A combination of fearlessness and not taking himself too seriously encapsulates Desmond Tutu’s greatness, writes Melanie Verwoerd.
Cape Town - Like most South Africans, I call him the Arch. He, on the other hand, calls me Ousie. “Hello, Ousie Verwoerd,” he says every time we speak and I smile because only he can use this political incorrect term in a way that makes me feel special.
But, of course, he is known for the way he disarms people by catching them by surprise.
The first time I met the Arch was during the late 1980s at Stellenbosch University, where I was a student at the time.
This was his first visit to the university and, I am almost sure, the first visit of any black speaker. The majority of students were not happy, to put it mildly.
For days, there were protests on campus against his appearance, and pamphlets were handed out with the heading “The Bible according to Tutu”.
Quotes were taken selectively to prove that he was the “antichrist” and “a communist”. On the evening of his appearance, tempers were fraying.
The security police were everywhere, as were the bomb squad, military and campus police. It was not long before the handful of left-wing students got into physical fights inside the venue with the more mainstream students. The Arch, however, came into the hall calmly and faced the angry crowd.
“Goeie naand,” he said in Afrikaans. You could hear a pin drop and the discomfort among the majority of students was tangible.
He then went on to tell a very funny joke about how he and Brigitte Bardot ended up together in heaven, catching every one by surprise.
By the end of the evening he had the whole audience eating out of the palm of his hand, and got a standing ovation. Such is the magic of his charm and incredible charisma. In the decades that followed he was the one who “held” us, led us and reprimanded us as a nation at every key junction in our history.
He instructed us to hold hands and celebrate our new democracy by declaring: “We are free, we are free. We are the rainbow nation of the world”.
A few years later he cried with us when our shameful past was exposed at the Truth and Reconcilation Commission (TRC). When people so bravely exposed their almost unbearable pain and grief he comforted them and held them – both physically and emotionally.
And when the apartheid leaders failed to apologise he, the one who had nothing to apologise for, apologised to victims, because someone had to.
Then, when I am sure he would have liked to take a rest after the decades of struggle and the gruelling TRC process, he had to become our voice of conscience yet again.
The morally corrupt decisions, abuse of power and human rights abuses confronted us (and continue do so) at a pace no one could have thought possible pre-1994.
And so the Arch again fearlessly continued to speak out – something he still does even though he is increasingly becoming one of the few voices doing so publicly.
I have often wondered what is it that makes the Arch such a great man. Is it his charisma or is it his fearlessness not only to speak out but, for example, to put himself in the way of a mob of hundreds of people who wanted to necklace a young man that they suspected of being an informer? It is certainly all of that.
But ultimately I think it is the great combination of being fearless and not taking himself too seriously by having a great sense of humour that encapsulates his greatness.
For me, it also helps that he is not pious, despite being deeply religious.
A good example of this happened during a small dinner I hosted for him a few years ago in a private room of a restaurant in Dublin, Ireland.
We had a lovely evening with a lot of serious discussions on, among other things, the peace process in Northern Ireland, in which he played a key role.
However, in the middle of a very intense and heated discussion, the door to the private room suddenly swung open and two scantily dressed burlesque dancers came in.
A church-like silence fell in the room as we all stared over at them.
“Hello,” the two women purred. Luckily, before any more could happen, a frazzled manager ran in.
“Wrong room, wrong room,” he said, “Your function is upstairs.”
There was a slightly uncomfortable pause after they left, but then the Arch said with exaggerated “disappointment”: “That was not very Christian to chase them out like that. We should invite them back for something to eat. They looked hungry.”
Once, when he stayed with me and my family in Ireland, Bono from U2 and his wife Ali came over to see the Arch.
The Arch offered to say a prayer and to do a blessing for the about-to- be-released How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb album.
We stood as he prayed in Xhosa first, and when it sounded like he was winding down, Bono, in a real rock 'n' roll gesture, lifted up his fist into the air and said “Amen!” The Arch opened his one eye and said: “I am not finished, man.”
He then closed his eyes and continued in Afrikaans. Once more, it sounded like he was winding down, but before Bono could do anything, the Arch, again with one eye closed, said: “Not yet.”
He continued in English and then gave Bono a little nudge. “Now,” he said and we all laughed as Bono threw his fist into the air. “Amen!”
Knowing that he loves sport, I later took him to a Gaelic football match in Dublin’s Croke Park.
After the basic rules were explained to him, he really got into it. It was not long before I heard him shouting after a penalty ruling, to the amusement of all around him: “Ag no, ref. That is ridiculous.”
A friend of mine who sat next to him got a bit carried away and at some stage shouted a loud “Ah, for f**k sake.”
He then realised he was sitting next to a man of the cloth and apologised for his language.
“Don’t worry, young man,” the Arch said. “There are times when it is needed that God turns a deaf ear. I think this is one of those.”
His humour and lack of piousness does not mean that he has not remained faithful to his calling as spiritual leader.
A few years ago, I was due to meet the Arch. His assistant called and said: “The Arch wants to know when were you last in church.”
I had to admit, not too recently, to which she said: “The Arch suspected that and says you must come to the Eucharist on Friday and then you can have coffee afterwards.”
Undoubtedly it is his spirituality and his consistent and deep life of prayer that centre him time and time again and give him not only the clarity of what should be done but also the courage to act on it.
Of course, Madiba and the Arch were very close and shared a particular love for children. I will never forget the shrieks of delight when he rocked up as Santa Claus at a TRC Christmas party one year.
The obligatory “ho ho” was more of a “hie hie”, but the children climbed all over him for about an hour and just adored him.
A few years ago the Arch announced his retirement. Even though the automated reply from his e-mail address said that he was now retired, he did of course not slow down.
There were just too much to do. A few years later he announced again that he was slowing down, but I am sure his family sighed and said: “Not that we can see.”
Recently I got an automated reply that said: “I have now really retired.” Yet within minutes I got a personal response from him.
Without a doubt his schedule and his tireless service to people, the church, this country and the world has contributed greatly to the ill health he is now suffering. I know that this “ousie” is one of millions of people who are praying (Yes, Arch, I honestly am praying) for him to get better.
Because even though we have to allow him to now really retire, we will continue to need him as our moral compass and to remind us that “we are made for love, generosity, sharing and compassion”.
Get well, soon Arch.
* At 27, Verwoerd became the youngest female MP to enter Parliament in taking her seat in the ANC benches in 1994. Her marriage to now ex-husband, Wilhelm, the grandson of Hendrik Verwoerd, considered the architect of so-called “Grand Apartheid”, earned her much attention, chiefly as the embodiment of the new non-racial optimism of the Mandela years. After a spell abroad as ambassador in Dublin, and head of Unicef in Ireland, she returned to Cape Town.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
Weekend Argus