Ahmed Kathrada (Source: Alchetron)
On Monday evening 27 March 2017, on my way to a local mall to buy a book voucher for a colleague, there was a radio announcement that Ahmed Kathrada’s health had further deteriorated. It wasn’t said, but it was clear that he wouldn’t recover. As I walked into the bookshop I was greeted by Uncle Kathy’s smiling face on the cover of the book Conversations with a Gentle Soul. I bought the book and almost forgot to buy the voucher.
On Tuesday morning we woke up to the news that Uncle Kathy had passed away.
The book has been lying next to my laptop since then. I haven’t started reading it, but every now and then I find myself touching the smiling face on the cover.
In 1994 when Ahmed Kathrada became the political advisor to the late President Mandela, I was a junior official in the Office of the President, nowadays the Presidency. In Cape Town Mr Kathrada’s office was between Tuynhuys and the interlinking Good Hope building, quite close to my own office. He had two staff members and they were very protective of him and referred to him as Mr K. My initial contact with him related mainly to obtaining his advice on responses to certain correspondence, and most of this was not done in person – it was part of network of hard-copy documents that moved between offices in the days before e-mails completely ruled our lives. On a weekly basis our office would receive feedback from him with a note from his secretary indicating that “Mr K’s responses are attached”. Underneath her note were his handwritten suggestions for responses. His handwriting was so beautiful and his meticulously drafted letters to the different authors always warm and respectful.
As I moved to different departments in the Office, I had a bit more contact with him and “Mr K” became “Uncle Kathy”.
The days of the Mandela presidency are long gone. I left the Office towards the end of 2000 and in the last 17 years I saw Uncle Kathy on only a few occasions, mostly when he was visiting the University of the Western Cape for some or other event. But on those rare occasions it was always so special to see his face light up and to receive a gentle embrace from this very special man.
There are many small memories of him: his diligence, his kindness, and sitting next to him on a flight from Washington to Ottowa as he read the proofs of one of his books.
But there are two incidents that stand out.
Shortly before the 1999 elections Uncle Kathy invited colleagues to a farewell function on Robben Island. By then I had been on the island a few times, but seeing it through his eyes and his lived experiences was very special.
At some point we all sat in the courtyard outside the prison listening to his recollections of what they experienced in those years. He took great care to share many of Madiba’s experiences with us and actually spoke very little about himself. He did, however, mention how privileged he was to have had a cell that did not look out on to the courtyard, but that faced the outside of the prison, because it meant that he could see the warders' children walk to school in the mornings. He explained how not being able to see and engage with children skews one’s sense of society.
Later, he took time to take photos with each of us in Madiba's cell. I went on to wait for him in his cell, which was just across the passage from Madiba’s, because I wanted to understand how he saw the children. His cell had only a small narrow window that was quite high. When I asked him about this, he looked around, smiled and remarked that the prison is a museum and that we are not supposed to move anything. He nonetheless proceeded to move his prison writing table until it was below the window and he then helped me climb on to it so that I could see the view he had referred to. Gazing through his cell window, I could see a couple of metres of the road outside the prison and I was overcome with sadness, imagining him standing there in the mornings, looking at the children of the warders and considering himself privileged.
The other incident occurred a few years earlier, probably about halfway through Madiba’s term as president. At that stage I was managing the office of the director-general, the late Jakes Gerwel. On a few occasions Gerwel commented that it is not possible to compare the sacrifices made by different individuals, but that he was of the opinion that we didn’t fully grasp the extent of Uncle Kathy’s sacrifice, given the fact that he was so young when he went to prison.
On this specific day Gerwel, who was out of town, phoned and dictated a letter for Madiba’s signature, asking that we get it signed urgently. It was the time of the Lockerbie negotiations and urgent letters were the order of the day.
Madiba, Uncle Kathy and others were, however, in a meeting. When one enters Tuynhuys there is a large foyer area. From the foyer, to the left, there is a long corridor. A few metres into the corridor, against the wall, opposite the entrance to a meeting room (which used to be the cabinet room, many years ago), there were framed black-and-white photographs of former heads of state. I was waiting at the framed photos for Madiba’s meeting to end.
When the meeting concluded I went in and got the letter signed, and as I was on my way out, I overheard a conversation between Uncle Kathy and someone else who had also been in the meeting. The question posed to Uncle Kathy was, “When are you guys going to move these old white farts from the wall?” In his typical calm way, Uncle Kathy responded that it would be easy to remove the photographs, but that it wouldn’t change history. He continued by saying that it might be worth adding the new photos next to the old ones, because, he continued, in plotting a new future, there is value in being reminded of the past.
I wonder if those framed black-and-white photos are still hanging in the corridor? And whether photos of former Presidents Mandela, Mbeki and Motlanthe were added? And the so-called Nr 1.
As I sit here writing these words I look at your smiling face on the book cover, Uncle Kathy, and I am once again overcome with sadness. I am so sorry that we failed you. That as a country we failed you and Madiba and so many others. That in plotting a new future we are getting so many things so wrong.
May you rest in peace, dearest Uncle Kathy. And may your wife and family find peace and comfort in the memories of a life well lived.
Loïs
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