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Members of the Zulu regiment known as the ‘Amabutho’ during a demonstration by the "March and March" movement marking an unofficial deadline for undocumented foreign nationals to leave South Africa in Durban, on June 30, 2026. [AFP]
I wake up daily, older and sadder, but also wiser. The poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) taught me that the burden of experience compels us to tell our story, so that others may learn from it.
The one profound question is about solidarity. What happens to solidarity after victory? You see, in the 1980s, as I have recalled before, we were strident youth at the University of Nairobi, bearing revolutionary placards in the streets of the city. “Down with Apartheid,” they proclaimed, “Release Mandela!”, “Azania is our commitment!”
We braved police tear gas, believing with the confidence of youth that history can tilt towards justice. We skipped meals, to contribute a few shillings towards the ANC. South Africa’s freedom was not just their affair. It was a collective African business. But we graduated before Mandela could walk free from the dungeons of Apartheid.
