Mark my words: Ndileka Mandela. (Photo: Delwyn Verasamy/M&G)
Ndileka Mandela, the first grandchild of Nelson Mandela, tells Nicolene de Wee about her passion for rural development and that Covid-19 corruption and state capture evidence means she won’t make her X next to the ANC. The mother of two is a nurse, social activist and author. She heads the rural upliftment organisation, the Thembekile Mandela Foundation, which she named after her father, the oldest son of Mandela and his first wife, Evelyn Mase.
Where did your passion for nursing come from and did anyone influence that decision?
My grandmother was a nurse in Pimville in Johannesburg. On weekends, when she was working as a community nurse, she took me to assist her with weighing the babies at the clinic. So I suppose that stuck. However, when I finished matric, I was training as a teacher, but I hated every moment. I also fell pregnant that same year and decided not to go back to teacher’s college after the June holidays. My grandmother managed to get me a nursing apprenticeship and I fell in love with nursing. I guess that passion for nursing my grandmother instilled in me was reignited.
You carry the name Mandela with pride. Were you ever treated differently because of that and for being the eldest grandchild of an icon?
I started my school career in Orlando East, Johannesburg. Shortly after that, my grandmother [Evelyn Mase] relocated us to Cofimvaba in the Eastern Cape, where I finished the bulk of my schooling. My granddad was deemed a terrorist, so we didn’t get any preferential treatment. The preferential treatment followed after my granddad’s release and after he became the president of the ANC and the country.
You first met Mandela when you turned 16 years old. What effect did that meeting have on you?
Due to past prison laws, I was only allowed to visit him at Robben Island when I turned 16. It was quite traumatic because no one told me what to expect. No one told me that I will be speaking to him through a window and that I will not touch him. Nobody prepares you for those harsh realities of seeing someone in prison and that a warden would be present throughout the visit.
Granddad started writing to me when I turned 10, and I was looking forward to meeting him. He could put anyone at ease, so at the end of the visit we were buddies. That connection we maintained throughout his life. We had several fights, but that bond was never severed. During the 30-minute visit he asked me about my subjects at school, my future plans, boyfriends and weirdly enough he asked me whether I’ve had my first pap smear yet. He asked me awkward questions, but also cracked a few jokes.
Your book, I Am Ndileka: More Than My Surname, tells the story about a woman who achieved considerable success in society, but who faces many challenges. Who or what was your biggest motivation?
The primary motivation was to find my voice. To tell people who I am and that I’m not apologising for what I went through. The second motivation was that not much has ever been written about Madiba’s first family with Evelyn Mase. I also felt that my granddad’s story was incomplete. It was a story about a politician, but never that of a father, grandfather, great-grandfather and brother. My book is filling those gaps in his life story.
The other important thing in the book is the story of my grandmother. My life was shaped by Evelyn, not by Nelson Mandela. That is why I wanted people to see my grandparents through my eyes.
It’s also important that people learn more about my father [Thembekile Mandela]. The person [who is] mentioned very sporadically and is always referred to as “the son that Madiba lost in a car accident” and that’s it, the total of his life. But he was more than that because he was a husband and a father to me and my sister, Nandi.
What angers you about the South Africa of today?
Wasteful expenditure during a pandemic is what makes my blood boil. I read stories of people in my province [Eastern Cape] where residents are scratching in bins for food while politicians live large. What upsets me, even more, is the amount of money lost through corruption, it’s billions of rand. Yes, the ANC government built houses and structures, but we would’ve been so much further than we are now if it were not for corruption.
What is your view on gender-based violence in South Africa?
I was raped by my partner in my own home in 2012. Luckily my grandmother taught me an important thing: you can fall 10 times, but you can get up 20 times. Gender-based violence is perpetuating a culture and cycle of violence in the country. It worries me that we still didn’t manage to deal with this crime effectively. Here, and in the rest of Africa, we talk about it, but nothing is done. We still have perpetrators not facing the full might of the law. There are women behind bars for self-defence. I feel we only deal with gender-based violence symptoms and never sit down and discuss the problem.
Does the ANC still have your support at the polling stations?
No, I will never vote for the ANC again, ever. During the last elections I was still hopeful and voted for them, but judging by the Zondo commission’s evidence [regarding state capture] and what I’ve seen during the Covid-19 pandemic, never again. I don’t have an alternative now, and I’m not sure what I’ll do at the voting station. I might spoil my ballot; I’m still not sure. People died for our right to vote, but I will not put my cross next to the ANC, I’m sorry. I’m sure wherever my granddad and our freedom fighters are, they are not happy.
What makes you laugh?
I have a wicked sense of humour. I read a tweet around the Brackenfell school drama [in the Western Cape]. Someone suggested that Gauteng education MEC Panyaza Lesufi should step in and solve the problem. Then Lesufi hit back and told the woman: “I’m sure you didn’t do well in geography at school.” I found that extremely funny.
I know some people would be offended by it, but I find such things hilarious. I also like poking fun at myself. For example, I didn’t know amapiano was a music genre. I thought it was a song. I think it’s good to laugh, even at myself.
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