North of the Eastern Cape we passed through Mthatha, Nelson Mandela’s birthplace or at least the closest town to it. The Mandela Museum deserves a look if only we could find parking. Actually there is lots of parking but to fit the criteria there needs to be some security. We’d already had someone flag us down and tell us to lock up the outside gas canisters. Guess that good samaritan did not see the cable lock on the tanks. At any rate, we drove around the museum a couple times and finally we double-parked in front and asked the museum guard where could we park? He quickly offered to guard the truck and had us park it in the no-parking zone. Of course.

Ephemera from Mandela’s life is the story of South Africa in that time. His early life fascinated me; the village upbringing, an arranged marriage he managed to escape, his family, and his friends. Mandela was not alone in the struggles against apartheid; throughout the museum are newspaper articles, photos and bios of the many black and white Africans and Indians who joined in the effort. People from all over the world were involved in the politics of those violent times. Non-violent protests had brought no change and the decision to use violence turned Mandela into a thug. Considering what he was fighting for, and against, it is said that he knew that difficult decision was the only choice, although it cost him dearly. How would it have been to be a young man under those circumstances? Then to spend 27 years in a horrible prison and come out of it to be the President of South Africa. What a sad wonder.

Finished with our tour and a bit chilled (the rooms were icy) we stepped out into the warm sunshine, paid our truck guard a few rand, and drove away, contemplating how it has only been 24 years since South Africa abolished apartheid. For many, this last quarter-century has brought prosperity. But a friend has told us that in his lifetime in South Africa the necklace, that ungodly horror of putting a burning tire around someone’s neck, is still used here as a method of terror. Then, and now. Mandela would weep, knowing that. I cannot help but think of what Rodney King said. . . why can’t we all just get along?