Paying respects

It takes us a stupidly long time to find Madiba's house. The satnav leads us on endless loops and turns and for a while we drive frustratedly through identical streets lined with stern-looking government buildings. Eventually we find the crowds of cars, guided to a parking space by an over-enthusiastic guy in a fluorescent vest. Following the crowds along the street that leads to the house was a little like entering into a fairground or parade, with hawkers selling Mandela shirts, keyrings and caps, and people of all ages ambling in groups. There are portable toilets and someone is selling boerwors rolls. I suppose life goes on. People can't afford not to capitalise.

At the end of the road is a big group of people, all standing in a circle around three women in headdresses and brightly coloured outfits. The women are calling out and chanting, their strong voices punctuating the hot midday air - "Viva Mandela viva!" The crowd responds, claps and whoops and repeats their words. The women burst into song and the deep, soulful harmonies that South Africans do so well resound through the throngs. The crowds join in; I can hear my cousin singing beside me. I wish I knew the words. I stand quietly in the midst of this powerful, joyous mourning.

Behind the crowds are the flowers, piles and piles of them. Candles melted into each other, flags moulded into the crush, letters and poems and artwork scattered like emotional debris across a great mound of flowers. There are tributes from every country and community, from Israeli flags stuck in candles to a sign of thanks from the City of London Anti-Apartheid Group. It's been ten days since his death and so many of the flowers are rotting, giving off a raw, earthy smell. I see an old man run his sleeve across his eyes and blink back the rest of his tears. There are parents gently leading their children between the flowers, explaining to their wide eyes the legacy before them. The voices of the women and the crowds soar above it all.

It's completely South African, I can't help but think. An emotional heaping of grief and wild energy, mourning and exaltation, the love of hundreds of thousands of people combined. It's not perfect and it's far from pristine, but it's so full of life. It's full of hope.

What a cliche to say that he lives on in the hearts of his people.
But how true it is.