I was already in South Africa when the news of Mandela’s death broke, so I decided to follow the events closely.
It was more a celebration of Madela’s life than a mourning for his death, this was the clear leitmotiv of the events I attended.
The sad note came at the end, during the burial, in the small village where Mandela grew up: Quno. His people were excluded from the cerimony, which took place in private form in a building erected for the occasion, for 4000 attendees.
Every time Mandela would go back to his village, he would enter every house, greet everybody, excluding no one… now, the very same people who regarded his as not only their President, but their brother, father and friend, were excluded from the final farewell… “if they did not want us, they could have buried him somewhere else”, such were the words, firm and full of rage, which I heard on that day.