It was the late '80s, probably 1986 but I can’t be sure. I was young, naïve, idealistic, nervous but excited at my first protest meeting. The speakers had all spoken about why the state of emergency must end, how the tricameral parliament was a sham to prop up apartheid, and how one person, one vote in a unitary state was our destiny.
At the end, the facilitator stood up and said "we shall now sing the national anthem".
My jaw dropped. These young radicals were going to sing the state’s anthem, "Die Stem" (the call of South Africa), that pompous, self-important piece of marching band Afrikaner glorification? I couldn’t believe it, yet everyone accepted this statement without even a murmur.
But he had already liberated himself from that nationality. He clenched his right hand, raised it up to his shoulder, and calmly and quietly, in a small voice as he sang the words Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrica, Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo. The bitersweet, subtle yet powerful, plaintive melody filled the hall as people joined in. Nkosi Sikelela - Lord bless us.
I don't know half the words, I don't speak Xhosa, I don't believe in God, but the song is etched into my mind. Die stem needs a band to support it and make it sound halfway real, but a few good voices singing Nkosi in close harmony, the African way, can touch your heart.
The women broke off into a second voice on the O se boloke, o se boloke flying above the calm, sad and determined baritone answer: O, se boluke
It was indescribably moving.