Mandela Day;

So, on the 18th of July 2012, we celebrated Mandela Day. Things such as freedom, democracy and equality were celebrated, but with all of the celebrations a lot of sad and painful events were also remembered.

The struggle throughout the history of South Africa was not an easy road; too many people were hurt in more than one way. The injustice done to the people were wrong. Many people lost their lives in a struggle that, to this day, have neither been won nor lost…

But then we have to ask ourselves “Why is this war still raging?”

The only real memory that I have of the Apartheids Era would be the 1994 election. I remember sitting in the living room, watching the tv, and the only images showing on the tv was that of the election, hundreds of people standing in queues, waiting to cast their votes, hoping to make a difference. More than that I honestly do not remember, I mean really, I was a child, enjoying life.

But the ripples caused by the Apartheids Era eventually reached our family, and my grandparents became part of the statistics of the notorious “Farm murders”.

I remember my dad sitting on the edge of their bed, his head cupped in his hands, crying. That was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.

I remember how I was overwhelmed by sadness and sorrow when my parents told me that my grandparents passed away.

I remember the pink dress I wore to their funeral; the dress had lace and little bows.

I remember thousands of tears streaming down the cheeks of familiar faces.

I remember my dad and uncles taking the shovels, and how shovel after shovel the dirt started to cover the caskets of the two people that I loved so dearly.

But what I remember most of all is how much I miss them…

…how I miss granny’s slap chips…

…how I would stand on my grandfather feet while he danced with me in the living room to the tune of “Dans met die rooi rok”…

…the bag filled with Quality Street tucked away in grandpa’s closet…

…the early morning smell of freshly brewed rooibos tea filling the house

My mind as child could not really grasp the reality behind all of it, and for me, missing them was far more important than hating those who cause the pain…. Years later I still prefer to focus on how much I miss them, keeping their memories alive and not allowing it to fade with time.

But yet, it saddens me to see that there are still so many people “trapped” in the happenings of our past, who refuse to let go, they grip onto it so tightly that it totally consumes them.

I refuse to raise my children in a world where hatred and anger clouds our minds and judgement, a world where decisions and accusations are based on the wrongdoings of the generations before us.

I want to teach my children the importance of respect for one another, the importance of equality. Teach them that they should treat others as they wish to be treated. I want to teach them that there is a place in the sun for each and every one of us. I refuse to tangle them into believing that they should hate for something that happened two, three of four generations ago. We cannot clutch onto the past when trying to create a better future.

We need to learn to let go, not for the sake of the past generations, but more important, for the sake of the future generations