By Ebuka Uko
I arrived in the United States in the fall of 2021 to start postgraduate studies, only to find myself engaged in conversations about Blackness in ways I had never experienced in over 30 years of life in Africa.
Suddenly, I constantly faced questions that never really came up for me before. What does it mean to be Black? What does it mean to belong? I have always been a global majority, and that’s all I knew.
In that wrestle, I stumbled on something James Baldwin said in 1961: “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage, almost all of the time.” Reading those words, I felt exposed. It also gave me a new understanding of Nelson Mandela’s long walk to freedom.
Apart from the leadership of Jesus Christ, no historic figure has shaped my vision of ethical leadership and moral courage quite like Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela. His words remind us: “No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love.”
His life teaches us that justice requires endurance, and true leadership demands sacrifice.
The closest I got to Mandela was visiting the Nelson Mandela National Museum, commonly referred to as Mandela House. There Nelson Mandela lived from 1946 to 1962. I recall the words of the tour guide: “Welcome to the Nelson Mandela National Museum, famously known as Mandela House.”
It’s on the historic Vilakazi Street in Orlando West, Soweto—the only street in the world to have housed two Nobel Peace Prize winners, Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. This humble brick work was Mandela’s home until 1962, when he was imprisoned. Today, it stands as a powerful symbol of his early life, the struggle against apartheid, and the resilience of the South African people. As you walk through its rooms, you’ll see original furnishings, photographs, and memorabilia that reflect Mandela’s life as a young lawyer, activist, and family man, offering a deeply personal glimpse into the world of the man who would become South Africa’s first democratically elected president.
I remember reading how Mandela discussed the death of his eldest son, Thembekile (“Thembi”), who died in a car crash in 1969 while Mandela was imprisoned on Robben Island. He said: “Thembi’s death was a blow I could not overcome, but I refused to let it break me. I had to put aside my pain and continue the fight. The struggle was my life, and I knew that any sign of weakness would be a victory for the enemy.”
He was once given the option to attend his son’s funeral, on the condition that he renounce his fight against apartheid. In a culture where burying one’s child is a deeply sacred duty, this was no small matter. I can only imagine how heartbroken he was. Yet, even in that moment of profound grief, he chose to stand firm in the struggle for justice. Today [July 18], the world honours his legacy—not just for what he achieved, but for the sacrifices he made along the way.
But what would Mandela say to the leaders of today’s Nigeria? Perhaps, he would say: “You were not given the power to celebrate it. You were entrusted with it to serve.”
In a country where we spend more money refurbishing government buildings than it took to build them, where naming and renaming monuments have become a national pastime, and where pomp often replaces purpose, it seems we have forgotten what leadership is.
We live in a time when our children write examinations by candlelight, yet our politicians commission stadium lights with fanfare. When students are abducted, villagers are massacred, and the headlines last only a news cycle. Farmers are imprisoned for defending themselves, while those who failed to protect them still enjoy immunity.
Mr. The president went to St Lucia to offer scholarships, and right in the Federal Capital Territory, where he lives, teachers and workers were on strike. Mandela would remind us: “The way we treat our children reveals the soul of the nation.”
We cannot speak of justice when our public service is a performance and private stewardship is reckless. We cannot talk about legacy when we confuse being feared with being respected. Mandela understood humility was not weakness—it was wisdom. That forgiveness without accountability was dangerous. That peace without justice is only a pause in violence.
To thyself be true. This, at the very least, is the beginning of reform. The Nigerian leader must ask: “What will be said of me when I am gone? What lives did my policies touch? What pain did I relieve? What injustice did I confront or ignore?”
Mandela spent 27 years in prison and emerged without vengeance, but with vision. He did not see his presidency as a prize, but a platform. He did not enrich himself; he enriched a broken nation with hope. He did not rename the nation after himself; he gave the people their name back.
And yet, in Nigeria, we still make excuses. We say that problems are too many problems. We point to those who came before us. But legacies are not built on complaints; they are built on choices.
Mandela is not just a symbol; he is a mirror. A mirror we must hold up to ourselves as a nation.
Young Nigerians, please, do not wait for better leaders to emerge—become the change you desire. Let Mandela’s mirror reflect, not just who we are, but who we must intentionally choose to become.
Policymakers, let us remember: The form of injustice today is no longer based on race. Rather, it is between the haves and the have-nots. Between the protected and the abandoned. Between those who walk the corridors of power and those who sleep without roofs.
Let the Mandela Day be more than hashtags and headlines. Let it be a moment of soul-searching. Let it be a time to rebuild the bridge between public office and public good.
I would never forget the day Mandela was buried; the world paused. I watched how people of every race, tongue, and creed came together to celebrate a life that spoke truth to power. In that moment, every prejudice melted. Dignity stood tall. And I wondered: Will Nigeria ever bury a leader like that—a man or woman whose legacy unites us in grief and gratitude?
Power without people is delusion. And legacy without justice is dust.
So, as we remember Nelson Mandela, let us not only honour his memory—let us mirror his courage.
“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.” —Nelson Mandela.
*Ukoh, an alumnus of the American University of Nigeria, Yola, and PhD student at Columbia University, wrote from New York.
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