Mandela

I went to South Africa nearly 30 years ago. I went with friends to visit people who worked for the Leprosy Mission in Swaziland and we had to land at Johannesburg and drive across to Manzini.

It was the apartheid era and we found out the reality of the political set-up before we'd even left the airport. At the car hire, we collected our keys and went to pick up our cases and head off to the car park. The white woman behind the desk looked quite shocked: "Leave them," she said, "The boy will get them." She waved and a black man in his 60s came over and started putting our cases on to a trolley. My friend's husband tried to help and was told off by the car hire woman: "Let him do his job." To be honest, this old man looked too frail for the job...

In our 10 hour drive, we had a few comfort stops. We had a late lunch on the South African side of the border in a restaurant where all the customers were white and all the waiters were black. The portions served were huge. We ordered something described on the menu as 'baby beef' which turned out to be steaks so big they overlapped the edges of the plates. Soft drinks came in large bottles. The request for coffee brought us a cafetiere each. The prices were ridiculously low. I imagine the wages of our very attentive waiters were also low.

We'd come from a country where we routinely boycotted South African goods: Nice grapes. Nope. Put them back. They're South African. The signs of apartheid and of downright inequality were glaring. Once we got lost - turned right instead of left - and found ourselves off the tarmac road and driving over a red dust road through an African township. The contrast with white South Africa couldn't have been clearer as we went from large houses set back from the road and surrounded by high walls and electric fences to shacks we weren't sure even had electricity or running water.

In South Africa, Swaziland and on a wee side trip to Mozambique we met many white South Africans. They were all very friendly. They lamented the boycott that kept major sporting events away from their borders. They really missed the golf and the rugby. We didn't argue. We were guests in their part of the world but we made sure people knew we had come to visit Swaziland not South Africa.

When Mandela was released from prison, I sat in front of my TV and watched him walk out. It was very moving. Here was a man we had only ever heard of. He made a speech. I had the sense, as we all did, that this was the start of a new era in South Africa.

Shortly after that, I went to work back in Argyll & Bute. I was running a course for teachers in a hotel and, as always, spent the evening with the course participants in the bar. At one point, I went up to get a round in. I was served by a young - white - woman with a strong South African accent. I asked her where she came from. Pretoria. I asked her how long she planned to stay in Scotland. She hadn't decided. I said I'd seen Mandela's release and found it very moving. She launched into a rant: the worst day of her life was watching that man leave prison. Her country was finished now that he was out. He would ruin South Africa. She went on a bit more. When she paused for breath, all I could think of to say was: "It's not your country and if you go home one day I hope you'll remember that."

I doubt if she heard me. If she went back to South Africa, I  hope she settled okay and has made a good life contributing to the new democracy. South Africa is far from perfect but it has started along what Mandela called 'the long road' and I wish them the very best in the sad days after his death.