My Encounter with Nelson Mandela Olivia Shekou, 12 Just last week, I flew to New York to visit my aunt, a lawyer for the United Nations who speaks three official languages of the United Nations. She allowed me access to the United Nations’ library for the day while she was working on an international human rights case. So, there I was, sitting at an ornate wooden desk at the lavishly decorated United Nations library. The soft glow of the tabletop candelabra illuminated the book that sat right at my fingertips. I was surprised to discover it was a copy of Laaren Brown and Lenny Hort’s biography of Nelson Mandela. As I questioned whether I was dreaming or awake, I reached for the biography to find out whether it was tangible or just an illusion. As soon as I reached for it, Nelson Mandela suddenly stepped out of the biography like a holographic Star Wars action figure. The sixty-year-old man’s brown eyes and chocolate skin gently framed his white hair. When he smiled at me, I noticed three creases on his forehead and around each eye. I gaped in awe, unable to believe what I was seeing. Was this really him or was I hallucinating? He reassured me that he wasn’t a holographic transmission but that he had time-traveled from South Africa from the year 1980. But how was this possible? Nelson Mandela was born on July 18, 1918 in the village of Mvezo in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Had he been alive today, he would be 102 years old! He passed away at age 95 in December of 2013 and since then, the United Nations commemorates his birthday as the Nelson Mandela International Day, celebrated each year on July 18th in his honor. But there he was standing before me, cerebral-looking yet casually dressed, while smiling and radiating a warm peaceful glow. He was wearing a colorful shirt, matching shorts, and looked as if he had just come back from a tropical vacation. He reminded me of my grandfather, with his slightly hunched posture and his friendly handshake. I looked Nelson Mandela in the eye and he returned my gaze. Diverting my gaze to his feet, I noticed his bright blue flip flops. Had he just come from a peace rally in a tropical destination? Who exactly was this man? Nelson Mandela lived a long purposeful life combatting apartheid and racial segregation in South Africa. His 40-year battle against segregation began in Johannesburg, where he faced backlash from the government for protesting against apartheid laws that segregated the Black citizens of South Africa. Nelson Mandela was known for his peaceful protests against apartheid through an organization called the African National Congress. The government banned his organization, forcing him to create a secret army called “Spear of the Nation,” and he became South Africa’s most wanted fugitive. He was hunted down by the police and had to hide and disguise himself. In 1962, Nelson Mandela was arrested and sentenced to life in prison on the brutal Robben Island for conspiring to overthrow South Africa’s government. Nelson Mandela overcame many hardships while confined to a small cell without a bed or plumbing, all the while being subjected to hard labor in a quarry. During his time at Robben Island, he was only allowed one visitor a year and was restricted from writing letters more than once every few months. However, he stayed committed to stopping apartheid by leading protests from within prison while also demanding better conditions for inmates. Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison. In 1990, he was finally pardoned from prison and, by 1994, all Black people in South Africa were able to vote for the first time. He is considered one of the most significant political figures today because of his efforts to end racism and apartheid. And here I was looking right at him with my mouth gaping wide. I knew of Nelson Mandela as a peaceful visionary who could see the big picture as well as the end goal of what he was fighting for. He was also forgiving and showed the world what forgiveness looks like. I asked him about his time in prison and how it felt to be treated as a criminal for fighting against racism and apartheid. “As I walked out of the prison door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison,” he said. Nelson Mandela was a freedom fighter to his core, fighting for the freedom and democratic rights of Black citizens of South Africa. In doing so, he had to let go of his own anger toward his wrongdoers in order to stand for his cause. He didn’t seek revenge or self-glory and didn’t hold on to anger. He used nonviolent protests against the South African government and its racist policies, setting the ultimate example of a nonviolent civil rights activist. Nelson Mandela was also a fearless leader. Leaders everywhere should study him, his conviction to fairness and his ability to peacefully protest against the injustices of apartheid. He had all the characteristics of a great leader that helped shape a more democratic South Africa. Even from prison, he never accepted failure or defeat. For this reason, he is one of the most significant and impactful political activists of our recent past. In honor of Nelson Mandela’s memory, Mr. Ban, Chief of the United Nations, said that “Through his extraordinary life, Mr. Mandela showed that tyranny and oppression never have the last word. That is the heritage of hope he bestowed upon every one of us.” “What’s going on and why are you here?” I inquired. “Well, when you opened the biography of me, you brought back my 62-year-old self who had lived out eighteen years in prison. I had a bad feeling about the year 2020 and felt that the American people needed me. Plus, I needed a
stories
Music to the Ears, a story by Emily Collins, 12
Emily Collins, 12 (Morgantown, WV) Music to the Ears Emily Collins, 12 One year, two months, and eight days. Is that really how long it’s been? Amber wondered, slipping her slender right foot into the early morning grass. Wet with dew and blowing in the wind, the grass felt like the ocean. She glided her left foot into the grass beside her other. One year, two months, and eight days, echoed in her head again. It had been one year, two months, and eight days since March 11, 2020. But it hadn’t been one year, two months, and eight days since her family’s 2019 Christmas Eve party. She replayed the Christmas Eve dinner in her head, an action which she had done time and time again since. She remembered the crowded dining room, full of children chasing each other or whining for food, and adults gossiping and setting the bowls and plates on the table for later. And there stood herself, little Amber, (or what seemed like little Amber, though she was not much younger at the time) amidst the strong smell of turkey and the loud, delighted screams of children. Amber’s mother was quite busy finishing the stuffing and Amber’s noisy, younger brother seemed too occupied with chasing down their grandparents’ old dog, so no one seemed to notice her. She paid no attention to these minor but important details at the time, and decided to make the most of it by secretly snatching a piece of bread before dinner. She ate it happily as she walked into the family room with the blazing fireplace and her smaller cousins, children whom she knew couldn’t yet grasp the concept of the no-eating-before-dinner rule. “Amber! Amber!” little Lindsay cries, jumping up from the large brown and green carpet that is covering almost every inch of the room. Lindsay, one of Amber’s youngest cousins, is 5-years-old (well, five and a half, which she is always reminding them) and has enough energy to beat a cheetah in a race. Her curly pigtails bounce as she attempts to jump up to Amber’s height, but, with disappointment, fails. Amber swallows the remainder of her bread and scoops Lindsay up into her hands. Lindsay laughs gleefully as Amber carries her around the room. “Aw, are you having fun, Lindsay?” Not being able to tell which adult spoke, Amber turns, still holding a giggling Lindsay. The long auburn hair, dimpled cheeks, and sharp, bright eyes tell her exactly which aunt she’s facing. “Hi, Aunt Velvet,” Amber says, but doesn’t continue because that’s when Lindsay hops out of her grip and yells, “Mommy, hi! I’m having a great time! Amber just picked me up and helped me fly!” “Is that so?” says Aunt Velvet, smiling and hugging her daughter’s shoulder. Amber grins, appreciative of their mother-daughter bond. Aunt Velvet then looks up at Amber and exclaims, “Oh my, Amber, you’re getting so tall!” If Amber still had that bread in her mouth, she would have choked on it. Aunt Velvet never talked about how grown up you were unless you were Justin or Olivia, her older cousins who were almost fifteen. Yet, here she was, Amber, not yet a teenager, being praised for her maturity. She blushes. “And your hair! It’s getting so long!” her aunt continues. “Have you ever thought of dying it? I know it’s already a beautiful color, but I’ve met a handful of girls your age who have.” “Oh, yes,” Amber lies. “I’ve been begging my mother to let me dye it, but you know how protective mothers get of their children at my age.” Amber tries to sound the most interesting and sophisticated that she can. Aunt Velvet laughs. “Oh, yes! I may be old, but I know what you mean!” “Do you have a boyfriend?” Lindsay suddenly joins the conversation. “Lindsay!” Aunt Velvet scolds her. She looks back at Amber and adds, “I’m sorry if that was embarrassing, I believe Lindsay has been secretly listening to Justin and Olivia’s conversations.” Amber had secretly smiled at the thought that Lindsay thought she was mature enough to have a boyfriend. But now, remembering the Christmas Eve party for what felt like the millionth time, she wasn’t smiling. Now, she thought to herself, Is that all growing up is? Dying your hair, getting a boyfriend? She shook her head. No, that can’t be all there is to it. She realized, a little guiltily, that these questions would have never entered her mind if the Pandemic had never happened. For if it had not happened, she would have never had the time to look over her life over and over again, to use her imagination as much as she had, to learn, sadly, of the terrible ache in the world. The Pandemic had allowed her the time to recall shameful memories of joining in the teasing of a girl with a crush, and of laughing along with others at the boy who always sat alone. She had the time to look the memories over and understand how they were wrong. And this led to more thinking. Not just about herself, but the about world around her. Not only of the sadness of the world, and the mistakes people made, but the beauty of it all. Soon she began to enjoy the time when she sat down to think. It changed her perspective tremendously. It was a bit like swinging on a swing set. For a moment, it’s a bit hard to adjust from the sudden change of going from the ground to the air, but soon it becomes a thrilling experience. You notice your change in perspective and surroundings as you swing through the air. It seems like everything around you is changing, but really the only one who’s changing is you. Yes, the passage of time is a good thing. It can open doors. It can heal wounds. And, everyone’s favorite, it can bring things back to… Normal. A familiar word, used everywhere these
