by Christo Brand
My entire relationship with Nelson Mandela was instinctive. I never worked out or tried to analyse the dynamics of being the prison warder in charge of his daily life for 12 years, and his close friend for many more.
It is only now, looking back, that I see what an inter-dependence there was between us. I held no choice in my young life but to join one of the services – the military, the police or the prison service – because of South Africa’s conscription laws.
Christo Brand, Nelson Mandela’ s prison guard, speaking about his friendship with the South African statesman, at the BOLDtalks event at Dubai Community Theatre and Arts Centre on March 22, 2014. Image is in the public domain via The National.
In his turn Mandela, with his deep-seated beliefs in justice and freedom, felt he had no option but to pursue the fight against our government.
By the time I met him he was paying for it with a life sentence.
On Robben Island, that God-forsaken wasteland off the coast of Cape Town, both of our lives were harsh. From the different moments we arrived we both longed to leave.
Mandela was the undisputed leader of the High Command of the ANC. In all their disputes with the prison authorities, large and small, his word would be law. They might want to go on hunger strike over an unresolved issue but if Mandela decided that was not appropriate, they would find another way.
He was dogged, insistent, and won many concessions that lightened their miserable lives. It was Mandela who petitioned against hard labour in the lime quarry, and won them lighter duties. It was Mandela who fought tooth and nail for increased study time.
He had the gift of discarding small problems in favour of spending energy on the bigger issues.
He was in every way a giant of a man and I realised this even as I was ordering him to sweep the corridor outside his cell or clean up pigeon droppings.
He would say: “That’s good. I need the compost for my garden”. He made me ashamed of the rules I was forced to follow and the hardships I was imposing on him. I began to admire him for the decisions he had made in his life, his determination to see his fight for justice and freedom for black people through to the end, and his dignity while doing all of it.
I helped him grow tomatoes and other vegetables in his little garden and brought netting to keep out the birds, and I gave him respect that he had never had before in his prison treatment.
Both of us were having a tough time in that wretched place, cold and windswept with its history of cruelty and barbarism towards prisoners. The young prison warders like me were bullied incessantly by the old guard and the hours were punishing. Home leave would often be cancelled and it was devastating not to be able to go home or spend time with my girlfriend on the mainland.
For Mandela and his comrades it was many times worse. There would never be any leave for them.
I think they saw sparks of humanity in me that they had never seen in the white warders before.
For all his dignity and leadership status, at the end of each day it was me who was checking Mandela into his cell, monitoring his sleeping arrangements, sometimes managing to get an extra blanket against the rules for him and his fellow prisoners on a cold night .
It was me who supervised their food and water rations and took them on work parties to the pebble beaches from where they pulled huge seaweed plants out of the ocean to be dried and turned into fertiliser.
I had charge of their small amounts of money, sent in by family members. They could buy items like biscuits and note-paper and pens. I recorded every detail in an official file. It was like apportioning pocket-money to children.
And in many ways that is what I had become to Mandela – a family member taking care of every physical need. Looking in on him during the night, pursuing prison regulations but nevertheless representing not only authority but stability.
Many years later when Mandela had been released from prison, had – incredibly – become President of South Africa, and had now at last retired and was taking some rest, he and I rediscovered that extraordinary inter-dependence.
I was invited to a special party at his house in Houghton, an upscale suburb of Johannesburg. It was 2011 and the ANC wanted to celebrate Mandela’s 21 years of freedom.
There was a huge marquee and all the prominent members of the ANC were there, many of them now Government ministers. Mandela’s close family was there, and it was natural for them to have invited me.
They knew my special bond with Tata – their name for Granddad. He had walked out of the house and into the garden slowly that day. He was 93 years old and looking frail. More than 100 people wanted to talk to him, to hold his hand and to be photographed with him.
But if I was not beside him physically he would be looking around anxiously for me the whole day. Eventually his daughter Zindzi said he seemed very tired and he really should be going to bed.
He refused to back into the house with anyone but me. I helped him to his feet and he put his arm through mine as we walked indoors. I helped him to the bathroom, then he wanted to sit and talk.
I was his minder again, his warder. He needed that reassurance. I was the only one at the party who had put him to bed night after night during the bleakest days of his life and now it was natural that I was the one to do it again.
We talked for a while and his little grand-daughter came to join us. She wanted to know: “What was it like for Tata when he was in prison? What did you do to help him?”
I was glad to be able to tell her that I found as many ways as I could to make his burden lighter. And he did the same for me.
CHRISTO BRAND is the son of a farm foreman from rural South Africa. He served as Nelson Mandela’s prison guard for 12 years, primarily on Robben Island. Today, he still works on Robben Island, now a UNESCO World Heritage site. As manager of the site’s retail outlets, Christo has been known to reminisce to visitors about his time guarding Mandela and even to give the occasional tour. He lives in Cape Town with his wife, Estelle, and son, Heindrick. His latest book is Mandela: My Prisoner, My Friend.