5

Travelling with a President

In 1996 the President asked me to accompany him again, this time on his state visit to France. I was excited having the opportunity to visit France, obviously, because of my ancestral history. The only difference this time was that I was the only secretary to accompany him and it was therefore my first fully fledged working state visit. In Paris a lady visited him and I was suspicious about her presence. She arrived at the guest house with our Ambassador to France, Barbara Masekela. Barbara escorted her straight to the President’s suite in the guest house. The President’s suite had a dining room, its own lounge and ample space befitting for a President. But Barbara soon left, without the visitor, and the door to the President’s suite was closed. I knew that was never allowed – that a door be closed when he was alone with a female. I rushed up to Parks Mankahlana, the Presidential spokesperson, and with panic in my voice announced that the door was closed and the lady was still inside. Parks told me it was Mrs Graça Machel, the widow of the late President Samora Machel from Mozambique. What crossed my mind first was: Oh hell, I don’t know all this history, and then: Well, they’ve closed the door and I may be in trouble about it.

It was one of the very few occasions that Parks was irritated with me and told me ‘leave it’. So I did.

Before we left for a public reception, the President called me and formally introduced me to Mrs Machel. And he said something I remembered and tried to adhere to for years to follow: ‘This is Aunt Graça Machel. She is my friend. We are going to this event now and I want you to stay with her at all times. You are not allowed to lose sight of her at any time and I need you to take care of her.’ That made me nervous because I didn’t know how I was supposed to look after both of them at this event. Somehow I managed.

After we returned to South Africa it was leaked to the media that Mrs Machel and the President were in a relationship. I was shocked at first when I saw it in the Sunday papers, fearing that someone might think that I leaked it to the media, but Parks later told me it was deliberately leaked.

*   *   *

On Wednesday, 12 February 1997 a debate followed in Parliament after the President’s State of the Nation address a few days before. The debate was about racism and minority groups accusing the government of the aforementioned. The President said during his debate:

May I challenge each and every one of those honourable members to come out with me now, not to fight [laughter] but to show them evidence which will disprove all their propaganda. However before I refer to that, I was asked the same question that has been raised by my friend here, F. W. de Klerk: ‘Why are you applying racism in reverse and letting our people down, punishing the Afrikaners?’

I said, ‘Very well. Can you give me some statistics? How many Afrikaners have been dismissed? When? Who replaced them?’ He said: ‘I do not have the facts with me.’ I said: ‘I am very surprised that a professor should put a question like that to the President of the country without facts.’ I said I would give him time and asked how long he needed before he could supply me with that evidence. That was the last time I saw him [laughter].

I want to say that whilst we are empowering those who have been discriminated against, we are acting sensitively to the people who were there before we took over. Just outside this Chamber is Superintendent Riaan Smuts, who comes from the apartheid regime. I have retained him. I have two white secretaries from the old regime, typical boeremeisies [laughter]. They are Elize Wessels from Kakamas and Zelda la Grange from George. Those honourable members can go through my staff.

I laughed when I heard of this. Elize was never from Kakamas and well, I’ve never been from George, although for years later Madiba still believed I was from George. My grandparents and father were from that region and because I told him that we often go there he accepted that I was from George, which is a well-known sizeable town in that area. It worked for him so I left it at that. Years later Mrs Machel corrected him one day and then the story disappeared. He appeared disappointed in his own story.

After this debate I was approached by a journalist from an Afrikaans women’s magazine in South Africa called Rooi Rose (Red Roses). They wanted to do a feature about a white female bodyguard and wanted to include me as one of the white ladies around the President. At first I said no, but it came to the President’s attention that I had been asked and did not want to participate, and he called me into his office and instructed me to do it. He told me he wanted me to participate when asked. I was part of his Government of National Unity, and he would not succeed if he preached to the world something he was not operating in his close environment. By now I understood what the President wanted with me. It was becoming more than a job for me. I was becoming dependent emotionally on him, while he afforded me the opportunities of a lifetime. I was not skilled for everything he asked me to do, but he wanted to ensure that a white, young Afrikaner, who epitomized the community, remained close to him.

I looked forward to every opportunity to spend time with the President. He was kind and always interested about my well-being. That made me even more committed to support his efforts and I made an effort to ensure that I was diligent in every possible way. But the fact that he would contact me directly and involve me in his affairs caused some tension in the office. I tried to remain in Cape Town as much as possible, even during the recess in Parliament, for the sake of peace, though I was promoted to acting assistant private secretary in March 1997.

My parents were intrigued by my commitment and change of heart towards the President. They sensed that I adored my new boss and when I spoke of him it was with fondness. My dad appeared sceptical but my mother embraced and encouraged the loyalty I was expressing. I didn’t discuss work much at home but they saw that I was completely focused and dedicated to my job. They hardly ever saw me and when they did, I slept most of the time. Whenever I wasn’t at work, or with the President, I slept. I no longer went out with friends and I alienated myself from the social scene, for reasons both intentional and unintentional. I wanted to avoid being constantly quizzed about my job. Having very little free time I wanted to isolate myself in that short space of time to digest whatever was happening at work, to internalize and process and plan, but also to provide myself with the space to accommodate the changes that were happening within me. When I now look back over those nineteen years the days are all faded into one large chunk of life. It was at such a pace that I find it difficult to remember individual or isolated incidents. There was little time to ever digest and even though I was proud, grateful and totally committed, my work absorbed my entire life.

I was embracing the new South Africa through serving the President. I was changing from within and in general felt more tolerant and respectful towards people despite the differences of the colour of our skin, our cultural or political beliefs and the texture of our hair. It was something my friends and some family found difficult to comprehend because they had not been exposed to the same diversities that I had been exposed to. We were not accustomed to interracial relationships in South Africa, whether platonic, romantic or professional of nature. We still operated and lived separated in our clusters of comfort. It was starting to be problematic having conversations with friends and family as I was growing to accept and embrace the diversity of people. I often walked away from conversations with friends thinking that some of the black and brown people I worked with were much more intelligent than most people we as white friends knew, yet some of my friends maintained their position of superiority over anyone who was not white. I had grown intolerant of people who didn’t open themselves for change, but at the same time I realized I was privileged because of my closeness to the President and exposure to non-racialism.

People often ask me: ‘Did you keep notes of your experiences?’ And I think to myself: With what time and energy was I suppose to do that? They say: ‘You must have been to the most spectacular places’, and I think: Can’t remember. Then they say: ‘You don’t have kids and aren’t married’, and to this day I calmly smile and respond appropriately but think: Where and when could you imagine that could have happened in the last nineteen years? Your being becomes consumed by the job and you wake up worrying and stressing about what lies ahead, not contemplating anything else that would resemble ‘normality.’

*   *   *

It was around this time that my relationship with the President took a step forward. Even though I was in Cape Town most of the time, I knew that he was negotiating with Laurent Kabila and the incumbent President of what was then known as Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In addition to attending to the duties of a President that included dealing with domestic affairs, keeping opposition politicians at bay, debating changes of legislation and so on, the President would fly off to Zaire in the morning, be back at night and the next day have an incoming state visit to attend to. He did his duties without ever cancelling or failing his obligations, yet he was determined too that it was not only South Africa that had to benefit from our democracy. Africa had to succeed as a continent too and he was devoted to bringing about a regeneration of the continent at the same time.

The DRC is a country rich in resources on the west coast of Africa. But the country and its people were impoverished as a result of greed – that of the ruler and dictator for more than twenty years, President Mobutu Sese Seko – and an ongoing civil war in the region. The President’s intention was to get Laurent Kabila and Mobutu to meet on neutral ground and for them to start negotiations to enable Mobutu to step down in a dignified manner and hand over power to Kabila to effectively run the country on new terms to benefit its people, hoping that a free, fair and democratic election would follow. Kabila was threatening to overthrow the government and take over by violent means, and to ensure stability in the region it was in the best interest of all concerned that a peaceful transition be negotiated. President Mobutu, who was sixty-six at the time and suffering from prostate cancer, said he would never bow to Kabila, but international pressure was increasing.

To prepare for this meeting a South African navy ship, the SAS Outeniqua, was sent to anchor in international waters off the coast of Zaire to provide that neutral ground for the affected parties to meet. For days the media was dominated by reports that Mobutu refused to meet Kabila on the ship. Once they had both agreed to meet, the President flew off to Pointe Noire in Zaire with the Presidential plane, the Falcon 900, to attend and facilitate the meeting. He was scheduled to return late the same night.

My duties at that stage included the tasking of the Presidential plane: to provide airforce staff with details of departure and arrival times, passengers on board, food to be consumed during return flights and return times. Meticulous detail. In turn, they would provide me with flight times and from there an arrival time at each side could be determined and the programme for the day could be negotiated. The President specifically didn’t take a secretary with him on that particular trip due to the sensitivities of the talks and the fact that there were only men on board the SAS Outeniqua. He probably also had a premonition that things would not go according to plan. They arrived in Pointe Noire and were taken by helicopter to the vessel. And there he started preparing himself for the meeting.

I was usually in constant contact with the pilots of the plane so as to establish what time they departed and to enable me then to provide an expected arrival time back in South Africa to all parties concerned.

On that night it didn’t happen. No one contacted me and I contacted our pilots to enquire about their plans. They informed me that they were still waiting for word from the President but that it was already 9 p.m. and they didn’t have hope of him returning that night. Then luckily the President called me and told me that neither Kabila nor Mobutu had arrived for the negotiations, but he’d sent word to them through our embassy that he was waiting. The President had a way of instructing his peers to do things in which they felt obliged to adhere to. And he was waiting for the two to respond. He told me that he was going to spend the night on the vessel and wait for them to arrive the following day, but if they didn’t arrive the next day he was going to return. I remember asking him whether I should not help to call them from this side and he laughed but said it wasn’t necessary.

He then asked me to inform Mrs Machel, which I did. I called the Director General of our office, Prof. Gerwel, every time I received an update, and then also the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Minister of the Defence Force. To me, they all had to be informed that our President was stuck out on one of the navy’s ships on the open seas. It was just common sense. I had no training in dealing with matters of this gravity but did what I thought would be expected of me. The President also asked me to call him back and give Mrs Machel’s response. I called back and said that she sends all her love and hopes that he is OK and sleeps well. When I called to the only satellite phone in the vessel, a young man answered and I had to try to convince him why it was necessary for this Afrikaans woman to speak to the President. They found it suspicious.

The pilots were accommodated in either a hotel or they slept in the plane, I don’t know, but they were informed that there was no flight back that night. The next morning I called again. This time to inform the President that the plane crew didn’t take personal items to stay overnight and they had to return to South Africa to go and regroup or to send up a relief crew. They were also working against time as aviation regulations didn’t make provision for them to be on standby for that long and soon they would not be allowed to fly, and there would be no relief crew to return the President home.

I called again, and again the young man answered the phone and we started being acquainted. I then asked him to call the President, which he did, and the President came down the stairs to take the call. ‘Yes darling?’ he responded. By then I had started calling the President ‘Khulu’, the abbreviated version of the Xhosa word for Grandpa. It was only in formal situations where protocol was required where we would call him Mr President. Everyone else called him either Madiba, or ‘Tata’ (Father) or President Mandela. I had asked Parks for a word that would help me be at ease with him a bit more and he suggested ‘Khulu’.

I explained the situation but then said something stupid, again. ‘Can we send you some toiletries and clothes at least?’ His response was, ‘That would be very thoughtful of you but also send me newspapers.’ Always newspapers. He used to read all five daily newspapers in his region every day, including those in Afrikaans. He often said that the Afrikaans papers reported in a much more accurate way than the English papers and I guess he meant it is because Afrikaans is such a descriptive and expressive language.

We sent his toiletries and newspapers back with the plane that returned almost immediately after it dropped off its crew, refuelled, and took on fresh crew and food for the return flight. The fresh crew knew somehow that it may still be a day or two before they returned so they took their own personal items too.

The President never carried telephone numbers with him, but by now he knew my number by heart from constantly calling me (which is also why the cellphone company Vodacom always allocated me some simple numbers to make it easy for the President to remember the number whenever I had to change it). So while he was on the ship he kept calling me to call people, ask questions and then to call him back with responses. Two days later Mobutu arrived. It appeared that he and Kabila were willing to negotiate a peaceful settlement, but a fortnight later the Zairean army informed Mobutu that they could no longer protect him. He fled the country and Kabila declared himself head of state and suspended the country’s constitution.

Upon his return to Cape Town, the President made a point of calling me into his office to commend me for the support while he was on the SAS Outeniqua. I felt proud of keeping things going during that time, of course with his guidance. Though I was puzzled he could think it would have been any different. It was thoughtful of him though. It was the moment, perhaps, that it was clear that he relied on me, and clear that I would always be there.

*   *   *

One day Mary sent me to fetch dry cleaning for her. I’m not the type of person who minds doing anything for anyone as long as it remains within the law. It is probably as a result of my Calvinistic upbringing: we serve, we obey, and we are humble to anyone in a more senior position than us. We basically do what we get told.

I was on my way out of the office when the President was on his way in, and our paths crossed. By now we had established a good working relationship and we were comfortable with one another. He asked me where I was heading and I told him that I was running an errand for Mary. He was furious. ‘How can you do that?’ I responded that I didn’t mind at all. He insisted that it wasn’t proper and I ended up begging him to let it go, like one would do with your father to save a sibling from being disciplined, and realized that I shouldn’t have told him. I was really surprised that this angered him. The President liked strong women but Mary was perhaps too strong. He never liked people telling him what to do. I discovered he wanted to be given input but in a consultative manner rather than being prescribed, which one can understand of a person that had been imprisoned for twenty-seven years, following the authorities’ schedule of when to eat, sleep, exercise and put the lights out – it was his way of winning back the little freedom he had, by at least feeling in control of his own life.

He called me to his house shortly after this and by now I was driving to Houghton myself – as long as I didn’t have to go anywhere else in Johannesburg, I was fine to drive between Pretoria and Houghton, not being familiar with Johannesburg and its surroundings. This time when I arrived, he handed me some letters to prepare for him but then asked me to sit in his lounge and told me one of the most valuable things ever: ‘There is no room for cowards here. If you are going to be a coward you are not going to last here for very long. I cannot always defend you so you need to defend yourself by doing what is right.’ It was only when I drove home that I realized he was referring to the incident in the office that week and that he expected me not to simply take instructions but to question them. These words will remain with me for the rest of my life, and in later years, when he was indeed no longer able to defend me, they gave me strength in whatever battles I was facing.

And so on the President’s insistence I had to be considered too when it came to international travel. Since the secretaries took turns to accompany him I now had to be added for consideration. Soon I was tasked to accompany him to India and Bangladesh, and then to England in the summer of 1997.

The President went to Oxford and I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the town and the real English countryside. Prince Charles attended the event at Jesus College at Oxford. This was after his divorce from Princess Diana had been announced and we were all a bit wary. The President however was his charming self and despite all the bad press about the Royals he was extremely courteous and respectful towards Prince Charles. The President didn’t judge people.

Earlier that year Princess Diana paid a visit to Angola and South Africa. The President was hugely impressed by her gesture of visiting HIV/AIDS-infected patients in Angola and sitting on their beds while conversing with them. She was helping to destroy the stigma attached to people suffering from AIDS and he said, ‘For a Princess to sit on AIDS patients’ beds goes to show that people have nothing to fear but that we have to care for people with AIDS.’ On the day that Princess Diana visited him at Genadendal, the official residence in Cape Town, the President arrived in his lounge with his slippers on. He had forgotten to put on his shoes and humbly apologized to Princess Diana once the entire room realized he had asked for his shoes to be brought from his room. The Princess wasn’t fazed at all. The President had no trouble laughing at himself and sharing such small embarrassing moments with others.

I was increasingly struggling to marry my past and the present. I was a daughter of apartheid, yet I was supporting and serving the same man my Afrikaner compatriots warned me against. I was guided and taught so much by Parks Mankahlana, the Presidential spokesperson, and Tony Trew, the director of communications in our office, and one day I had the courage to go and tell them that I needed to speak to someone to try and come to peace with myself about the way we lived when I grew up under apartheid laws, and the fact that I was so ignorant. They suggested I go and speak to the Reverend Beyers Naudé. I also met Ronnie Kasrils, who served in President Mandela’s Cabinet and who had been an early leader in MK, the group that was responsible for the Church Street bombing in 1983, when we couldn’t trace my father for some hours. I had these struggles within myself, not knowing what was right and wrong. Rev. Naudé started his career as a Dutch Reformed priest but later left the church when he spoke out against apartheid and was put under house arrest for several years as a result. Yet he had no bitterness. I knew a bit about him but it was limited to that he was seen as a ‘sell-out’ by many white people. Parks and Tony arranged for me to have tea with ‘Oom Bey’ (Uncle Bey) as he was fondly known.

I drove nervously on my own to Johannesburg to go and see him. I was met by his wife upon arrival and joined him in his sitting room. It felt similar to being received by my own grandparents – with love and hospitality, even though the Naudés had never met me and didn’t know much about me. I told him my story and we conversed for about two hours about life in general and religion, and he emphasized to me that I should not put so much pressure on myself by wanting to take responsibility for everyone around me and what apartheid did, and that I should come to peace with the fact that this journey is probably part of my own awakening. We prayed before I left and I felt emotional. I was so grateful to God for the enormous opportunities in my life and all my blessings, yet it was the same God in my eyes that allowed apartheid to happen and Nelson Mandela to be locked up in a prison cell for twenty-seven years. My journey of discovery included questions about the role of organized religion, coming to the conclusion that my relationship with God is a personal issue for which only I can account within myself and to Him one day. Indeed, this journey has led me to some strange beliefs and I would argue with my mother about the creation of institutions by man but then claimed as if God created these.

*   *   *

Sometimes Mrs Machel accompanied us on visits abroad and sometimes she simply was too busy with her own work. By now she was becoming a prominent part of the President’s life and the President often boasted about the important work she was doing. She would often attend official functions but also spend time with him in private. I knew it made the President happy when she was around so I was fiercely protective over their private space and moments too.

Mrs Machel and I had a cautious relationship at first. The President had many duties to fulfil and targets he wanted to achieve, and in addition the world wanted him to be everywhere at the same time. His objectives were mainly focused on reconciliation and education but also bringing about stability in South Africa in a unified manner to ensure a favourable climate for the country to grow economically. I was often caught in the middle of having to ensure that he was satisfied with the pace at which he was working but then also setting enough time aside to be a husband.

I had to work many years to establish a solid working relationship with Mrs Machel. I didn’t expect her to like me. It was my government and my people that brought down the plane in which her husband, Samora Machel, was killed in 1986. In later years, when we became much closer, I would often ask her and her children to recite the details around the events of his death. It was very hurtful but by arguing the events I think she also perhaps saw that I had a certain understanding for their pain and loss, something they appreciated. (Following Madiba’s passing I also had the opportunity to see Samora Jnr’s two boys, Samora III and Malick, for the first time in about ten years, and the resemblance to their grandfather was striking.)

The Machels are warm, hospitable, caring people and despite challenges we faced in the beginning we are close now. I have always been close to Mrs Machel’s children. They say life takes a little time and a lot of relationship and indeed it took Mrs Machel and I a long time to build the relationship we have today, but we did with effort from both sides and I cannot imagine my life without her influence and the stability she brings about in my small world. I also admit that any two people work on a relationship and I had as much blame to take for the more difficult times as I wanted to give her.

At first I thought Mrs Machel was just asserting her position as wife in the President’s life and it felt as if her expectations of us were too high. But then one noticed how she made the President smile. She awakened his senses again. She allowed him to live. She made him dance and see the beauty in flowers, appreciate good music and see the wonder in every sunset and every sunrise. On many of our travels she insisted that we all watch the sunset together, something he missed for so many years, being locked in a cell before sunset. She brought about a different appreciation of life for him again and made him love life more than I thought he was capable of. If you truly love someone, like I loved Nelson Mandela, you want what is best for him and you want him to be happy. And when he was with her and he lived again, despite the confines of their schedules and the pressure of their work, he was truly happy. Slowly I came to the realization that she was not there to assert her space; she was there to make him happy and we had an even better boss because of her. There was no single bigger gift to Nelson Mandela’s life than what Graça Machel brought about with her presence.

This is in stark contrast to the presence of Winnie Mandela in my life – I didn’t meet her until much later and never saw her during Madiba’s Presidency. She seemed to have little presence in the President’s life after they separated. He never spoke about her and I didn’t ask. No one tells you but you assume it’s not something you ever raise. As time passed he spoke more openly in confidence about these events in his life. However, sometimes he seemed sad and I often wondered about the silent pain he was going through.

When I came to the President’s house I often found him sitting alone at the breakfast or dinner table. He usually had lunch at his official residences whether in Cape Town or Pretoria. One couldn’t help but feel the loneliness whenever you entered his Houghton home while he was having a meal by himself. It was only when Mrs Machel became part of his life that this changed. It was as if light entered the sombre household, the curtains were opened and the entire house was filled with life.

When one sat down with him, he started telling his stories. Stories about prison and the years that he grew up in the Transkei. Meals were times for him to ‘reflect’ and relax. I loved listening to his story-telling as I’ve always loved my own imagination and it was easy for me to picture what he was telling me and virtually be transported to the scene he was describing. He often told me about Justice, the boy he grew up with and who was his best friend. Justice was more than a friend, he was the ‘brother’ Madiba never had. They ran away together when they both suddenly found out they were being set up for arranged marriages by the Regent who brought Madiba up, like people usually do in the countryside and in accordance to their tradition at the time. Madiba and Justice fled the Transkei to Johannesburg where his life was shaped into politics. He spoke fondly of Justice but sadly Justice passed away while Madiba was still imprisoned. As a result of too much drinking, Madiba said.

I often thought about Justice. If there is one person I wished to be alive to be part of our lives it was Justice. I wanted him to know what happened to his friend and I wanted him to know what one could become despite their humble beginnings. I wanted to turn back time and warn him to stop drinking, to tell him that he would be reunited with his friend some day, and I wanted him to witness and share in the life of his best friend. I knew he would have been invited to the Inauguration if he was alive at the time and I imagined his joy and excitement over his best friend taking the oath. I think, however, once Madiba was imprisoned Justice perhaps gave up hope of ever breaking the cycle of poverty in his family and resorted to drinking.

His wistful remembrances of his boyhood in Qunu and his adolescence in Mqekezweni with Justice seemed to take up a lot of Madiba’s quiet time. It was like he travelled there – to those old, simple days – to get peace, to get a sense of himself. Over and over again, I would find him remembering his childhood. Those experiences seemed not only to shape him as a man and define his values, I think his memories of his childhood became an escape – it was also a survival mechanism he probably used in prison. Those experiences – of herding cattle, of stick fighting, of roaming the hills of the Eastern Cape, listening to village elders, of stealing out of beehives and finding gooseberries – became like movies in his head that he could access when the realities of prison or being President just got too much. He replayed those images, those pastoral scenes, in his head and retold the stories so often that many of us who heard his whispered remembrances can recite them word for word. But those are not my stories, they are his.

When Madiba left prison, everyone had grown up and grown away. It seemed it was difficult for him to open up emotionally. Prison had taught him how to hide his feelings. I saw him try with his grandchildren but he was a reserved disciplinarian, which often did not go down well with the young ones. He yearned for his children while imprisoned and he wanted to have a part of such pleasures. But it wasn’t easy.

I would often go to the President’s house in Johannesburg as he hardly ever slept at the official residence in Pretoria, Mahlamba Ndlopfu. Four of his grandchildren were living with him at the time. They were the four sons of Makgatho, the President’s only living son at the time from his marriage to his first wife, Evelyn. Mandla, the eldest grandchild, was in the last years of high school; Ndaba, the second born, was a teenager and then the two younger boys, Mbuso and Andile, were still small toddlers. They were adorable and loving. Their father lived somewhere in Soweto but the President enjoyed having them around. They were effectively raised by the housekeeper, Xoliswa – who they referred to as Mama – and then Rochelle, the President’s niece, until she left. At the time they provided liveliness to the house in Houghton and some sense of family.

*   *   *

In the early years I often found myself alone, other staff being in Pretoria, in the President’s office in Cape Town. I was handling the President’s personal office switchboard when I was called by reception one day at the entrance of the building. The police on duty at the entrance informed me that I had visitors who wanted access to the President’s office. This warranted me to get up and go to reception myself as no one was allowed access to the President’s office. Upon arriving I was introduced to someone from NI (National Intelligence, even though I didn’t make the connection immediately). I found it strange that two men randomly showed up at reception and told me that they needed to ‘sweep’ the President’s office. I had no idea what they were referring to and told them, completely innocently, that we had cleaners in the office who swept the office daily, thank you very much.

I remained speechless in reception until the police working at the entrance told me that they were National Intelligence officers and that they used the term ‘sweep’ to mean looking for listening devices that could have been planted in the office by other parties. I felt extremely embarrassed and allowed them access. For years to come security would tease me over this. I took it in my stride. It was all part of this new world opening up to me, totally foreign to my past.

That summer I was also asked to accompany the President on a two-day rest to Bali, followed by a state visit to Indonesia and Thailand on which Mrs Machel accompanied us. It was now generally accepted that even though I was still the senior ministerial typist, I would accompany the Presidential party on visits abroad and perform the duties of secretary. In those years I was too scared to enjoy anything and I didn’t enjoy the waters of the swimming pool or the sea. I was determined to stay in my room for whenever the President may call on me. And he did. He got used to the fact that I was always there and I started sleeping when he did, eating when he did and following his routine to ensure that I was always available in my room whenever he called.

Part of our duties included making sure that he got served food at the right time, his clothes were unpacked and packed whenever Mrs Machel was not around, and things around him were the way he preferred them to be. In his programme we also had to find time for him to have massages every second day, and press clippings had to be sent from South Africa every day in the absence of newspapers. I made sure those arrived before breakfast and took every effort to ensure that things were exactly the way he wanted them. No matter which time zone we were in, the poor staff at the office had to work shifts to prepare news clippings and send them in time. Even after computers and the internet dominated our lives, he insisted that the clippings be exactly that – newspapers cut out, photocopied and faxed to us no matter where we were. I tried my best to introduce alternatives, also to lighten the burden on the staff back in South Africa, but he wouldn’t have anything but the originals as they appeared in the particular font in the newspapers.

The President was always very uncomfortable if left alone with massage therapists. Either security or I had to be in the room with him at all times when these therapists were around. It was extremely frustrating to me as I am not a person that can sit still for an hour. It was way before we had BlackBerries or smart phones and there was literally nothing to do to pass the time. On several occasions I tried to get security to take my place but he would then usually call me back when he noticed I wasn’t there or called upon me and I didn’t answer. I did it probably more than a hundred times and he called me back more than a hundred times over the years, until I explained to him one day that I really cannot sit still for that long and he accepted the fact that one of his security people would be with him, which also made a little more sense practically. An hour to me meant falling behind on work or things to be arranged. In any event I thought, how was I ever going to be of any use in an emergency? It was better for a bodyguard to be there from a security point of view. It also gave me at least an hour to do some other things, email the office, go through programmes or return phone calls.

The President had this enormous ability to break things down to the simplest method of reason and argument. He always told us that Oliver Tambo, another liberation struggle hero and former President of the ANC, never wanted to have massages and he was convinced that if Oliver had done, he would still be alive. What he meant was that he thought that Uncle Oliver, who died of a stroke, would have dealt better with the stress and pressure if he had learned to relax by ensuring that he took care of his physical well-being through massage or physiotherapy. The President had a unique way of relating stories and he would use the exact same words and phrases whenever he repeated a story. They were precious. And the conviction with which he conveyed this started worrying me so much that I also later imagined that it was necessary for me to have massages when I became too stressed.

From Bali we went to Indonesia, to the capital Jakarta on a state visit. I didn’t see much of Jakarta and all we experienced was heat and humidity, but while he was there the President had a special meeting. It was done secretly. He only agreed to pay a state visit to Indonesia if he would be offered the opportunity to meet with Xanama Gusmão. The Indonesians delayed, probably thinking that the President wouldn’t insist, but he did. One night Gusmão, the leader of the resistance movement of East Timor, was snuck in via the emergency staircase of the Presidential guest house. Gusmão was considered the equivalent of the political prisoner Madiba represented while imprisoned. His hands were cuffed. I found the visit exciting and wondered how Madiba dealt with it. After all it was only seven years before that he had been that very same prisoner.

Gusmão looked well under the circumstances and was friendly. He was alone with the President and Prof. Gerwel and others for a while before he was taken back to prison. It was agreed that he would be allowed to visit South Africa a few weeks later where he would feel free to talk. President Suharto agreed and a few weeks later we received him in South Africa. It was less exciting as he now no longer had handcuffs or seemed like a prisoner in normal clothes. Years later he visited the retired Madiba in Johannesburg to thank him for the negotiations and only then was I reminded about events of that night. He was by then freed and the legitimate President of an independent East Timor. It is believed that Madiba’s intervention put Suharto under pressure to release Gusmão.

Wherever there was conflict around the world, people would ask for the President’s intervention to negotiate a peaceful settlement. He often declined to intervene in the domestic affairs of other countries because he said we did not have enough knowledge about the intricacies of the problems they faced. Yet the political will to help where it was possible or where he thought we had a chance to succeed made him do otherwise.

From Indonesia we went to Bangkok. We stayed in a lavish hotel and I came to the realization that I was becoming an expert on hotels worldwide. However, even though I could recite their room service menus I didn’t see much of any cities. My experiences were limited to the extent of the President’s sightseeing experiences. We were not there on holiday but to work. The President only asked to do sightseeing on a few occasions but usually limited it to the main tourist attractions and if there was anything he had read about before that could be of interest to him. Generally there was no time for sightseeing as his schedule was packed with meetings and then time blocked off for much needed rest. He was seventy-nine years of age and he needed rest at any given opportunity.

Despite spending every waking hour helping to make the President’s day faultless, I was unfortunately not a paragon of diplomacy. In Thailand, we were sitting at an official lunch hosted by Prime Minister Chuan Leekpai and by now advance protocol teams doing planning knew that the President liked to have eye contact with his secretaries at the table so that when he called for them or needed them, he could just look at us and we would know. Seats were therefore arranged accordingly. I could see his face but it luckily wasn’t too close for him to witness what happened next.

I had a long-sleeved blouse on and the sleeves were wide. The first course was served and breadrolls were served on our side plates. I reached out for the butter on the table in front of me and I didn’t realize that my sleeve caught the breadroll on my plate, and as I picked up the container of butter to bring it closer to my plate the breadroll touched my elbow, where it had now rolled down my sleeve. Not realizing what had happened I reacted with shock and thought something had crawled into my sleeve. I was already nervous from not knowing what I was eating and this didn’t help. I quickly jerked my arm back to get whatever was crawling up my sleeve out, and the breadroll flew over the table to the middle, where it landed. Silence followed in my immediate surroundings. Luckily the Thai people are extremely friendly and hospitable. They laughed it off and the gentleman next to me said it meant good luck. My first thought was that it seemed everything in this country meant good luck no matter how unfortunate it appeared to us foreigners. I took his best wishes and quietly reached for another breadroll, swallowing my own embarrassment with each piece of bread.

*   *   *

The President was travelling non-stop and working relentlessly. When he was at home, he would take time to address union organizations like the National Union of Mineworkers, the National Union of Metal Workers of South Africa and the National Education, Health and Allied Workers’ Union. He was always balancing, always ensuring that he was not seen to discriminate in any way and applying his fair mind to every situation possible. He was driven to lay the foundation for a prosperous future for South Africa but back in July 1996 he announced publicly that he would only serve as President for one term of five years. He honestly believed that younger people could achieve more than him, and by announcing that he would only serve one term he had hoped that other heads of state would follow suit and not be tempted to become hungry for power and serve for endless terms, becoming dictators.

At every public event he called upon the police on duty afterwards to greet them, or if there was a choir that performed he wanted to shake hands with each and every one of its members. He would also always spot children in a crowd and call upon them to come to the front so he could greet them. In the beginning I thought it was just something he occasionally felt up to, but then when I realized that he did so without fail at every event, I would start making plans for this to happen at all events once I got there. It was his way of acknowledging the small people.

However, he could become harsh with people who he didn’t feel were loyal to him. He would give, give and give and then if there was the slightest indication that he felt someone was not behind him 120 per cent then he would abruptly cut ties. He inspired loyalty but then he expected you to be faithful. This happened with Mary Mxadana. The working relationship between Mary and the President was increasingly tense. Mary was friendly with the President’s ex-wife, Winnie Madikizela Mandela, and that unsettled him. He asked for her to be transferred to a diplomatic position in the Department of Foreign Affairs. Mary left gracefully. Very sadly a few years later she passed away after a hernia operation. I was really sad when I saw her in hospital and I will always be grateful for the role she played in my life.

*   *   *

The President would spend his Christmas holiday with his grandsons in Qunu, the village where he grew up. It is in the Province of the Eastern Cape of South Africa and about 30 km south-west of a town called Mthatha in what was formerly known as the Transkei. By then, his niece Rochelle, who had looked after him, had left the house to further her studies in America, and the President relied on me to take care of some issues Rochelle had done before. One of them was organizing a Christmas party on his farm in Qunu on Christmas Day for the children of the village. Well, that is what it was supposed to be.

He made a list of a few people to be called and asked them all for donations of sweets, toys and other simple Christmas treats. The first year I was involved it was 2,000 of everything. I took responsibility for orchestrating the collection of the goods and making sure that they arrived in Qunu a few days before Christmas. I realized we needed bags, so bags were bought, and I involved the children from the community, and even our security, to help pack parcels for the 2,000 children expected to come to the President’s house on Christmas Day. I set up a proper production line in one of the facilities around his house and we packed parcels for days ahead of Christmas, sometimes losing encouragement when so overwhelmed by 2,000 of everything. One only knows what 2,000 constitutes when you’ve packed and handled 2,000 parcels. When the President told me that for many children from the region this was the only day they had a proper meal or received something for Christmas, I didn’t believe him at first. But when Christmas arrived, truth was put to the President’s words. Thousands of children descended on Qunu.

The majority of black people in South Africa lived and still live in severe poverty. It was going to take a very long time for economic transformation to be implemented and to affect the lives of rural communities in a beneficial way. Things have somewhat changed now but not nearly as fast as we had hoped for, and people in rural South Africa are angry and disappointed for not having benefited from democracy yet. And as the crowd descended on Qunu I realized that the people in these communities had not tasted the fruits of our newly achieved freedom. When I asked where they came from the President said that some of them started walking the previous night to be in time. When I arrived on the farm from town on Christmas Day at around 7 a.m., which I thought was a reasonable time, children had already lined up along the fence of his farm all the way up the hill – about a kilometre. I couldn’t believe what I saw. We prepared to hand out parcels and the children would then be taken to the yard at the back of the house where they were fed. The very friendly Mr Bread, a bakery in Qunu, would take care of preparing food for the elders and VIPs from the region, together with Madiba’s eldest grandson, Mandla.

Soon the children started streaming through the gates. The President sat outside for most of the day, greeting children as they moved along and got handed their parcels before they went to eat. Shaking hands with each and every one of them, one by one, and conversing with them briefly. Being the disciplined, organized person that the President was, he appreciated my military precision for order in the way things were handled. Children filed past in single line and got handed a bag of surprises from the helpers, after which they were guided to the lunch area. I made sure we didn’t overlook anyone and they all had the opportunity to shake hands with him for the time he was seated outside.

Since many of them had never been accustomed to the belief of Father Christmas because of the remote areas in which they lived, this was their fantasy and what their entire worlds revolved around – seeing President Mandela and receiving gifts from him. When a company donated frizbees for all the parcels you would soon see thousands of frizbees flying around and people dodging them everywhere. The next time there might be balls, and balls would be heading for targets such as your head. We assume all children know what a ball or a frizbee is, until you see how children in rural South Africa live and you understand that they do not recognize something we take for granted. One year someone wanted to donate plastic play guns and we had to decline as we didn’t want to promote violence with our message of goodwill. The children were not entirely sure whether they were happier about the parcel or shaking hands with the President. It was precious to see. And then the evidence of the President’s comments about their only meal. The proof was there. I saw children infected with diseases without names. Underfed, deformed, mistreated, neglected. I could finally relate to what he described. Somehow when you see the innocence and gratitude in their eyes you manage to look past appearance.

Some of them had never seen white people before, and one child rubbed my arm to see whether the ‘white’ of my skin gives off in some way. I adored picking up the little ones, although the white of my skin sometimes scared them. It was so ironic – years earlier I had conformed to the racist approach that it was inappropriate to touch a black person because we inherently feared them. Some of the children were scared of me and the few other white bodyguards. We must have been aliens to them. On more than one occasion I had a child ‘bound by my hip’ for the entire day . . . probably encouraged by curiosity to see whether I returned to a different planet afterwards.

When you spend a day like Christmas in such a poverty-stricken area one is truly and honourably thankful for your own privileges, and an event like this brings a different meaning to Christmas. It was the first Christmas I celebrated without my parents, without presents and the focus on ‘what I’m receiving for Christmas’; the focus changed to what can I give and do and that in itself brings so much more fulfilment and meaning to Christmas. We had lunch with Madiba following the children’s party and some of his grandchildren and elders from the area visited.

The following year we realized that preparing for 2,000 children was not going to be sufficient. We increased to asking for donations for 5,000. This time around the President left everything to me. I consulted him about decisions and asked advice on certain matters but by now people knew about his initiative and it wasn’t difficult to find sponsorship. Again in December we prepared a few days before Christmas but this time for 5,000. We still didn’t have enough gifts and food. The following year we increased to 10,000 until we ended with 20,000. Again, packing 20,000 parcels is no joke. Yet the children of the area and some of the grandchildren participated in the preparations and somehow we managed. The last year of our private party we ended up packing for two weeks around the clock prior to Christmas. And all I repeated to encourage people helping was ‘remember, for some children this is the only opportunity during the year to get a decent meal and a gift bag . . . this is the only gift they get for Christmas’, reciting the President’s exact words. Not that the children in the village were used to much more but it made the bodyguards participate in my task at hand.

In the last year, Oprah Winfrey asked to participate following our visit to Chicago and the President telling her what we did in Qunu over Christmas. I think they prepared for 25,000 children in Qunu and she also distributed around another 25,000 to other rural schools across South Africa. But she did it properly. Children received clothes and school stationery in addition to sweets and a very nutritious meal. We underestimated the size of the crowd and how widely it was advertised that both Oprah and the President would be there and we ended up avoiding a stampede. Some mothers travelled with children from as far as the Free State, hundreds of kilometres. Buses of children were offloaded and security was insufficient. It was then decided that, after closely escaping tragedy, the Christmas party would be taken over by the Nelson Mandela Children’s Fund and decentralized to regions.

At the time he initiated the annual Christmas parties in Qunu, the President then also initiated visits, close to the end of the year, to pre-primary schools in both Johannesburg and Cape Town. He loved interacting with children. Again the first year he instructed his niece to handle matters, and when she left for the USA I inherited the job. The President was teaching me valuable lessons on how to ask for donations and support for people in desperate need of resources when you yourself cannot afford to buy them something. In return for sponsors donating sweets and goods for him to hand out during his visit, they would get to spend an entire day with him while he was handing these out, as well as exposure on television and in newspapers. The plan was simple but worked like a bomb. We would then invite a media contingent to follow us on the day when we visited the crèches, and the media representatives got to spend a day with their beloved President too, while giving the sponsors the exposure that the President promised. At the end of the day the media and sponsors were invited to a lunch at our offices or a nearby hotel where the President thanked them for their support. News spread and people were eager to help in the years to follow.

On a few occasions politicians tried to hijack or interfere with his arrangements, upon which he made it clear that the initiative should not be limited to any one political party but that the parents and teachers of these children should be respected for their political views too. I always had to make sure that the selection of schools was 100 per cent representative. If we visited five schools it had to be two black, one Indian, one brown and one white school. As schools got more integrated after transformation in South Africa it became quite a challenge and we had to visit the schools in advance to make sure that we had the correct denomination of each race group covered. We also had to be careful not to visit a predominantly Xhosa school – Xhosa being the ethnic group to which the President belongs. He was extremely sensitive about matters of this nature and it became a blueprint in my mind that if we did something for one group, we had to do something for another. He never wanted to be seen to be prejudiced or accused of favouritism, and it was as if he was determined to remain the figurehead of nation-building, regardless of efforts from people to tag him to a specific group, race, religion, class, whatever.

I have no idea why I ended up carrying the responsibility of the Christmas parties or pre-primary school visits and why he didn’t hand it to his Children’s Fund that he had established even before I joined him. Although I benefited emotionally from taking on this task, being introduced to a new meaning of Christmas, I had more than enough work pressure and challenges to deal with. I was happy when it was decentralized to the Children’s Fund.

*   *   *

At the same time the President initiated his schools and clinics building project. He managed to persuade business, both locally and internationally, to build schools and clinics in the most remote countryside in South Africa. More than a hundred schools were erected through this initiative and more than fifty clinics. President Mandela was never the greatest administrator but his intentions and strategy were faultless.

At first government didn’t pay much attention to these new structures being erected. The process was simple. The President would speak to a particular chief, the person from the traditional leadership in a particular rural area in charge of his community. The chief would plead for a school. The President would read of excellent financial results of companies in newspapers and then task me to start looking for the CEO or managing director or owner of the company. He would then invite them to have breakfast or lunch with him. Who would say no to being invited by the President? Towards the end of the project business people teased among one another that if the President invited you for breakfast, it could be the most expensive breakfast of your life. Only on two occasions did people promise to build structures that they never fulfilled. It was impossible for government to provide services at the pace at which the public expected them to, and the President did what he could to speed up the process by involving the private sector to support these efforts, education and health care being his priorities. He always said that education is the only weapon with which one can fight poverty.

First we would arrange for the business representatives to fly with us to these rural areas to be shown where the school or clinic had to be built and to be introduced to the community leaders who had to oversee the project. We spent hours and hours travelling to remote areas. Once the project was completed, we would return with the businessmen to the area and the President would personally open the school or clinic.

In the advanced stages of the project, and by the change of government in 1999, it was discovered that many of these structures were left abandoned. Government was not providing the teachers, equipment, nurses or facilities and infrastructure to support the initiative. While one can appreciate their challenges it was a pity that there was no co-ordination in time for them to be able to provide the backup to ensure the efficient running of these institutions. The President was also sometimes to blame as he too gave in to requests from traditional leaders too easily, without any proper investigation into whether a school or clinic was really planned in the right area. In later years the Nelson Mandela Institute for Education and Rural Development partnered with the University of Fort Hare in the Eastern Cape to support some of these schools the President initiated.

Sadly the education system in South Africa, and specifically in the rural areas, tends to fail its learners. To date, this is one of the biggest challenges South Africa faces, the education of our children. The teaching profession is one of the worst paid professions in South Africa and as a result it has stopped attracting people with a passion for the job. Teachers can simply no longer afford to support their own families and in rural areas the infrastructure fails in supporting teachers in terms of providing them with the right tools and textbooks. Because of the remoteness of the location of some of these schools they hardly receive support from the national education department and it is at the same time difficult for the department to exercise discipline.

On each visit where a rural school or clinic was built, the media was invited to accompany the President as well. The exposure for any company associated with this project on prime-time news, with the President, was worth the money they had to fork out. Many of them still continue to support some of the schools and clinics they erected originally and shared in his passion about education for our youth.

*   *   *

In 1998 President Bill Clinton faced the biggest challenge of his political career. The scandal over the relationship with Monica Lewinsky threatened his political career and was making world headlines. In the middle of the fallout he was scheduled to be in South Africa on a state visit. When in trouble, one cannot ask for a better friend than Nelson Mandela. The President was never going to condone what had happened, but he had a way to put things in perspective of one’s humanity. You would still feel guilty, but he made you feel safe and in a gentle way persuaded you to take responsibility without feeling humiliated. Observing this over time I realized how my thinking had changed and how I assessed things I would feel very opinionated about before. President Mandela was never scared to admit his own mistakes and then almost jump at the opportunity of apologizing and then to move on. He consistently told people whenever they wanted to sing his praises that ‘a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying’.

That doesn’t imply that he ever justified something that was without integrity or honesty but he inherently believed that people always had the best intentions and that they stumbled occasionally, as all human beings do. What was important to him, and became clear to me, was that those who faltered, sinned or stumbled didn’t feel alienated because they made mistakes. He was honest about their mistakes but assured them in a way that he acknowledged their humaneness while making it clear that honesty to admit one’s mistakes was far more important to the event in forgiving yourself and moving on. President Mandela welcomed President Clinton with open arms, admitted the personal difficulties he was facing with regard to the Lewinsky saga, but reassured President Clinton that he still respected him and had faith in his ability to lead.

On 27 March 1998 a banquet was hosted in honour of President Clinton’s visit to South Africa. By now the secretaries were all taking equal turns in attending events and supporting the President. I was surprised to be asked to work during the state banquet held at Vergelegen, a wine farm in the prestigious wine lands close to Cape Town. It was a rare historical event and everybody wanted to work that night. Vergelegen is a forty-five minute drive from Genadendal, the President’s official residence, so to avoid traffic and save time security decided it would be better for us to take a helicopter to Vergelegen.

I was never good (and still am not) at dressing up. I am most comfortable in my favourite jeans, flip flops and a shirt or t-shirt. However, I realized for this banquet I had to really make an effort. This was, after all, the state event for what was considered the most powerful nation in the world. I had a black long dress made for the event, nothing extravagant, and decided on shoes with a bit of a heel, not too high though, as we are usually on our feet all night.

Our military helicopters were rough and soldier-like. I could always imagine us being on our way to combat whenever we were in the helicopter. The Oryx is a solid military machine, considered one of the best helicopters manufactured in the world, with space for sixteen passengers in full armour. By now I loved flying in our helicopters. I loved the sound of them and especially when the pilots manoeuvred it a bit; always being fond of a bit of adventure.

We landed at Vergelegen and the steel steps to disembark were put in place as soon as the rotorblades stopped. According to protocol, the President always enters a plane last and disembarks first. Then if Mrs Machel accompanied us or he had an official partner, that person would follow, and then whoever could manage to get to the door first. The security detail usually jumped out of the helicopter as it was low. The President disembarked and Mrs Machel followed. As the President started climbing down the stairs he started talking to me and asked me a question as he reached the ground. The question probably dealt with something about the programme or President Clinton’s arrival time. He was about to turn round to make eye contact and get my response when I came flying down the stairs and landed on both my knees behind him. It turned out that my long dress got stuck over the railing of the steel steps and prevented me from stepping down further. Everyone around me started laughing, except the President and Mrs Machel. It must have been the funniest sight people ever saw. It’s one thing falling, then another dressed in evening wear, but it surely is a sight when doing all of that out of a helicopter. The President was still trying to make eye contact with me on his level but found me on the ground behind him. He commanded ‘Help her up, help her up’ and was very concerned about my well-being. ‘Did you spoil your dress?’ he asked and I did a quick check, but all seemed to be OK.

People had great difficulty composing themselves. As President Clinton was also expected to arrive by helicopter, the entire area was filled with secret service agents. They were hiding in bushes everywhere and it looked like a sudden wind blew through the estate as the people in bushes started laughing at my entrance. The President was the only one that seemed troubled by my tumbling down and the rest of the people all laughed and had great difficulty to get themselves to be serious again. I composed myself and we moved to the house where we were going to await President Clinton’s arrival.

President Mandela was given a seat in the house adjacent to the marquee where the banquet was to be hosted, to await the arrival of President Clinton so they would enter the banquet simultaneously. I remained outside to try and gather information about his expected arrival time to enable me to give feedback to the President. Vergelegen is a private wine farm and the house beautifully decorated in Cape Dutch style. While waiting outside I met one of South Africa’s best comedians, Pieter-Dirk Uys. He was getting ready for his performance at the banquet and I was distracted from earlier events. The President loved his satirical performances and he usually didn’t spare anyone in his comic interpretations of South Africa’s politicians. Upon stepping back into the house where the President was waiting I didn’t see a brick placed in front of a door to keep it from being blown closed by the wind and tripped over it as I entered the building. This time I didn’t fall but rather found myself much faster in front of the President than expected. He just said: ‘Oh no darling, rather get a chair and come and sit down.’ I was very embarrassed and obviously more nervous than ever when I handed the President his speech at the podium when he was expected to speak later that night. I prayed as I walked up the stairs to the podium that another disaster wouldn’t strike. It didn’t and the rest of the evening was uneventful.

*   *   *

I was now often looked to by both the President and Mrs Machel. We were having great difficulties marrying their diaries. We had to find time for them to be together but it was not easy. Mrs Machel continued her work in Mozambique and across the world, mainly advocating for children’s rights, and she was travelling a lot. I was often in trouble for not finding time for her and the President to spend together, but it was a nearly impossible task. They both worked at a pace, almost racing against time. The President would want a hundred things done in a week and when we managed to fit in everything, Mrs Machel’s schedule was packed. Often the President would agree to arrangements and then the day before the entire diary would change, not because of Mrs Machel but he would also have pressing priorities or simply change his mind about something. We were running out of excuses why we had to cancel arrangements at short notice and we always feared that people might suspect health problems being the cause.

In those days, if the President had as much as a common cold South Africa’s currency, the rand, would plummet at the news of any rumours about the President’s health – the world fearing that South Africans would be dumped in chaos and burn the country to the ground. The President was the symbol of stability to all South Africans, black and white, and the world knew it. Using his health or ‘not feeling well’ as an excuse was therefore never even contemplated unless it was the absolute truth. He was almost becoming a super-being in the public’s eyes. If he wanted to take a rest, public speculation about his health would start.

Early in 1998 the President was scheduled to do a fundraiser for the Nelson Mandela Children’s Fund. The Children’s Fund was established by him in 1995 to help children, especially orphans affected by the AIDS crisis. In addition to donating his prize money from the Nobel Peace Prize to establish the fund, he also annually donated a third of his salary towards the fund and set out on a fundraising drive for it when time allowed. On this particular occasion he was scheduled to host some top international celebrities and models and they would then embark on a trip to launch the newly refurbished Blue Train – South Africa’s luxury passenger train – after which he would do a trip on the QE2. People could pay thousands of dollars to join him and Mrs Machel, proceeds that would obviously benefit the Children’s Fund and so the journey was sold out.

It was also during these events when the much-disputed diamonds were given to Naomi Campbell by then President Charles Taylor of Liberia. Naomi was a supporter of the Children’s Fund right from its inception and was one of the first international donors to the fund.

During the trial of Charles Taylor at the International Criminal Court that recalled events of the fundraiser, I was interested in the order of events. No one asked any of the South African security officials at the time who the bodyguards were that knocked on Naomi’s door in the Presidential guest house and handed her the ‘bag of stones’. If they were South African bodyguards, they would have opened the bag before handing it to her. No one, not even a President, got to deliver a gift on official premises without the gift being opened and searched. If anyone asked security they could well have verified how many stones were inside and it would be on record whoever entered the house that night. A South African police officer is required to keep what they refer to as a pocket book. In there they write every day whatever they do and they account for every minute, precisely, for in the event of court procedures they could refer back to the pocket books. I doubt the South African police would have allowed two Liberian bodyguards unaccompanied into the Presidential guest house, and the answers are therefore somewhere on record in South Africa. We knew nothing of the gift, but Naomi said that she handed the bag of diamonds to the CEO of the Children’s Fund, although he was later found not guilty of possessing uncut diamonds.

We embarked on the QE2. It was a lovely experience although the vessel was clearly equipped for elderly people. It was grand and old-school. People dressed up to go and have dinner every night but to me it looked like they were going to church. There were no parties for young people but rather ballroom dancing. It was sweet though to see elderly people dancing and still so in love. The President and Mrs Machel didn’t go dancing though, but enjoyed being on the QE2. They attended only an introduction and a dinner on the ship and the rest of the time they finally had some privacy and quality time together away from the pressures on the ‘mainland’.

After the QE2 trip I fell ill, for the second time in four years. I just couldn’t maintain the pace. The President was driven by many factors, one being that his retirement from public office was less than a year away and he wanted to capitalize on being in a position to fast-track the changes he had hoped for, for his Presidency. The doctors said it was a repeat of a myocarditis infection I had sustained after our state visit to Japan in 1995 and that I was just exhausted. I was put on sick leave at home for four weeks and after about a week I got a call from the bodyguards to tell me that the President wanted to visit me at my little house in the government village, Acasia Park. I didn’t think it was appropriate for a President to come to my little simple one-bedroom house, and I called him to try and persuade him that I was fine and would report back for work soon and that it wasn’t necessary to visit me. He insisted and soon arrived with the most beautiful basket of flowers I have ever received.

While visiting and encouraging me to regain strength he also very innocently said, ‘You know only weak people get sick.’ I thought he was going to show a bit more sympathy. He had believed all his life that you are very much in control of your own body, and in the process of healing your mind had to be stronger than the medicines applied. You also had to have the determination to get better.

No matter how difficult things became, how much pressure we were under or how tired I was, seeing his face and his smile lighting up the room was a highlight every day of my life. I later couldn’t help but smile whenever I saw him. When you work closely with someone you inevitably start reading the other person’s emotions and moods. Yet still in the most difficult times the smile was never far from my face, sometimes just reserved to my heart.

So I continued to work at a relentless pace, though the stress and fatigue were overwhelming at times. Once Madiba read me an article that appeared in a newspaper about a study on people who carried more weight around the hips and buttocks and that it was found that they deal with stress better. The first time he read it I took the point and said: ‘You see Khulu, that’s why I still deal with all the stress, because my hips and my bum are big.’ He laughed out loud and then read the article to me for a second time. I didn’t find it funny. He was teasing but I was able to stop him.

He was always very attentive to people’s weight and health. He would often ask a lady whether she was pregnant even if she had just picked up a few kilograms around the waist. Sometimes he would request a private discussion with a visitor and then lecture them on their weight. I have lost count of the number of times he would point out someone’s big tummy and then tell them, ‘You have to reduce.’ Some people find it offensive to have their weight discussed but it is extremely embarrassing when Nelson Mandela tells you ‘you have to reduce’, implying you have to reduce your food intake or reduce your weight. We tried to avoid these discussions at all costs and whenever he said he wanted to have a ‘private discussion’ with people we would try and tell him that he shouldn’t do it and it was not appropriate. He would laugh and find it very funny that we would try to spare people from having to go through that with him. And then sometimes people insisted that they have their private discussion with him because they thought he was going to reveal confidential secrets and they would insist on having the private time with him, only to leave a few minutes later feeling not so fulfilled.

On one occasion I was waiting for his arrival at a public event; when he disembarked from the car he asked whether I had been there for long waiting for him. I said, ‘Yes indeed.’ And his response out loud was: ‘I can see because you look hungry.’ I wasn’t. Always concerned about my security and always concerned about whether I had eaten or not.

One time I was on a diet and I declined to eat the food that was offered at the table prepared for him but rather stuck to my salad, and he questioned me and said I wasn’t eating enough. I spoke to him openly and said that I was trying to lose weight. He then said that my weight didn’t matter because I moved quickly. What he meant was that even though I was overweight it didn’t affect the pace at which I walked or moved. He had such a funny way with food and body weight. When you didn’t eat he encouraged you to eat more, but when you took a second serving he would watch your plate with disapproval. I’ve always been sensitive about my weight but somehow not with him. When I complained about my weight he just said, sweetly, ‘But you are dignified.’

That June the President had lunch at Mahlamba Ndlopfu withWolfie Kodesh. The President told me that he had stayed with Mr Kodesh before he was incarcerated and I was very impressed when I learned that Mr Kodesh had actually hidden Madiba for a while in his apartment in Johannesburg in 1961. The President used to exercise early in the morning and he would jog on the spot in Mr Kodesh’s apartment for ten or twenty minutes a day. Despite the warm friendship that I witnessed between the two when they were reunited, I couldn’t help but imagine the annoyance of having a person jogging on the spot in your flat at 5 in the morning. Altogether their tolerance of one another, these liberation fighters, distinguished them to be a special breed. I admired their patience and tenacity.

I had once seen the seriousness with which the President exercised early in the morning in a hotel room. I had to control myself not to yell, ‘Khulu, you are going to injure yourself’ as he did his exercises. He was tall and trim but you underestimated his strength unless you saw him exercising. He resembled a boxer training and did every movement with conviction and determination. Whenever one asked him what exercise he was doing, he would freely offer advice, and on more than one occasion while we travelled abroad I had to find a medicine ball for him to roll on. He said I should try it as it makes your stomach flat. At times, his exercise routine would be frenzied. So much so that Rory Steyn, his bodyguard, and I would find it hysterically funny. We would have to hide our giggles while Madiba exercised manically in some luxury hotel somewhere. I may not have been to all the touristy things in cities across the world but I can advise anyone on the hotels with the best room service menus, and where to find a medicine ball.

*   *   *

By now Virginia Engel was the head secretary of our office, after Mary had left. The President still knew my cellphone number by heart and simply kept on calling me for each and every thing, which sometimes put me in great difficulty having to report all his calls to Virginia. He would call me at night and tell me what medicine he wanted to be delivered the following day, or sometimes he would call me to remind him of something the following day. It is never a nice feeling to feel undermined by anyone and although I was really committed to my job, and adored the President, I am sure it was difficult for anyone not to feel undermined by these events.

During those years I tried to keep away from him as much as possible. I believed that the closer you get to the fire, the easier it is to get burned. I didn’t want to impose myself upon him and tried to create a healthy distance and to avoid a situation where he ever felt cramped by my presence. In later years it became more difficult as he would become uncertain whenever I wasn’t close in a professional situation. He knew I knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted things to pan out around him so that he could comfortably deal with them. He wanted to know exactly what to expect from each moment or meeting and he trusted completely that I would ensure that order prevailed around him and that his needs would be my most important focus. Because they were. But officially at this point, I was simply one of the President’s assistant private secretaries.

Another of my colleagues was Morris Chabalala. Morris was one of the sweetest people I ever met. He was softly spoken and had a very kind and humble demeanor. In a certain way the President was very old-school, not easily accepting the fact that a man could be his secretary too. It was not that Morris did anything wrong, but the President just felt different about women in particular positions. The President never discriminated but would simply move focus to the women. It was the same situation with pilots. As soon as female pilots were trained in the airforce they started flying his plane or helicopter, and even though he never expressed reservations he was a bit more alert knowing there was a woman behind the wheel. We would always tease him about being discriminatory but he admitted that it was just something one had to get used to. He was very conscious of these stereotypes and he never showed his reservation publicly, but if you knew him you could sense his uneasiness. As much as he was for equality he admitted that he had to work harder at changing his own perceptions first.

Once Morris had to deal with a particular diplomatic incident. It involved the Spanish and Portuguese embassies. Morris was supposed to hand-deliver a letter to the Spanish Embassy that contained information that South Africa would in future recognize the Western Sahara as an independent country. Unfortunately he mistakenly and totally unintentionally delivered the letter to the Portuguese Embassy and not the Spanish. The Ambassador didn’t report the incorrect delivery but opened and sat on the note for days before the President discovered that the letter he had sent to the Spanish Embassy had never been received. Morris figured it out himself that he had delivered it to the wrong embassy and called Professor Gerwel, who reported it to the President. The Spanish were livid.

The mistake caused a diplomatic incident and the President expelled the Portuguese Ambassador instantaneously from South Africa, for holding on to the note and not reporting its delivery. It was unethical to sit on information of national importance without alerting the government and could have potentially resulted in a very serious international diplomatic crisis. The President then felt he had to take action within his office as well, to demonstrate both the seriousness and fairness in dealing with the issue, and Morris got transferred, ironically as it may seem, to the Foreign Affairs Department. I pleaded with Prof. Gerwel and the President to give Morris another chance but the President was adamant that he had to take action, and once the President decided something not even something the scale of a military invasion could change his mind. I checked on Morris on a few occasions and he seemed to be happy in his new job, despite the turmoil and hurt his departure caused.

This incident, no matter how upsetting we found it, was a very clear indication of how President Mandela performed as a diplomat. Even though there may be nothing diplomatic about it. In a matter of days, the public had forgotten about the incident. He was swift with a response, both publicly and in private, took decisive action and the matter was resolved. Recently in South Africa, by way of contrast, it was found that friends of our current President, Jacob Zuma, were allowed to land at the military airforce base in Pretoria without proper authorization. The family that landed there had planned a lavish family wedding at the Sun City resort outside Pretoria. Despite the availability of commercial international and private airports in the region they landed at the military base and were escorted to the wedding venue in official police vehicles. Politically very little was done about this case.

*   *   *

As the year progressed, so did the President’s travels. He was working hard to show the world that South Africa was a healthy country. So we travelled to Burkina Faso. It was an African Union meeting attended by all heads of state. In the first few years it was interesting to watch and be part of these large gatherings of heads of state around the world but it becomes your worst nightmare because of all the time wasted waiting around while protocol is being observed.

Accommodation was newly built in Burkino Faso, but apart from providing for food for the heads of state we were very much left to our own devices to find something to eat even though we were housed in these newly built guest houses. It was usually chaos at meetings of this sort and everything took hours. Other heads of state all argued for private audiences with President Mandela. Sometimes he agreed and sometimes he wanted to avoid too many individual meetings. Presidents were expected to arrive at the plenary in alphabetical order, either by name or the name of their country, as seniority was always a point of dispute – some heads of state had been in power for ever, originally by election but then by means of dictatorship. For some reason my father gave me a huge consignment of biltong (beef jerky) to take along on the trip and that became our staple food, together with fresh bread that we went to buy along the road from an informal stall. A former French colony, the French influence remained in Burkino Faso and we bought hot baguettes off the street stall, filled them with biltong and for two and a half days the security guards and I lived off that shipment of dried meat.

In comparison to other delegations, ours was always the smallest. It usually consisted of a secretary, a doctor, two close protection bodyguards and then between three and five bodyguards who arrived in advance, plus at most two people from Protocol: one from the Presidency and one from Foreign Affairs. Ministers got added when they were required for certain bilateral talks but we never exceeded fifteen to twenty people in our entire delegation on our biggest visits, and that was only by exception and to countries with which South Africa had very close trade relations. Other heads of state travelled with delegations of twenty plus people and the Americans were the biggest with delegations of over two hundred, but they also had the money for it. Our President showed through his actions that we had other priorities and wastage was not going to be tolerated. While one appreciated that it also mounted the pressure on us as individuals to multitask.

Because of the President’s advanced age – he was seventy-nine by now – he also liked continuity and he didn’t like too many unfamiliar faces around him. Whenever there was a new member of staff on the delegation he would ask behind closed doors: ‘Who is that person? What does he/she do?’ And you would know that he spent time thinking about costs and productivity too. He often asked about costs involved, whether we were travelling locally or abroad. ‘How much does the hotel cost where you are staying? Who is paying for it?’ Regardless of your answer one knew that he was concerned about expenditure.

Following the visit to Burkino Faso we went to the United Kingdom and stayed at a house in the countryside belonging to the Roode family. They had a very large food company in South Africa. It was my first time in the English countryside and I loved it. After a few days’ official visit in London, we went to Wales.

We paid a courtesy call on the Queen in Buckingham Palace and I was struck by the warm friendship forged between the President and the Queen. ‘Oh Elizabeth’ he would say when he greeted her and she would respond ‘Hello Nelson’. Being a dog lover myself, I was intrigued to find the corgis’ food bowls at the side entrance we used to Buckingham Palace.

After Wales we went to Italy for a state visit. We also paid a state visit to the Vatican. The President had a private conversation with the Pope, after which they called our delegation inside. The President always insisted on introducing his entire delegation to the head of state and it was the same with the Pope. We each got introduced and the Pope, already frail at the time, shook hands, blessed us and gave us a rosary. I had no idea what a rosary was and thought it was some sort of Catholic necklace. I called my mother that night and told her I thought the Pope could see the sins in my eyes when he looked at me. Although some of my colleagues felt the same experience my mother laughed it off.

While at an official state lunch in Italy, one of the ministers choked on a prawn. He started by coughing and then suddenly silence descended on the table as he dropped off his chair. Luckily for President Mandela his doctor was at the official ceremony. Because we travelled with such a small delegation he always insisted that all his staff be included. Our doctor was able to literally save the minister’s life at the table.

Later he also insisted on inviting the Presidential plane’s aircrew to banquets even if it meant he had to request the head of state/government himself to allow them to attend. He never treated any of his staff as just the hired help.

It was also on this trip that I was introduced to Yusuf Surtee, whose father used to be the President’s tailor before he went to jail. Their family business continued supplying the President with suits and his famous patterned shirts. Yusuf brought a famous Italian gentleman, Stefano Ricci, representing the famous Brioni brand, to greet the President. As much as I resembled the typical boere-meisie Stefano was the typical Italian: jovial, lively and generous. He would always send the President the most beautiful clothing and one could always feel the love and care that went into the selection of clothes. Whenever Stefano sent clothes via Yusuf, Yusuf’s shops would adjust whatever needed to be changed if needs be. Both Yusuf and Stefano had exceptionally good taste.

*   *   *

The President’s eightieth birthday approached. A massive party was being planned by the ANC, the Mandela family together with Suzanne Weil, a business partner of the Mandela daughters, for the night of the President’s actual birthday, 18 July. The President’s entire personal staff were invited to the glamorous event at Gallagher estate in Johannesburg, together with the cream of the crop of the South African social scene as well as people like Naomi Campbell, Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones and Stevie Wonder, to name but a few.

Earlier in the week speculation started doing the rounds that the President and Mrs Machel were going to get married on the 18th. I thought about it and decided that it was not true. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in our environment for me to believe that there was any truth to the speculation. Parks Mankahlana, the spokesperson for the President, was repeatedly asked: ‘Are they getting married?’ And Parks would at first say he wasn’t sure, then he vaguely denied it, and finally he said that there was definitely no marriage. I called Josina (Mrs Machel’s daughter) earlier in the week to ask if she knew anything. She didn’t and we just laughed it off. Josina stayed with the President at his official residence in Cape Town during his Presidency while she was studying at university there. We therefore spent a lot of time together and became close friends. I said to her: ‘Zina, if you are lying to me you know I am going to have to kill you.’ Jokingly. We were excited about the birthday but we really didn’t know. On Saturday 18 July I woke up to newspaper headlines that read: THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED. I just smiled. I was, among a few others, asked to go and work at the Houghton residence later that day. I thought they were probably expecting family for the birthday celebrations and therefore needed extra hands.

The President and I were used to speaking on the phone. He would give me tasks or I would call him with messages or questions. We were on the phone all the time, much to the irritation of many people. He got to know my voice and could easily hear me, whereas with others he had difficulty hearing them clearly over the phone. So on his eightieth birthday I decided to call him in the morning to wish him happiness for his birthday. I would never call or disturb him if I didn’t have a very good reason to discuss business, but on this day I thought that it was such a special birthday that I had to call, despite knowing that I would see him later in the afternoon at his residence.

The President and Mrs Machel spent the Friday night at Mahlamba Ndlopfu, the President’s official residence in Pretoria, something which didn’t often happen as they preferred to stay in Johannesburg. The household staff transferred me to him and I said: ‘Good morning Khulu’ and started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. After the last note I said: ‘I hope this day, today, is the most beautiful day of your entire life.’ I could hear his amusement and he knew that I was fishing for information. He just said: ‘Thank you darling, it definitely will be,’ and then I knew, they were getting married. I felt like a jack in the box. I couldn’t contain my excitement but I didn’t want to say a word to anyone. I spent the entire day trying to figure out where/when/how. I then recalled the President asking me to call on a jeweller to see him at Mahlamba Ndlopfu a few weeks before; when the jeweller arrived they went outside and sat under a tree for their discussion. I thought it was someone the President knew from before and didn’t pay attention. I felt that they were surely going to get married at the official banquet since they would have all their friends and family there but I was too scared to speculate.

They had a lunch at the Presidential guest house where the family was gathered. Staff were not invited. We proceeded to the Houghton house and arriving there it was clear that the media was not going to let go of the story. There were media everywhere, some trying to jump the walls and some climbing into trees from the adjacent plots. The security people had their hands full. We went inside and things were somewhat sombre and quiet. We stayed in the back and started putting out cups and whatever was needed for a tea later on. Soon the President and Mrs Machel arrived, followed by a few other guests. Again I didn’t want to intrude and stayed as far away from them as possible. Then, like a veldt fire, news spread through the house: ‘There is a wedding here in a few minutes.’

Things were simple and beautiful. Only a few people attended and really people closest to them: Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Thabo and Zanele Mbeki, Prince Bandar bin Sultan of Saudi Arabia, Yusuf Surtee, George Bizos, Ahmed Kathrada and the Sisulus, to name a few. And in true Madiba style there was complete representation of all the religious denominations in South Africa. Although they were married by the Methodist Bishop Mvume Dandala, all other religions had some role to play. It was very respectful and stylish. We saw Mrs Machel coming down the stairs by herself, gracefully, almost like her name says: Graça. Most of us couldn’t control our emotions, and peeking from an adjacent room we couldn’t help but wipe our tears. It was so beautiful and the President deserved to be happy at last.

That evening was every bit of the celebration it should have been. When Madiba finally took to the stage to say a few words on his birthday, his first words were to roaring applause when he said: ‘My wife and I . . .’ The country was celebrating with and for them.

It was a great evening and wonderful celebrations. I continuously had to check myself as if to pinch myself. Was all this real? I had never dreamt that I would ever be at the eightieth birthday and wedding celebrations of Nelson Mandela. The short journey with him at the time had already changed me so much. Luckily we were too busy and under too much pressure for me to ever sit and become complacent or conceited about where I found myself at any given point.

*   *   *

On 10–12 September 1998, a SADC (Southern African Development Community) meeting was held in Mauritius. Member states included countries from Southern Africa and the meeting was chaired by South Africa at this particular time (heads of state assumed the chairmanship on a rotating basis). When the President and Mrs Machel arrived in Mauritius a few days before the meeting, there was already word that Lesotho, a tiny kingdom surrounded by South Africa, was on the brink of a coup. We were regularly in contact with Prime Minister Mosisili and King Letsie III of Lesotho and even though I didn’t understand why, I knew that they were facing difficulties. Both the President and Deputy President Mbeki were out of the country at the time and Minister Mangosuthu Buthelezi was Acting President of South Africa.

After President Mandela’s inauguration, the National Party had joined the newly elected ANC government and that tenure of co-operative rule was known as the Government of National Unity. But by this time the Government of National Unity had been dissolved following the National Party’s departure from the government. The Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) was therefore the biggest opposition party in Parliament and appointing the leader of the IFP, Minister Buthelezi, as Acting President while both the President and his Deputy were abroad was a gesture of trust on the ANC’s side.

I remember the President being bitterly tired and upset with events back home in which around 134 people were reportedly killed as a result of South Africa’s invasion of Lesotho, in what is referred to today as the biggest mistake during Mr Mandela’s Presidency. The President was literally on the phone throughout the night consulting with Minister Buthelezi and the Lesotho government.

It was no fun being in Mauritius for the first time. Instead of swimming in the beautiful waters of the Indian Ocean we attended to official engagements from banquets and meetings to a visit to the Botanical Gardens. I wanted to swim rather than stare at a rare flower that only bloomed once every seventy-five years. We were also tired and disturbed by events back at home.

The following day the SADC meeting convened. The meeting was scheduled to start at 10 a.m. but President Mugabe from Zimbabwe entered the room more than an hour late. President Mandela didn’t like chairing meetings and would usually open a meeting and then hand over to someone else to ensure the rules were observed. No one ever questioned this peculiar arrangement, and he would only occasionally comment on proceedings or nod to add his approval to process. While President Mugabe entered another head of state was busy addressing the meeting. President Mandela interrupted him and asked him to stop his address. This was unusual for him and the atmosphere grew tense as silence descended in the big hall; it was one of the few occasions that President Mandela interrupted someone while he was speaking.

President Mandela waited for President Mugabe to be seated and then launched into an off-the-cuff speech of about twenty minutes about being disrespectful and wasting other people’s time, and that ‘some heads of state’ considered themselves more important and therefore thought it was acceptable to arrive late. He didn’t mention President Mugabe’s name once, but we all knew. He subsequently used words that never left me: ‘Because you hold a particular position, doesn’t mean that you are more important than anyone else. Your time is not more valuable than anybody else’s time. If you are late you show that you have no respect for another person’s time and therefore no respect for other people because you consider yourself to be more important than others.’

After President Mandela finished his speech President Mugabe allowed proceedings to continue for a while and then quietly left as unnoticed as he could. That was the last time I ever saw any kind of interaction between them and there was no contact again that I am aware of, except exchanging courtesies whenever they shared a stage at an all-Africa event.

President Mandela often related the story that before South Africa’s democracy Zimbabwe was considered the star of the continent, but then when South Africa became a democracy they said the sun came out and the star disappeared. I was of the opinion that was one of the reasons why President Mugabe felt bitterness towards South Africa’s efforts on the continent. More recently in an interview, President Mugabe paid back by commenting on President Mandela being too much of a saint and pleasing white people at the expense of black people. President Mandela was no longer able to defend himself due to his age at that point, and I thought that Mugabe had waited for a very long time to seek revenge through public humiliation. His comment clearly lacked understanding of the South African situation and that had it not been for the focus on reconciliation at the time, our country would have gone up in flames, ending up much like the state in which Zimbabwe is today.

*   *   *

The President was scheduled to pay a state visit to Saudi Arabia and I was asked to accompany him. John Reinders, the Chief of Protocol in the Presidency and I, together with some security members, set off to Riyadh a few days in advance. I had received correspondence from the South African Embassy in Saudi and staff offered to ‘rent’ an abaya for me – the ‘cloak’ Muslim women wear to cover themselves. Since I didn’t know what they were talking about, I agreed to that.

Upon arrival in Riyadh it was clear that this country, culture and religion was very different to any place I had imagined. I was handed my abaya at the airport and told to cover up immediately and every time I appeared in public. On our way to the Presidential guest house I was given a crash-course in the Islamic faith and Muslim culture. I was stunned to learn of all the rules that applied mainly to women only. I didn’t take most of it seriously until I spoke to some of the officials later that night, who told me that they still had public executions in Riyadh for people committing ‘religious crimes’. Being a bit of a deliberate rebel I decided to test the boundaries of this belief system on me as a ‘Westerner’.

First we went out to a night market. As I jumped into the first available limo with an open door I heard a lot of people starting to argue around the car in Arabic. Apparently the argument was over who was allowed to travel with me and who not. As an unmarried woman, one is not allowed to travel in the car with any man who is not a relative. Especially and definitely not a married man. So I drove by myself.

The custom is that shops only open around 10 a.m. and at noon every day everything closes as they all go to the mosques to pray. At 1 p.m. they open again and around the hour some shops close for people to go and pray again. You could find yourself in the front of a queue to pay for something in a store and be chased out of the shop when the sirens for prayer time start. It was therefore better to go to a night market where things would be open until late and praying wouldn’t interrupt shopping as much as it did during the day.

In my briefing I was also told to watch out for the Mattawa, the religious military police. They were there to police people observing the Muslim culture. They walk around, dressed in uniforms similar to that of the ordinary police but they carry sticks with them dipped in red paint, I was told. If they catch someone not observing the culture they hit you with the stick on your ankles and the red paint sticks. If you are caught a second time, they arrest you. And who knows what then. I was once reprimanded in the market with a ‘cover up, cover up’ but quickly ran away before they could mark me with the paint and didn’t see the paint myself. There were so many beautiful carpets to see and things to buy that it distracts you from focusing on the things around you, and I appreciated with what ease we lived back in South Africa. I nevertheless enjoyed the experience, so different from what was familiar to me. One was not allowed to visit Saudi as a tourist at the time and the visa process was thoroughly controlled and checked by the Saudi authorities. I therefore considered it a privilege and unique experience to be able to visit Saudi.

We had our first meeting scheduled with the chief of protocol the night before President Mandela’s arrival in the country. It is definitely not one of the easiest countries to work in, particularly being a female. We waited for days to confirm a time with their chief of protocol to discuss a programme of some sort. The only response one would get is: ‘wait’. So you wait. You can’t go anywhere and you sit around for hours waiting for word from the officials.

The meeting was scheduled in the Presidential Palace where President Mandela was going to stay. At first the gentleman dressed in his traditional Arab garb seemed friendly. I avoided eye contact as I had been told. The Saudi chief of protocol started the meeting with the usual exchange of courtesies and how honoured they were to receive President Mandela, etc. We felt honoured. But I wanted him to stop and get to details of the programme. It was late and I was tired. By midnight, however, we were no closer to any details on the programme. By that time President Mandela’s plane had already left South Africa.

John Reinders would put a question to the chief of protocol and he would pick up the phone and converse in Arabic with someone on the other end. He would end the call and move to the next question. After two hours of this I had enough. John decided to go outside for a smoke break and I followed. We discussed what was happening inside and I told him that when we returned to the office I think I had to take over. Which I did. John was completely capable of negotiating by himself but we had run out of options in our approach, trying to get answers. I completely disregarded custom and looked the man straight in the eyes. I said: ‘Sir, President Mandela is on his way here right now. In a plane. It is the first time in my life that I’ve heard of a state visit without a programme while the head of state is already on his way. The President expects us to know what will happen to him when he arrives but at this stage you are not helping us.’

The chief tried to avoid eye contact and picked up the phone again. He then excused himself and John and I started laughing. It was really ridiculous. When he returned thirty minutes later I lost it. It was well after 1 a.m. I slammed my fist on the table and said: ‘Sir, if you do not give us any details now, right now, we will instruct the President’s plane to turn around as we cannot expect our President to arrive in a foreign country without a programme for his visit.’ I felt that he undermined our responsibilities to the President and he was simply not willing to share information. The man was clearly disgusted by me. Women just don’t talk to men like that in that country. ‘Madam,’ he said to me, ‘please calm down.’ That is the second worst thing you can say to me. I said, ‘I will not calm down unless you give us details now.’

He picked up the phone and clearly, without me having to understand a word, told the person on the other line to rush to the office. John calmly said to me in Afrikaans: ‘I think they got the point.’ Not long after two other gentlemen arrived and we moved to a bigger meeting room. A programme was laid out, and although times were not completely confirmed at least there was an indication of what was expected of the President.

The next morning I noticed that none of the staff in the palace spoke to me any longer. I assumed it was because of my behaviour the previous night. I didn’t give a damn. About three hours prior to the President’s arrival and an hour before we left to go to the airport, the entire palace came to standstill by the announcement of a prince arriving. Everyone rushed to the front door and formed a receiving line. We didn’t know who to expect and I was told it could be one of 2,000 princes. Much to my surprise it was Prince Bandar, President Mandela’s close friend, who was serving as Saudi Ambassador in the United States at the time. Clearly he was respected by everyone in the Palace.

When he entered he greeted by nodding his head and walked right up to me and kissed me. ‘Oh hello Zelda.’ I noticed from the corner of my eye how people’s faces around me dropped. I was the only woman in their company, unmarried, and here a prince kisses me. ‘How are you Zelda? Welcome,’ he said and we exchanged some pleasantries. He walked me to a sitting room where he asked me about the President’s arrival, programme etc. When he left, I was treated like a princess.

The Saudis are extremely hospitable people. They don’t spare any trouble to ensure that one feels comfortable – that is, once you behave. They are generally friendly as long as you observe their culture and respect their beliefs. Madiba was accompanied by a few female ministers but we learned that even they were not allowed to attend the state banquet or meeting with the King. All the women subsequently went to a private dinner at a businessman’s house. The state banquet that the President and his fellow men attended only started at midnight and they were only back at the Presidential guest house after 2 a.m. The next morning we were all tired, but despite our exhaustion the President had his breakfast at exactly 7 a.m. as usual. He was an eighty-year-old at that stage yet his enthusiasm and spirit was that of a young man.

When we departed the next day I was fed up with the rules and regulations and I wanted to be home in my own environment. As we checked in at the airport to board our commercial flights back home, the security men got stopped and their luggage was searched. They usually carried firearms with proper licences they obtained from the hosting government and security equipment like radios and their own metal detectors that they needed to perform their duties. Yet they got stopped, searched, and had to take every little piece of equipment apart. I made no secret of my disgust at Saudi bureaucracy. For goodness’ sake, we were leaving the country not entering it! Why did it matter to them what we took back home!

Strangely, in the years to follow I became fond of Riyadh. We returned on a few occasions. Once you know a place and you know what to expect and what not to resist it becomes easier. I liked the food and I knew then how to approach things . . . with calmness and a lot of patience. I guess one also matures and becomes more patient with age. In all the Arab countries we visited I learned that their governments rarely provided a lot of detail in advance. It was a question of hurry up and wait . . .