- Posted December 11, 2013 by
This iReport is part of an assignment:
Nelson Mandela: Your memories
A personal moment with Nelson Mandela
A Special Performance of The Cat and the King play for him at Vaudeville Theatre, London 1988
I am waiting at the escalators, and at the entrance, while the guards (medieval servants) are yelling at me to move behind, but I am not listening to them. And, I see the tall man with the white hair, coming towards me wearing a traditional shirt, and I am saying to him:
“Hello President! How are you?”
“I am fine and you?”
“I am well. I was trying so hard to see you.”
“Thank you young man!” I think he said. He can see how happy I am, while I am talking to him.
“But if you don’t mind if I say, I felt today, as though you were still in jail, so many guards around you. I gave to them: a letter and an album for you, (actually, I wanted to give it to you in person, but they took it from my hands)”, I think I said.
Everybody is looking at us. While we were talking, we were holding hands. I was holding his hand, and I asked someone to take a photograph of us, but because the camera had a flash, he could not have his picture being taken due to his eye problems.
“I wish the best for you president”, I was saying while I was leaving him, the way he was standing made him into a giant. He went out, he talked with a child, and he was trying to enter a limo for a few seconds. His feet were too long.
This is the Letter I gave to his guard about him:
When I think of a man like you, I think of the ancient Greek mythology and Disney’s child and animal world. You passed a long period of your life in a prison’s cell (small as honeycomb), and this makes up the importance of Liberty. From the small window of your cell, constructed with medieval technology, to a big window in a child’s soul. You were Thirty Years in prison, as the whole Europe was in the 1690’s under the Thirty Years War. Thirty Years is 10950 days! Sorry for this.
Tall man, you are a living column of the Parthenon. Your hands are diamonds. Your hands were made by seawater that without light is black. You are the farmer of Liberty (!), the candle of Africa which gives a light as big as the sun to the sea, and to the water from which we all are made.
Even Machiavelli was afraid of the farmers of Liberty. We all now should be like you Nelson Mandela, farmers. We are free and all because of your Thirty Years in prison.
Nelson Mandela, I am a young writer and I write a literary portrait for you, you just read a part of it.
[Yours, Dimitris Eleas, London 12.06.1998]