Thank  you,  Programme  Director. 

Family  members,  Family  Friends,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  greetings.  I  am  not  able  to  say  “good  morning”  to  you  because  for  us  this  morning  is  anything  but  good.  It  is,  instead,  a  terrible  day  whose  possible  dawn  we  have  long  dreaded.   

We  are  grateful  that  you  are  here  to  support  us,  to  mourn  with  us  and  to  bid  farewell  to  our  Beloved  Father,  uMbhele  oluhlaza  othe  cwe  ofana  nencoshana.  We  appreciate  the  fact  that  you  are  here  to  wipe  our  tears  and  to  commiserate  with  us  at  so  difficult  a  time.  We  are  certain  that  our  Beloved  Father  would  have  wanted  it  no  other  way. 

At  a  time  like  this,  one  is  at  a  loss  for  words.  Lying  before  us  is  a  colossal  man  who  defies  description,  a  man  who  cannot  be  put  neatly  into  one  or  some  other  category,  and   whose   hallmark   throughout   his   life   was   an   independent,   incisive   mind.   Lying  before  us  is  a  consummate  nation  builder,  a  man  whose  life-­long  passion  has  been  to  enrich  and  empower  others  academically  and  otherwise.  Lying  before  us  is  a  man  who  has  been  generous  to  a  fault,  a  man  who  would  happily  give  somebody  the  shirt  off  his  back  and  retire  to  bed  on  an  empty  stomach. 

Our  Loving  Dad  always  wanted  the  very  best  for  all  of  us,  his  children.  With  education  being  his  ultimate  passion,  he  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  see  all  of  us  excel  at  school  and  graduate  cum  laude  from  tertiary  institutions.  Like  all  parents,  he  wanted  to  see  us  going  in  different  directions  professionally  and  reaching  for  the  stars.  He  did  not  just  have  all  these  wishes  for  us;;  but,  more  importantly,  he  worked  tirelessly  to  help  make  them  a  reality. 

All  of  us  –  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters  who  are  his  biological  offspring  and  the  many  promising   young   men   and   young   women   like   myself   and   Harriet   Mkhonto   that   he  encountered  during  his  days  as  a  caring  educator  and  took  under  his  wing  –  can  attest  to  how  he  would  make  time  to  talk  patiently  to  each  one  of  us,  to  counsel  us  sagely  as  a  loving  father,  to  cheer  us  up  when  we  were  down  and  to  cheer  us  on  when  we  made  some  little  strides  in  life.   

I  speak  as  one  of  Bab’  uMbhele’s  children  because  that  is  what  I  became  to  him  and  Mom  more  than  three  decades  ago,  and  my  late  brother  Adonis  and  I  acquired  new  younger  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  Shabangu  children  and  in  us  they  acquired  elder  brothers.  Like  the  Father  that  he  was,  Dad  has  been  a  very  important  part  of  my  life  from   the   time   when   Adonis   and   I   first   met   him   at   Mshadza   Secondary   School   in  January  1980  –  more  than  35  years  ago  now!   

I  have  known  him  as  a  revered  and  even  feared  school  principal,  as  a  caring  and  loving  benefactor  and  as  a  very  supportive  father.  Since  then,  Mbhele  has  been  intricately  involved  in  every  aspect  of  my  life.  He  was  there  when  we  approached  the  Mlangenis  to  ask  for  my  wife’s  hand  in  marriage.  He  and  Mom  were  there  when  Gugu  and  I  got  married  two  decades  ago.  They  were  there  when  we  buried  my  father  in  Jerusalem  in  2004  and  they  were  there  when  we  laid  my  mother-­in-­law,  Mrs  Tholi  Mlangeni,  to  rest  in  Greytown  in  2010. 

He   was   there   when   I   was   invited   to   speak   at   Sidlamafa   High   School   and   at  Mapulaneng  College  of  Education  respectively  just  over  two  decades  ago,  and  he  and  Mom  were  there  when  my  penultimate  book,  Incomplete  Without  My  Brother,  Adonis,  was  launched  in  Johannesburg  exactly  a  year  ago  today  and  later  that  month  here  in  Nelspruit.  He  has  been  a  loving  Grand-­father  to  my  children,  who  have  all  known  him  as  such  from  their  early  years  as  children. 

When  my  father  passed  away  in  2004,  I  took  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  in  Mbhele  I  still  had  a  father  and  my  children  still  had  a  Grand-­dad.  Our  anchor  has  fallen  now,  and  today  we  have  come  to  bid  farewell  to  him  and  to  take  him  to  his  last  resting  place. 

Whenever  I  came  to  see  him,  Dad  always  made  time  to  talk  and  to  give  wise  counsel.  He  also  shared  with  me  his  dreams  and  concerns  as  a  parent  and  listened  patiently  as  I  shared  my  tuppence’s  worth  of  thoughts  with  him.   

To  the  end  of  his  days  in  this  cruel  world,  Dad  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  make  a  difference  in  the  life  of  a  black  child  by  owning  a  private  school  that  he  would  run.  He  always  spoke  wistfully  about  getting  a  piece  of  land  and  partnering  with  philantropists  to   build   a   school   where   black   children   would   receive   quality   education   and   be  instructed  in  gardening  and  wood  work,  among  other  disciplines.   

Dad  was  born  to  be  a  teacher  and  was  one  to  the  end.  Whenever  he  spent  time  with  my   children   –   and,   I   imagine,   other   children   –   he   would   quiz   them   on   general  knowledge  or  give  them  some  mathematical  challenge  to  solve.  He  would  delight  at  their   positive   responses   and   privately   caution   us   never   to   put   the   children   under  pressure  academically  or  to  compare  them  to  their  elder  siblings.   

With  your  indulgence,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  would  like  now  to  address  myself  to  my  brothers  and  sisters.  Zingane  zakithi,  please  know  that  there  are  many  things  about  which  Dad  was  very  unhappy.  On  numerous  occasions  he  asked  me  to  talk  to  some  of  you  about  your  conduct  which  he  found  objectionable,  outright  unacceptable  or  even  destructive.  He  and  Mom felt  that  they  had  done  everything  that  they  could  do  to  get  said  behaviour  to  be  jettisoned,  but  they  had  reached  a  point  where  they  felt  that  they  had  not  succeeded,  hence  the  request  for  my  involvement. 

Now  the  worst  thing  that  we  can  do  to  our parents  in  their  old  age  is  to  hurt  them  and  give  them  reason  to  be  sad,  at  a  time  when  they  should  be  enjoying  the  remaining  days  of  their  lives.  Often  I  did  not  manage  to  find  time  to  talk  to  you,  brother  or  sister  about  whom  our  parents  had  concerns.  This  is  because  I  wanted  to  do  so  in  person,  when  I  was  home,  rather  than  over  the  phone.  I  know  that  you  know  who  you  are  and  what  I  am  talking  about.  I  ask  now,  in  the  presence  of  all  these  people,  that,  in  loving  memory  of  Dad,  you  jettison  the  said  behaviour  once  and  for  all.  That  will  certainly  make  Dad  happy  as  he  lies  in  his  last  resting  place  and,  more  importantly,  it  would  also  ensure  that  Mom  does  not  continue  to  worry  and  be  hurt  by  that  unacceptable  behaviour  on  her  own,  at  a  time  when  she  is  mourning  the  loss  of  her  life-­long  partner.  Please  kindly  take  my  request  to  heart.  Nothing  would  please  Dad  more  than  that. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  an  amazing  woman,  our  Mother,  Mrs  Shabangu.  Mom,  although  we,  too,  feel  the  loss  of  our  Father,  we  know  that  none  of  us  can  ever  feel  it  in  the  way  that  you  do  today  and  will  over  the  days,  weeks,  months  and  years  to  come.  You  have  lost  your  husband,  your  partner,  your  friend  and  your  soul  mate  –  and  that  can’t  be  easy. 

You  have  been  a  great  wife  to  our  Loving  Dad  and  an  amazing  Mother  to  us,  your  children.  You  have  stood  by  Dad  throughout  his  life,  in  good  times  and  in  bad  times.  You  have  always  been  by  his  side,  supporting  him,  and  not  pulling  him  down.  When  Dad   introduced   you   to   young   men   like   me   or   brought   young   women   like   Harriet  Mkhonto  home,  you  welcomed  us  warmly  as  your  children  and  loved  and  supported  us. 

Thank  you  for  your  unending  love  and  support  for  our  Dad,  and  thank  you  for  your  love  for  all  of  us,  your  biological  children  and  your  inherited  or  adopted  children.  You  are  no  less  important  to  us. 

Lala  ngoxolo,  Baba.  Lala  ngoxolo,  Shabangu  omuhle. 

Mbhele! 

Wena  oluhlaza  othe  cwe  ofana  nencoshana.  Uqomondo  olumashiya 

Olubuka  umuntu  engathi  lizomakhela  umuzi, 

Usigejane  siyakhula  siyahluma  ezaleni, 

Unondilileki  umthimude  wezinkomo  zakwaNxumalo, 

Ohlabana  ngesikela  abanye  behlabana  ngezijula.    Ends 

My thanks go to Mr Weichbrod and Professor Eberhart for the invitation for me to spend this evening with you in a conversation about South Africa.

Your trip has come at a time when South Africa finds itself very much in the news both domestically and internationally, largely as a result of various controversies that have engulfed our current Head of State, one President Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma, who has lurched from one crisis to another. It comes at a time when, 22 years into our democracy, the governing African National Congress is drunk with power and has become frighteningly arrogant, and when – owing to a whole host of factors, among them high levels of corruption, poor management of our economy and abysmal policy coordination – our beautiful country is on tenterhooks, fearing the possibility of yet another downgrade by international ratings agencies to a junk status.

I will return to this very worrying state of affairs later.

For now, though, I would like to assure you that things have not always been this way. I would like to help you to understand how things got to be the way they are now.

As you most likely know, South Africa was the last country on the continent to shake off the heavy burden of oppression to become an independent, fully-inclusive country. That was terrible, but it also had its own benefit. It meant that we had had ample opportunity to watch various disastrous experiments with socialism unfolding on the continent and had seen liberation heroes transmogrifying into dictators who refused to leave office and, therefore, knew what we needed to avoid or do differently.

The formal ending of apartheid – a system not dissimilar to the Jim Crow that had existed in a bygone era in your own country – around this time in 1994 transformed South Africa from an international pariah into a loved and well-respected country around the world.

With the iconic, larger-than-life and legendary Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela as our internationally-revered President, we basked with him in international glory and enjoyed our moment in the sun. We were widely hailed as a miracle nation that had put the odious system of apartheid behind it relatively peacefully, embraced reconciliation and had become, in Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s words, “A Rainbow Nation of God”.

It was wonderful to be a South African then. Not only did many people from around the world descend on our shores to marvel at this wonder, but we could also travel abroad with our heads held high, and would often be sought out and feted for our country’s near-miraculous achievement. To boot, we boasted three Nobel Peace Prize laureates: Archbishop Desmond Tutu, for his valiant, peaceful international campaign against South Africa, including his call for punitive economic sanctions; Former President FW de Klerk for having had the vision and courage to jettison apartheid and enter into talks with the country’s formerly banned liberation movements; and, of course, democratic South Africa’s first President, the saintly Nelson Mandela who had successfully guided his people to embrace reconciliation with their erstwhile oppressors.

On top of it all, we had one of the best Constitutions in the world, which outlawed the death sentence and granted equal rights to everybody, regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. We had moved, almost overnight, from being the most racist country in the world to being the most liberal, and from being a so-called Christian country in which schools began with prayers at assembly in the mornings to being a secular state that protected its citizens’ rights to a religion of their choice.

What wonderful days those were! They filled us with the kind of African exceptionalism similar to the USA’s own international exceptionalism. We believed then that we were a very special African country: