaching the weavers' building and peering through the windows gave a glimpse of their magnificent tapestries, but everything was locked and bolted with not a soul in sight.

 

Mochudi

Oh well, never mind.  We headed instead to Mochudi to visit a museum depicting Tswana life.  We followed the signs to what we thought was the museum, but it turned out to be a community centre where we gate-crashed some kind of adult literacy class.  A street vendor eventually gave us directions up a steep mountain path and after a lot of climbing we arrived at the museum's huge iron gates and pressed the intercom.  No response.  Eventually, after much scouting around, we concluded that this, too, was closed so headed back into Mochudi to visit the market.

 

The village is under tribal authority, and we had been advised that we should first visit the tribal offices and ceremonially ask for permission to enter.  To this moment, we have been unable to locate said office, so proceeded to without the relevant permissions.

 

From nowhere, a woman began shouting to us and instructed us we must enter the property she was pointing to.  Ah! we thought, this must be the Tribal Administration Office.  But not so.  In fact, the woman who lived there just wanted to see the white people, so once she'd had a good look at us, we were on our way.  She even asked if we could give her son a job, and was much dismayed when we told her we were only visiting for the day.

 

This quickly became the story of the day - throughout the village, everyone wanted to look at, to talk to and to touch us.  Stall holders shouted, not to try and sell their wares but just to ask to shake our hands.  Every passing person wanted to stop and talk.  Parents chided their children for staring at us, then continued to do so themselves.  One small girl even came up, stroked our arms, then ran off giggling to her group of friends.

 

To be fair, we did stick out like sore thumbs.  We were clearly the only white people in the village.  We dressed differently - while we were wearing what any Scot would in 35° heat, the locals remained wrapped up in long sleeves.  Supposing we'd worn flashing neon signs, we could not have been more noticeable, and yet the level of attention we got could never have been expected.

 

Even in the car as we left, a bus driver going in the opposite direction yelled for us to stop and wind down the window, only so he could say hello and then drive off.  By the time we left Mochudi, it was all rather tiring and it left me glad never to be destined for celebrity.

Dr Livingstone, I presume?

Wednesday 16th September

Mokolodi, Botswana

You can barely move around here without encountering Scotland - Scottish place names, Scottish churches, the "Scottish Hospital" and even Scottish names: who could have guessed that Botswana would be awash with Agneses and Peggys?  All of this is down to one man - David Livingstone - and today we set off in his tracks.

 

First up was Kolobeng, the site of Livingstone's home of five years, as well as the first church, first school and first health centre in what is now Botswana.

 

Remains of Kolobeng Mission Church

When we first arrived, it seemed closed, but as we were driving off, we were chased and encouraged back by a former policeman who has given up everything in order to dedicate his life to the study of this missionary from Blantyre.  Singlehandedly he has excavated the site of Livingstone's house and clinic, along with the Kolobeng Mission Church (or what remains of it).

 

At length - and I mean length - he showed us around the site, recounting every known detail of the lives of David, Mary and their five children - one of whom (Elisabeth) is buried there.

 

His knowledge was excellent, if a little intense, and his delivery akin to Dot Cotton, filling every comma and breath with a barely relevant quotation from scripture.  He affectionately refers to Livingstone as his father, as he sees his entire faith and love for God owing its roots to him.

 

Several kilometres up the road in Molepolole, we passed the London Mission Church, and the cave responsible for the Batswana's conversion to Christianity.  As the story has it, all who entered this cave were killed by the spirits until Livingstone took the chief there, entered the cave and came out again alive to dispel this superstition.  The chief instantly believed that Livingstone's god must have protected him and ordered that the Batswana should convert to Christianity.

 

Whatever Livingstone did or didn't do, his legacy endures in this overtly Christian society where every phone box, school bus and hair salon is emblazoned by some exclamation of praise.

 

Driving around these places led us through many towns and villages where life in its many forms was talking place - children waving as they cheerfully walked to school, pastoralist farmers leading their herds, women carrying unthinkable loads on their heads... and queues forming outside each of the many KFCs that pop up out of nowhere.

 

There are many differences between here and the other side of the South African border.  Crime is clearly at a much lower level - people openly display valuables in a way that would not happen in South Africa and houses here are not surrounded by walls, gates and security wire.  The approach to money is different too - no one watches your car to receive payment, no one expects a return for offering to help with directions.  People are warm and friendly and genuinely want to help you along - even the usual greeting of 'how are you?' or 'howzit?' is meant, with the asker taking an interest in your response.

 

Driving standards, however, are considerably poorer, and driving the length of a street is rather like playing Asteroids on an Atari.  The city centre of Gaborone, in particular, requires a foot down, eyes closed and hope-for-the-best mentality.

 

All-in-all, though, it has been a fascinating day assimilating to the local way of life and learning of the links between here and the far off land we call home.

 

Even the name of Livingstone's first mission holds a personal connection - 'Kolobeng' means "place of the wild pigs" - almost a Tswana translation of my home town of Bathgate, which means "wild boar wood".

A very African day

Tuesday 15th September

Mokoodi, Botswana

Today summed up Africa in so many ways.

 

To begin with, when we woke up, there was no water.  Lots of juddering pipes, but nothing coming out of them.  The rainy season here has been very dry, and the resulting drought has led to water rationing.

 

Bathing African style

So, instead of a shower, I went back to basics and bathed in the river instead - afterall, we're 12km from the next nearest person.  While the water was rather bracing, it was an incredibly refreshing way to start the day.

 

Leaving the farm, we headed to Botsalanto Nature Reserve, getting hopelessly lost on gravel roads on the way.  We did, however, as part of this detour encounter a huge rock monitor crossing the road infront of us.  South Africa has a terrible habit of signposting you in a general direction but then never filling in the detail when you need it - a trait it shares with Dundee.

 

Eventually we arrives and set off into the reserve... then promptly ran out of road and once again found ourselves off-roading in a Polo.

 

Botsalano is primarily a breeding ground for plains game, and it was present in abundance - impala, nyala, kudu, springbok, blesbok, eland, buffalo, wildebeest and something which looked like a bontebok, though they're not usually native to this area.  There were also several ground squirrels, some guinea fowl and the occasional ostrich.

 

As the day wore on, as our poor we car dragged its underside across the rocks, a rhino came into sight, and then a line of three of them ran alongside us, one of which baring the largest horn I've ever seen.  Even more spectacular was the giant secretary bird which put on a marvellous show, strutting about infront of us.

 

One further rhino crossed our path, but was a little spooked by us and started running in all directions.  Fortunately, we managed to avoid it then by some miracle came across the road again and were soon crossing the border to Botswana.

 

Customs and immigration are rarely a fun experience, though this was the most intimidating border crossing I've ever had, with no-one making any effort to explain what they wanted you to do, but getting incredibly angry when you don't do it correctly.

 

After several stops and a car search by an officer more interested in discussing the Rugby World Cup, we left South Africa and entered Botswana, where matters were even more confusing.

 

Much to-ing and fro-ing later, we had our passports stamped, road tax paid and were on our way.  The Batswana border force even issue you with free condoms on entering the country in a bid to halt the spread of HIV.

 

Barely 200m across the border a police roadblock was set up, so we went through the whole rigmarole again as they checked everything over.

 

At last, though, we were heading up the A1 towards Gaborone and our base for the next few days.  As we arrived, the most spectacular sunset welcomed us in.

 

Bathing in the river, barely passable roads, bizarre border control and breathtaking sunsets - yes, this could only be Africa.

A quiet day

Monday 14th September

Groot Marico

Groot Marico River

We didn't venture off the farm today, just sitting by the river under the warmth of the African sun.

 

Mercifully, this meant not having to traverse the slate cliff road, which yesterday proved every bit as difficult to ascend as to descend.

 

A repeat of that fun is saved for tomorrow when we leave the farm, and indeed South Africa, and head for Botswana for four nights.  We aren't going to any of the usual draws of Botswana such as the Chobe, Kalihari or Okovanga Delta, but are sticking to the small area around Gaborone where the vast majority of Botswana's population lives.

 

But that's for tomorrow.  For now, we've just discovered a mouse running about our kitchen, so that will provide tonight's entertainment.

Male Genital Mutilation

Sunday 13th September

Groot Marico

The nearest shop is some distance away in Zeerust, so we left early to get some supplies.

 

En route, my attention was caught by some giant billboards at the side of the road on which the Department for Health was advertising "free male circumcision" in a bid to discourage unsafe circumcision as part of traditional ulwaluko initiation ceremonies.

 

It is a traditional practice in many cultures for boys to go through a "coming of age" ceremony to become a man.  In Xhosa societies, this involves spending a period of time out in the countryside, painting the body in white ash and having a traditional circumcision performed by an ingcibi - the foreskin is cut with an assegai and the man shouts, "Ndiyindoda!" meaning "I am a man!"  After a further process, the whole thing culminates with the initiates washing in the river and burning their possessions and the hut in which they were staying, all symbols of leaving childhood behind.

There is something to be valued in the treasured rituals that have passed down successive generations, but the roadside sign got me thinking about the whole practice of circumcision.  We rightly condemn female genital mutilation and call it for what it is, yet when male genitals are barbarised, we give it a respectable sounding name and turn a blind eye.

Now, I'm not talking about properly carried out circumcision performed in medical conditions, and I appreciate it is an important custom in many different cultures and for many different reasons, however many men are forced to undergo this mutilation of their body against their will, and often it is done in a highly dangerous manner.

Here in South Africa, over 20 men died last year as a result of botched traditional circumcision - the death toll since 1995 is 853.  Many more have had to have their entire penis removed in order to save their lives.  Only months ago, South Africa saw the first successful penis transplant to give back a fully functioning penis to a man who had his amputated following infection due to a badly carried out coming-of-age circumcision.  Furthermore, non-sterile implements continue the spread of HIV and other infections.

The government here is taking steps to try and prevent such practices and prominent figures such as Desmond Tutu have powerfully advocated for these traditional ceremonies to employ the use of medical practitioners, but many young men are under pressure from traditional leaders and elders to have things done the traditional way.

I do not seek to judge another's culture, but when young men are dying and suffering bodily loss because of a dangerous practice, let's call it for what it is: male genital mutilation.

Off-roading in a VW Polo

Saturday 12th September

Groot Marico

Groot Marico River

I sit watching the sun go down over the hills with the Groot Marico River easy-oasying beneath my feet.  The whole day has not been this serene.

 

Not having far to travel today, we decided it would be worth visiting Kgaswane Mountain Reserve near Rustenburg where it is possible to leave the car behind and go on foot due to the low number of predators.  (There are a few leopards, but they prove very elusive.)

 

Having followed the directions to the letter, we found ourselves driving into what seemed to be an industrial estate so stopped to ask for directions.  As soon as I heard the fateful words, "It's easy - you can't miss it," I knew things would not run smoothly.  The couple then proceeded to argue amongst themselves in Afrikaans about which turning to take before dispatching us on a wild goose chase.

 

After much driving around Rustenburg and its suburbs (not always a pleasant experience) we eventually arrived at Kgaswane, around the time we had planned on leaving there.

 

It seemed as though there was little in the way of wildlife to be seen - a few distant zebra and a family of baboons, but we walked further into the undergrowth nevertheless.

 

Just as we were about to turn back, a rock at the other side of a dried-up stream looked like it moved.  Curious, I clambered down the banks to find that it was, in fact, a giant tortoise and quite a magnificent specimen at that.

 

Giant Tortoise, Kgaswane

Calmly munching away at the tender shoots of grass, it didn't mind as we got up close to examine it.  We spent a good 20 minutes in its company before heading off, already very behind schedule.

 

Running so late, we decided to get to our destination and collect the keys before venturing out to a supermarket.  We are spending the next three nights on a farm by the Groot Marico River, but hadn't realised quite how out of the way it was until the drive here.

 

Leaving Groot Marico, we crossed over 10km of rough dirt track: not unusual for this part of the world.  It was, however, particularly bumpy and took a long time to navigate.  As we turned off for the farm, a worse surface emerged - slate rock cliff.

 

An attempt at a track has been carved in to the sheer face of a slate cliff, with many sudden drops and loose rocks.  This road would present a challenge to any 4x4, yet here we were trying to cross it in a VW Polo.  Crawling along and doing my best to control the car, after 2.5km we arrived, only to be told by the owner that the nearest shop is over 40km away in Zeerust.

 

As we were heading back up that treacherous road in search of sustenance, the farmer took pity on us and offered to give us a lift in their pickup to a local petrol station where we could obtain enough supplies for tonight before tackling the road in the light of the morning to properly stock up.

 

We have food, of a fashion, and will make do until tomorrow, although the climb back up the face of the cliff in our Polo is already a challenge filling us with dread.  For now, though, all is peaceful and well with the world.

Cradle of Humankind

Friday 11th September

Rustenburg

The news here over the last two days has been dominated by the announcement of the discovery of a new species of hominid fossil at the Cradle of Humankind, the UNESCO World Heritage Site where "Little Foot" and "Mrs Ples" were found.

 

Although back in the direction we've just come from, we decided that such a momentous announcement warranted a visit.  Beginning at Sterkfontein, the caves where Little Foot was found, we donned hard hats and headed underground.  Clearly not seasoned climbers, a lot of bum-shuffling over the rocks led us eventually to the lowest reaches of the cave.  The caves are so dark, it is believed they have never been inhabited, but rather that Little Foot fell to his death through an opening.

 

At the site of the discover of Mrs Ples, we discovered that "Mrs" was actually a "Mr", but the original name sticks - nice to know that our distant ancestors needn't have been gender binary.

 

At the exhibition centre, coach loads of school children arrives and showed great fascination and delight at the first glimpse of something they'd never seen before: not the ancient fossils, but the wonder that was an automatic hand dryer.  A queue of young boys dared each other to place a hand under it, then when it started, to run away giggling.

 

From here, we headed to Maropeng, a name meaning "returning to where you came from".  Here, an exhibition guides through the history of the earth and the evolution of life to its current stage.  Interestingly, if the history of the Earth were compressed into one day, human beings wouldn't appear until half a second before midnight.

 

Homo Naledi

At the end of the exhibition came what we were here for - sight of the new hominid fossil.

 

It showed a remarkably intact, very small person-like skeleton of a type never before discovered.  It has not yet been dated, but if it proves to be over 2million years old, this will be the oldest 'homo' species ever discovered.  If it proves younger than that, it will show that more than one species of 'homo' lives in southern Africa at the same time - either way, a remarkable find, and a privilege to be amongst the first to see.

 

The exit from this exhibition posed the great existential questions "What is life?" and "What do you believe?" Pondering these may while away a sleepless night, but a piece of wall art brought home a more stark reality: "We need to find ways to fight poverty and sustain the environment: over 800m people know what it feels like to go to bed hungry."

 



Elephants and Greedy Hornbills

Thursday 10th September

Rustenburg

We had planned to spend today in Rustenburg, but the call of the wild was just too irresistible, and we found ourselves heading to Pilanesberg for some animal spotting.  We hadn't planned on visiting here until later in the trip, but we thought it wouldn't do any harm to have a sneak preview today.

 

And I'm glad we did!  We were barely one kilometre into the National Park when we spotted some elephants by a water hole.  It was a herd of about twelve, mainly young, including some of the smallest babies I've seen.

 

Elephants, Pilanesberg

As we pulled the car down a small track to the edge of the water, a second herd, again about 12-strong, began to approach the water.  They spent quite some time sussing each other out, the leading adults from each herd going to meet first, with the others protecting their young and then an 'all-clear' signal was given and the two herds mixed, sniffing, feeling and playing with one another at the water.

 

As if this wasn't impressive enough, a mother and baby hippo joined the scene, plunging into the water beside the elephants, while a bearded jackal prowled around to complete the African picture.

 

Just as we were about to leave, yet another family of elephants arrived, coming round the opposite side of the water, right by where we were parked.  One adult female came right up to examine the cars, perhaps a little too close for comfort.

 

It's difficult to know when to leave a scene like this, but as two of the elephant families moved on, so did we.  Giraffes were the next encounter - a family of six parading along the road.

 

Pilanesberg has a number of small hides where it is possible to get out on foot.  At the first of these, Mankwe, we were greeted by a (very young looking) crocodile, some terrapins and all manner of birdlife, including a pied kingfisher and a fish eagle making a catch.

 

The Offending Hornbill

At lunchtime, we headed to Pilanesberg Centre, where a rather greedy hornbill finished off my boerewors before I had the chance.  There was a huge commotion as someone claimed to see a lion, though I remain sceptical.

 

After a lot of driving, we saw a herd of wildebeest chase off a small jackal.  There were plains game aplenty, including a comical scene of zebra crossing the road.

 

As the sun began to set, we returned to Pilanesberg Centre to see of there was any news of the alleged lion, but there wasn't.  There was, however, a solitary male elephant drinking from a pond just 10m away from where we were standing.  He had found something on the ground, which he proceeded to break into small pieces, and then using the finger on his trunk picked each up in turn to eat.  It always provides a special moment to stand so close to such a magnificent animal.

 

Having found our way to Pilanesberg so easily, we hadn't expected such a difficult journey home.  We took a wrong turn somewhere and before we knew it, were completely lost.  With the help of one of the roadside sellers who can be found at every set of robots, we managed to find our way back to Rustenburg and from there to our accommodation at Woodridge Palms in Millvale, though if I never have to drive through Rustenburg in the dark again, I'll be a very happy man.

Home is where the Harties

Wednesday 9th September

Rustenburg

We're back!  We hadn't planned on returning so soon, but South Africa takes a grip on the heart strings that makes it incredibly difficult to stay away.

The strange thing is, I couldn't say what it is - it's difficult to identify anything in particular that draws me here, but it only takes a few minutes of Jacaranda FM, four way stops and boerewors before it feels like coming home.

It's rather fitting that this trip starts exactly where our last one finished - Hartebeespoortdam.  After collecting our car from OR Tambo Airport, we took a rather long and winding road to Harties, very nearly ending up in Diepsloot on the way.  (Don't ask...)

Hartebeespoortdam

We ascended the Harties Aerial Cableway to the top of one of the Magaliesberg mountains - a frighteningly steep cable car to a very high summit, but with vistas worth every second!  As well as the magnificent view across the dam, there was a reasonable amount of small wildlife to see - lizards, bearded dragons and even an elephant shrew.  Admiring the variety of landscapes around us, it suddenly felt like we'd never been away.

A drive over the dam itself is a rather special experience, though it was much quieter and less eventful than our last visit here.  Hartebeespoort lies incredibly close to the 'Cradle of Humankind' and certainly has a feeling of Eden about it.  If I could choose one place on earth to live, the little cottages along the side of the dam would be in with a good chance.

We'll be returning to this area in a couple of weeks, but for now we're in Rustenburg and heading through North West as Botswana is calling.

I may have just done something foolish...

If the commentariat are to be believed, the upper echelons of the Labour Party have gone into panic mode as the possibility of Jeremy Corbyn being elected their next leader increases.  The accepted wisdom seems to be that a "left-wing" candidate like Corbyn would be "unelectable" and would be, according to the Spectator, a "coup for the Tories".  The Telegraph suggests that were Corbyn to become leader, Labour would face "20 years in the wilderness".  Cue countless comparisons to Michael Foot.

This view is predicated on an analysis of Labour's election defeat which concludes that the electorate did not trust Labour to manage the economy well, that Labour appealed too narrowly, that Labour did not occupy enough of the central ground, that Labour did not have enough to say to the "aspirational classes", whatever that means.  Many have claimed that Ed Milliband was "too left-wing" - "Red Ed" they dubbed him.

There seems to be an unchallenged assumption that in order to become electable, Labour needs to occupy more of the traditionally Conservative ground.  Over the course of the last parliament, and especially since the election, Labour has adopted the policy of austerity and largely accepted the economic argument put forward by Osborne and company.  They even happily adopted the Conservative line that Labour had spent too much, despite the fact that until the banking crisis, Labour had run a smaller deficit than Thatcher did.  And yet, the Labour front bench were falling over themselves to say they'd spent too much and to distance themselves from everything to do with the previous Labour government.  I was even more astounded on Sunday to see Labour's acting leader say that they would not oppose the changes to social security and tax credits in last week's budget.

If this analysis is correct, then yes, Jeremy Corbyn would be an electoral disaster.  However, I just don't buy this narrative.  While the reasons for the Conservative election victory are many and complex (for example, the Tories successfully played on the fear some parts of the English electorate had of what a Labour-SNP coalition might look like), I would like to suggest that the reason for Labour's defeat was much more straight-forward... they were just the same as all the others.

During the election campaign, I chuckled as the suggestions on Twitter read "Similar to Ed Milliband: David Cameron, Nick Clegg".  It told a truth that few were willing to admit.  Reading the manifestos of the Conservative and Labour parties, I struggled to work out where the difference was, especially on economic policy.  Both offered cuts and austerity, both offered little to the most vulnerable in society, both tried so much to occupy the so-called "centre ground" that they stood for very little.  George Osborne's budget last week could have been lifted straight from the Labour manifesto, and that is very telling.

When the Labour Party stops standing up for the poorest and most needy in our society, is it any wonder that Scotland opted for the (more "left-wing") SNP and that England agreed better the devil you know?

Perhaps Labour's key to electoral success might not come in another carbon-copy leader and more of the same austerity narrative.  Perhaps Labour's best chance lies in returning to its founding values, in a leader who stands up for the poorest, in... dare I say it... socialism.

And so I may have just done something foolish... I've just registered as a Labour supporter (it only costs £3) so that I can vote for Jeremy Corbyn as leader.  I'm not doing this because I admire Corbyn's leadership skills or agree with everything he says.  I'm not doing this because I believe he is the solution to all Labour's problems.  I'm doing this because this country needs a Labour Party which is prepared to stand up for the most disadvantaged.  This country needs an effective party of opposition.  We've already got a Conservative Party - we need a party which offers an alternative vision.

Maybe thinking that Corbyn could be electable is foolish, maybe those who say Labour should seek "power rather than purity" are wiser, but then again, maybe the "foolishness" of wealth re-distribution is just the sort of foolishness we need to become a fairer society.

And they'll whisper to you, "socialism's dying...  

you cannae sell it at the supermarket till."   

But while there's fifty left like me,  

we'll make bloody sure they see  

that ideals are the hardest thing to kill. 

For everyone born a place at the table

In July, the children of our church will be leading all of the services, so last week I sat down with a few of them to begin planning.  "You're in charge," I said, "What would you like to do?"  I couldn't possibly have expected the answer that would come:

"Can we have Communion?" asked a seven year-old excitedly, then all the others started joining in.  "Oh, can we, can we?" 

As we talked, it became clear that for many of these children, sharing in the Lord's Supper is a way they experience the living God and has played a major part in their faith development.

This caused me to reflect on my changing experience of Communion.  When I was the age of the children I was talking to, Communion was a mystery to me - not in a "holy use and mystery" way, I just had no idea what it was.  When Communion Sunday came round, the children were all sent out into the hall.  All I knew was if I arrived at church to see a cloth over the table, we'd be going out to do some colouring-in.

When I reached about 11 or 12, we were allowed onto the church balcony to watch the spectacle of Communion taking place, but it was made very clear that we were not welcome to participate.

A few months after my 15th birthday, I participated Communion for the first time.  I found the whole experience a bit strange: lots of silver and pewter, a sombre silence and a procession of strangely-dressed elders distributing the elements with military precision using some secret code of imperceptible nods and winks to ensure that each side of the church progressed at the same rate.  Of my peer group (which was quite large in those days), I was one of only three who stuck around the church long enough to share in this bread and wine.

Over the last few years, my experience of Communion has been hugely different.  Within the context of our all-age worship service, we have shared bread and wine in many and varied ways, and each has been a moment I will cherish.

Typically, I've found myself sat on the floor, surrounded by children and people of all ages as we share the story of the institution by asking and answering questions.  There's no sombre silence - stories of faith are shared and explored and challenged, as adult and child learn from one another.

Far from a procession of suited elders, the elements tend to be shared round by young children.  On one occasion, a three year old girl was handing out glasses of wine and as she handed each one to its recipient, she pulled her skirt over her head, danced in a twirl and shouted 'Hooray!'  Surely to such as these belongs the Kingdom.

Rather than everyone taking a very prim and proper square of bread, my experience of Communion is more of a buffet with the bread and wine shared until all are satisfied.  As one four year old boy likes to shout as he eats the bread, "God is good!"

The presence, questioning, sharing, joy and challenge that children have brought have transformed my understanding of the sacrament and have made this celebration a place of encounter with the risen Christ.  Clearly, these are proving to be formative and transformative experiences for the children too.

And yet, statistics show that only a tiny percentage of children in our churches participate in Communion and there are still relatively few churches who routinely welcome children at the Lord's Table.  Fewer still will break with traditions in order to create a space where children and adults together can meet God through the sharing of bread, wine and story.

To deny a child a place at the table is to deny their place as a disciple.  Is it any wonder, then, that most of them don't stick around?  If Communion is the meal of the family of God, what does it say about that family if we do not make room for all to be present and participate fully?

I am convinced that removing children from the celebration of the sacrament has contributed to the decline the church has seen, and that embracing the gifts that children can uniquely bring to the celebration of the Eucharist would transform the church.  The time has come to embrace the vision of Shirley Erena Murray's hymn:

For young and for old, a place at the table, 

a voice to be heard, a part in the song.  

The hands of a child in hands kind and wrinkled:  

for young and for old, the right to belong.  

And God will delight...

On the Eve of Assembly

On the eve of this year's General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, I share an experience of the GA which will remain with me all the days of my life - when Desmond Tutu, Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town, addressed the Assembly.

I wasn't a member of the Assembly that year, but sat in the public gallery to listen to the words of one of my all-time heroes, words which are as relevant now as they were when they were spoken in 2009.

If you followed the actions of Tutu during the apartheid era, you will have seen the way he can walk into an environment of conflict, rouse the crowd up into a frenzy and then create a turning point when he channels the emotion of the crowd into something constructive rather than destructive.  "Rabble Rouser for Peace" is the appropriate title of his authorised biography.

On this day, he performed a similar theatrical effect, first rousing the Assembly with the tales of what the Kirk achieved in South Africa for the anti-apartheid movement.  As people were feeling good, their emotions stirred, the turning point came: Tutu closed his eyes and spoke like a prophet these words:

What invests people - all people, without exception - invests them with a worth that is infinite is not this or that biological irrelevance, but it is the staggering fact that all of us, without exception, is created in God's image.  Each one of us, staggeringly, is a God-carrier.  Each one of us is a God viceroy, a stand-in for God...

We are the servant of one who declared that Isaiah's words had found fulfilment in him: "The Spirit of the Lord has anointed me to speak good news, not just to any and everybody, but especially to the poor."  Ours is a God who is notoriously biased towards the poor, the hungry, the downtrodden, those who smell to high heaven, those begging in our streets, who sleep rough, prostitutes, drug addicts - those who are at the edges of our society.  Those are our God's favourites.

"Would you want acceptance, even of your worship, then go and wash you hands clean for they are full of blood, and then go and do justice, not just to anyone... go and do justice to the widow, the orphan and the alien," representative of the most impotent of societies in those days.

The church of God is one that must proclaim, "Thus said the Lord..."  Thus said the Lord that, hey, we are family, we are family.  We have only one whom we call 'Father' and this one who is our Lord, speaking about his coming elevation on the cross, said, "I, if I be lifted up, will draw - not some - will draw all, all."   

An incredible, revolutionary, radical, radical, radical assertion!  Will draw all, all, all into an embrace which not let us go, for in this family, there are no outsiders - all, all are insiders, all are children of our heavenly Father: the rich, the poor, the lame, the blind, the clever, the not-so-clever, the white, the black, the red, the yellow - all, all, all!  The Palestinian, the Israeli, Al Qaeda, Bin Laden, George Bush - all, all, I will draw all, all into this embrace which will not let you go.  All, all, all, all, all, all!  Lesbian, gay, so-called straight - all, all, all, I will draw all!

We are family, we are family, we are sisters and brothers!  How, in the name of everything that is good, can we justify going on spending obscene amounts on budgets of death and destruction when we know that just a minute fraction of those so-called defence budgets would ensure that God's children everywhere - our sisters and brothers - would have clean water to drink, would have enough food to eat, would have a decent home, would have affordable healthcare?  How can it be that we representing this God can look on can look on when there are those who go to bed hungry, who can spend only one dollar a day?  How can we, how can we, how can we?

 And our God says, "I have no one, I have no-one except you.  Help me, help me, help me to make this a more compassionate world.  Help me please, help me so we can make it more generous, caring.  Help me, I have no one except you.  Help me, help me, help me."

You can watch the speech here:  (If you only have time to watch one, go for part 3.)

 

I stood for election once...

...well, kind of. It was about a week before the 1997 election, Blair's Babes were on the march, John Major's underpants were the subject of much speculation and Alex Salmond was having his first crack as SNP leader. I was in primary 5 and the classes on the top floor decided to hold a mock election, with each of the four classes putting up one candidate. I was chosen as our candidate and with the three others, we drew lots to see which party we would represent.


This was 1997, the height of Blair mania, things can only get better, so naturally I hoped to be the Labour candidate. Besides, I'd met Donald Dewar that week in Greggs and he gave me a New Labour balloon, so what was not to like?


Alas, it was not to be - with the lots drawn, I was to represent Paddy Ashdown's Lib Dems. I set to work learning about their policies, which included such vote-winners as raising income tax by 1p.


A few days later, things got into full swing. Hustings were held across all the classes, ballot boxes were made from shoe boxes and Mrs Walker's classroom was turned into a polling station, with painting easels forming makeshift booths.


At the hustings, the Labour and Conservative candidates kept trying to out-do one another with more and more made up populist policies and when asked how they'd pay for them replied, "print more money". Meanwhile, I sat there as the sensible Lib Dem, offering well thought-through, fully costed but unspectacular policies. I got two votes, one of them cast by myself.


In the end, Labour and the Conservatives ended up neck and neck, the SNP put in quite a good showing while the Lib Dems were all but wiped out. I wonder why this springs to mind today?

A threat to democracy

I begin with an apology for yet another post about South African politics, but the events of yesterday cannot go unremarked upon.  It amazes me that they were not reported on any UK network news.  Democracy was hard fought for in this country, and yesterday it faced grave threats.

Last night, President Zuma was to give the annual State of the Nation Address (SONA) to a joint sitting of the National Assembly and the National Council of Provinces at the parliament in Cape Town.  I wrote yesterday that it would be an interesting political event given the current situation in the country, but I could not have expected the chaos which ensued.

Before the sitting even began, protests began in the media gallery as they discovered that their mobile signals were being jammed by a clocking device, preventing them from live reporting the events.  No decision had ever been taken by parliament to do this, and indeed such devices are illegal for use except by state security departments.  South Africa's constitution expressly provides freedom of information communication in situations such as this.

As soon as the speaker opened the session, MP after MP from the opposition parties raised points of order demanding that the signal be unblocked.  The speaker ordered the Secretary to the Parliament to investigate and eventually the signal blocker was turned off and business could proceed.

Or not, as the case turned out.  President Zuma had barely spoken a few words when it became clear that his microphone was not working, a result of the Parliament staff withdrawing their labour.  This (and the water supply for thirsty MPs) fixed, at last Zuma could deliver the SONA.

Again, maybe not.  Shortly after starting, the President was interrupted the Whip of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) who raised a question of privilege with the Speaker asking when the President was going to pay back money spent on his private residence in KwaZulu Natal that the Protector said he had unduly benefited from.  The Speaker stated that this session was not for questions, and that there would be ample opportunity to question the President at next week's sitting.

Before she had even completed, another EFF member raised the same point, followed by another, at which point the Speaker lost her temper and ordered the member to leave the chamber.  This provoked a number of EFF members to raise points of order asking under which rule the Speaker was ejecting their colleagues, and these members were too asked to leave.  When they refused, the Speaker sent in security forces to remove them.

During this time, the parliamentary TV feed focused on the speaker, but footage was shot by mobile phone from the press gallery which shows plain-clothed, armed security forces violently dragging the entire EFF party from the parliament.  Mercedes Besent, a journalist from SABC who got caught up in the scuffle reported seeing security officials "kicking, beating and dragging" EFF MPs out of the building.  One of the MPs ended up in hospital.

The Leader and Chief Whip of the official opposition party, the Democratic Alliance (DA), then continually asked the speaker whether these security men were parliamentary officials or police.  This was a key issue, DA Leader Maimane said, as one reports to the Speaker while the other reports to the executive, and this would be "unconstitutional".  When the Speaker and Chairwoman refused to say whether they were police or not, the DA walked out of the chamber, followed by the other opposition parties COPE and the UDM.

So, an hour later than planned, and speaking only to his own party, President Zuma was able to deliver his SONA, beginning - without a hint of irony - by commemorating 60 years since the adoption of the Freedom Charter and 25 years sice the release of Mandela.

Understandably, huge controversy has surrounded the events.  Clearly, the EFF were wrong to try and disrupt the business of parliament and the speaker had to take some action to ensure the SONA could go ahead, but was she right to eject members raising points of order without first hearing their point?  Then comes the question of the security forces.  If they were police or private forces entering parliament to remove an entire opposition party, this constitutes a breach of the separation of powers required for a transparent democracy.  Note also that the entire EFF were removed though only a handful of individuals had been asked to leave by the speaker.  With the remaining opposition parties walking out, what kind of scrutiny does it offer to the South African people if only the governing party is present for such an important occasion?  And what about the signal blocker?  On whose authority was that installed and what information were they trying to contain?

Ultimately, media and political attention has focused on these issues rather than the content of the SONA.  With half of South African young people unemployed, the value of the rand sliding, protests against foreign shopkeepers in Soweto continuing, the University of KwaZulu Natal closed due to protests and enforced power cuts due to ramp up tomorrow, I would suggest that the people of South Africa deserve a democracy which holds the executive to account and that all parties and parliamentary authorities need to work together to achieve this.

Former President Thabo Mbeki said of the events, "We are elected by people who want to find solutions; all political parties need to discuss this.  You can't tell a person that you can't ask that question.  Don't use administrative problems to solve political problems.  You've got to confront the political elements and have a political engagement."

The blocking of communications and the use of armed forces to violently remove an entire opposition party cannot be allowed in a free, democratic society.  This, combined with an opposition unable to hold the executive to account, constitutes a real threat to democracy.

SONA: A show like no other

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm a bit of a political anorak.  My Sky+ planner is wall to wall political commentary, I never miss PMQs and a General Election means taking annual leave so that I can stay up all night to watch all the analysis.  Though much of it is derided as pointless theatre, the way politicians manouever themselves around various issues fascinates me.  It's much more interesting than any film.

At around 5pm GMT tonight, one of the most interesting speeches for a political anork will take place: South Africa's State of the Nation Address (SONA), the President's annual speech to the nation.  In addition to the overarching political climate, events of the last few days make this the most eagerly anticipated SONA since 1994 and the way President Zuma tackles it could be one of the most interesting pieces of posturing in global politics.

On the one hand, today's SONA comes just one day since South Africa marked 25 years since the release of Nelson Mandela, suggesting it should be a cause for celebration for the people in general and Zuma's ANC party in particular, however other things in the last week have not gone so well.

South Africa's economy continues to struggle, with the Rand slumping yesterday to a 12 year low and figures today showing a decline in the vital mining industry.  Perhaps as a result of economic conditions, huge rallies were held in Soweto today where African shopkeepers were campaigning against foreign (mostly Asian) shopkeepers being allowed to run their own business.  What began as meetings has developed into mass pickets that are forcing foregin shopkeepers to remain closed and making it impossible for them to leave their own home.  The ANC has been quick to condemn this, committed to its long-term stance of non-racialism.  25 years since apartheid began to fall, care must be taken that it is not built up again in other ways.

Meanwhile, due to maintenance and other problems at some major power stations, South Africa is not able to generate enough power to meet its needs, and the state energy provider Eskom has had to enforce planned power outages across the country over the last few days.  These are set to increase if a solution cannot be found.  Many businesses, including huge store chain Woolworths (more like M&S than the Woolworths we knew in the UK), have warned of the impact this will have on them and the economy.

The President himself is also under huge political pressure over the cost and transparency of "security upgrades" at his Nkandla home.  Will he tackle this head on in SONA or try to ignore the issue?  Some opposition politicians are threatening to break with convention and interrupt SONA if Zuma does not address the issue and it is a guarantee that this will be a hotly contested issue in the next elections.

Add this to the list of wider problems I raised in yesterday's blog post, and the President seems to be between a rock and a hard place when it comes to SONA.  How he will address the variety of issues facing the country and insipre hope and confidence among his people will be an interesting piece of political science.

But all is not grim for the President - despite the problems and controversies, the ANC remains popular and in a recent poll by Ipsos, 53% of South Africans agreed he was doing a good job of running the country.  Contrast that with any of the main political leaders in the UK who routinely run negative approval ratings and that seems rather good.

Watching the media build up to tonight's SONA, the atomsphere seems a mixture of red carpet glamour and volatile tension.  It's no wonder that national broadcaster SABC has dubbed SONA "a show like no other".

Madiba: 25 Years On

Nelson Mandela Square, Sandton, Johannesburg

Twenty-five years ago today, James "Buster" Douglas knocked out Mike Tyson to win the heavyweight boxing crown, Todd Eldredge won the US Male Figureskating Championship and East beat West 130-113 in the NBA All-Star Game.

I was just about to turn five, and was completely unaware of all of these things.  However, despite my young age, I was aware that there was a huge amount of excitement about a man being released from prison on the other side of the planet and that this happening was going to make the world a better place.  I remember watching TV reports showing the man and his wife walking hand and hand, their fists in the air in what I later learnt was the Amandla or power salute.  The man was, of course, Rolihlahla (better known as Nelson) Mandela.  As I grew up, my interest in this man and his country grew and grew and he came to have more and more of an influence on my life.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those who places Mandela on some kind of saintly pedestal.  As I spend time in schools and see children learning about Mandela, one of my real frustrations is when they paint him as some kind of unerring pacifist, but this is far from the truth.  By his own admission, Mandela was no Gandhi - to him non-violence was not a moral principle but a tactic which should only be employed so long as it was useful.  Indeed, Mandela founded the "MK" - the militant wing of the freedom struggle.  However, it was Mandela's response to his release from prison that makes him something of a hero to me.

After 27 years of imprisonment, to emerge not only without bitterness or seeking revenge but to actively build peace, harmony and reconcilliation still blows my mind.  In his first speech as a free man, he quoted his own words from his trial in 1964:

"I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination.  I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live in harmony and with equal opportunities.  It is an ideal for which I hope to live for and to achieve, but if needs be, it is an idea for which I am prepared to die."

Mandela spent the remaining years of his life, many of them as South Africa's elected president, trying to bring about this vision.  Nearly a quarter of a century later, we sat in Nelson Mandela Square in Sandton enjoying a meal and drinks surrounded by South Africans of every background, free from colour bars and all regarded as equals.  We watched black and white children playing together in school grounds and met many confident, empowered young people from all of South Africa's ethnic groups.  On the face of things, job done.

Or is it?  While apartheid seems a long time ago and South Africa enjoys a rich multiculturalism and a democracy open to all, there are clearly still remnants of old divisions.  Much of the service industry and most low-paid jobs are still occupied solely by black Africans, while much of South Africa's wealth still rests with the white community.  The dominance of the ANC in government has led many to distrust the authorities while corruption within the state seems commonplace.  Many townships are still languishing in poverty, and many are no-go areas for police making them hotbeds for violent crime.  The justice system is creaking, with delays so long in bringing some suspects to trial that witnesses can no longer remember what they witnessed.

Today, Kathadra, a fellow prisoner of Mandela, said, "It is disheartening and of great concern to me that, 25 years on, we still see blatant acts of racism being perpetrated.  We have made significant progress since 1994, but racism still lurks under the surface... It worries me when [young people] are being separated in classrooms based on race... We need to pay more attention to youth development so that young people can become agents of non-racialism."

Another of Mandela's comrades, Laloo Chiba, claimed to be "extremely disturbed to see that racial discrimination carries on in a big way.  I never thought that evidence of racism would be so rife 20 years after democracy."

25 years after the release of Madiba (to use his clan name), there is much to celebrate in what has been achieved in this wonderful country, but it is perhaps also an occasion to be reminded that the ideal which Mandela stood for has not yet been fully achieved and that we should all show something of Mandela's resolve and do all we can to fight injustice and its causes.

To quote Sello Hatang, CEO of the Nelson Mandela Foundation,

"Some of the responsibility that we carry most is that of reconcilliation, the issue of equality and also non-racialism.  Twenty-five years ago, we said we would build a non-racial society.  Are we there yet?  Madiba says that one question that should bother each one of us when we wake up in the morning is, 'Am I doing enough to help build a country of my dreams?'"