In April 2024, as I headed to Robben Island, my Uber ride turned into a lesson. Stuck in slow city traffic, I watched as each red light seemed to increase my driver’s frustration, his sighs growing deeper and his foot tapping faster.
It was a clear reminder of how easily small inconveniences can unsettle us. However, Life's delays are often chances to grow, teaching us patience and resilience along the way.
I soon embarked on a journey to Robben Island, eager to dive into its rich history. Holding tickets worth 600 Rand each, we boarded a double-decker boat from Cape Town. The 30-minute cruise was buzzing with excitement.
My fellow passengers and I were busy taking photos, capturing every moment of our approach to the island—a place known for its powerful stories of struggle and resilience.
Nelson Mandela's long and sorrowful journey through imprisonment spanned 27 years. He spent his initial 18 years at Robben Island, a place where he faced extreme isolation and hardship.
In 1982, Mandela was transferred to Pollsmoor Prison, where he would endure another six years of captivity. His final years from until his release in 1990 were spent at Victor Verster Prison, concluding a period marked by profound sadness and deprivation, yet also resilience and hope.
"Lucky revealed that when he first entered prison, inmates were sleeping on bare mats. But by the time he began his five-year sentence for his political beliefs, things had upgraded slightly to double-decker beds."
"I was lucky," he joked, acknowledging the small mercy in his situation that made his five-year sentence feel somewhat shorter. In stark contrast, those charged with treason, like Nelson Mandela, faced life imprisonment under much harsher conditions, highlighting the severe disparities in treatment based on the nature of charges against the prisoners.
As I stood there, imagining the prisoners during winter, lying on those thin mats on the cold, hard floor, a deep sense of empathy washed over me. The chilling cold that must have seeped into their bones seemed almost palpable, and the thought of enduring such harshness was overwhelming.
Lucky, with a wry smile, explained how prisoners at Robben Island were identified not by names but by tags, which bore the year they were imprisoned and their specific prisoner number for that year. "It was like being part of a very exclusive club, but one that nobody wanted to join," he quipped.
This system effectively reduced them to mere numbers, stripping away their identities and adding a layer of dehumanization. Yet, despite being labeled as just digits, the stories of resilience and survival that Lucky shared were incredibly poignant. Each prisoner, reduced to a number, somehow managed to cling to a sense of self, defiantly preserving their identity against all odds.
As we navigated the echoing corridors, Lucky shared tales from his days as the prison's chef, his tone mixing gratitude with a touch of humor.
"Being the chef was more than just about serving food; it was about serving news," he quipped. Lucky explained that the food trolleys did more than transport meals—they also smuggled messages and news among the inmates, thanks to an inner circle of prisoners who formed a secret committee.
"Believe it or not, we often knew more about the outside world than the average person on the street," he revealed with a sly smile. This clandestine network kept the spirit of resistance alive, illustrating not just the resilience but also the resourcefulness of those confined within the prison's walls.
As we paused in front of Nelson Mandela's Cell Number 4, our tour guide highlighted its stark simplicity and profound significance.
"In this small, bare cell, Mandela not only endured hardship but also engaged in deep reflection and planning," the guide explained. Drawing from Mandela's own words in "Long Walk to Freedom," he added, "Mandela once said, 'In the solitude of my cell, I found both suffering and the ability to endure it.' This place, while harsh, helped him forge his vision for a free South Africa."
In this modest cell, Mandela's resolve and hope were nurtured, transforming his years of imprisonment into a period of profound personal and political growth. The cell, a place of pain, also became a space where the future was imagined.
Cell corridors
Lucky also touched on the racial segregation within the prison, describing how meals were served on differently colored plates—a daily, demeaning reminder of the apartheid system. "The different colors represented more than just separation; they symbolized a hierarchy intended to oppress," he remarked.
Further into our tour, we joined the bus tour, where the tour guide who has previously led tours by Prince Harry, and other prominent people, discussed the lesser-known history of leprosy patients on the island, isolated from the political prisoners yet sharing the same fate of segregation. Their separate burial ground stood as a somber reminder of their forgotten struggles.
Robben Island, while widely recognized for its notorious maximum-security prison, also harbors a poignant yet lesser-known chapter of its history as a leper colony. From the mid-19th century until 1931, individuals diagnosed with leprosy were forcibly removed from their communities and sequestered here, far from the eyes of society.
The island became a living tomb where these patients were subjected to a life of isolation and neglect. In the shadow of the same rugged terrain that later imprisoned political dissenters, these leprosy patients endured their afflictions with little medical support or compassion, their plight masked by the cold indifference of their isolation.
Even in death, the separation imposed on the leprosy sufferers did not cease. Robben Island houses a distinct and desolate burial site specifically for those who died from the disease, segregated from other gravesites on the island. This grim resting place, often marked by unadorned graves, silently narrates the stark reality of their existence—forgotten in life as in death.
The burial ground not only underscores the brutal segregation they experienced but also serves as a somber testament to the island’s historical role as a receptacle for those ostracized by society. This dual legacy of Robben Island as a site of confinement for both the body and the spirit deepens its somber historical significance.
One of the most symbolic sites on Robben Island is the pile of stones left by former prisoners, including Nelson Mandela, who returned to the island years after their release. This simple yet profound monument began during a reunion visit when Mandela and other ex-prisoners each placed a stone in a heap, marking their return to a place that once epitomized extreme oppression.
Each stone in this pile carries deep significance, representing not just the years of imprisonment each individual endured but also their resilience and unyielding spirit. As we approached this mound—each stone a marker of life withheld yet not conquered—I was deeply moved by the symbolism.
The act of placing the stone is a gesture of closure and healing, transforming a site of personal and collective trauma into one of remembrance and triumph.
Desmond Tutu’s words came to mind: "Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness." This growing pile of stones, added to over the years by more ex-prisoners and visitors, stands as a testament to resilience, a beacon of hope and unity.
It reminds us that from the depths of hardship and separation, there is always the possibility of reconciliation and renewal, turning a once somber site into a symbol of enduring hope and collective healing.
Before departing, we visited the remains of what once was a bustling community center, with its church and school now silent. These remnants spoke of a time when ordinary life tried to bloom amidst the harshest conditions.
The second church stands tall in white in Robben Island.
Leaving Robben Island, I was profoundly impacted, not just by the images and stories, but by the deep emotional resonance of my visit. Nelson Mandela's words, "The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall," reverberated through my mind.
The island, with its harsh history of pain and endurance, stands as a poignant testament to human dignity and resilience, embodying universal truths about the spirit of freedom and the ongoing fight against injustice.
This experience also offered a personal lesson: like Mandela’s time in his cell, our moments of frustration—such as being stuck in traffic—can become opportunities for patience and reflection.
Remembering Mandela’s method of turning a challenging situation into a chance for personal growth, we should all be inspired to find peace in life’s minor delays, seeing them not as obstacles, but as moments to cultivate strength and patience.
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