Mandela’s Legacy Is Not a Memory. It’s a Mandate

As Mandela Month comes to a close, South Africans and the world are reminded that Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela’s legacy is not confined to history books or commemorative speeches. It lives on in those who rise, despite the odds. It lives on in every act of courage, every choice to pursue dignity over despair, and every young person who turns pain into purpose.

Mandela Day, marked each year on July 18th, is more than a symbolic 67 minutes of service. It is a call to action rooted in the decades Mandela spent fighting injustice. For many, especially refugees and the marginalised, Mandela’s vision of equality and ubuntu remains both a challenge and a lifeline. I am one of them.

Mandela’s story is well known. Beyond the headlines and Nobel prizes, his greatest gift was the blueprint he left behind. He spent 67 years serving his people as a freedom fighter, prisoner, and president who chose peace over vengeance. Those years are honoured through acts of service, but the deeper tribute lies in what we do with the freedom he helped secure.

I know this intimately. My parents fled war in the Democratic Republic of Congo and found refuge in South Africa, a country Mandela helped open to the rest of Africa. In 1994, my mother watched Mandela become South Africa’s first Black president. His inauguration wasn’t just a national milestone. It was a message to the continent that this country would welcome those searching for safety and dignity.

I was born in South Africa. A refugee child raised by a single mother who survived by begging. I remember the winters—the biting wind, the cracked skin, the sunflower oil we used because we couldn’t afford lotion. I was ten and already knew more about hunger than childhood. But even then, Mandela’s life offered more than hope. It offered a challenge. To see my circumstances not as a sentence, but as the beginning of a story worth telling.

One quote lit the path:

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

My mother repeated it constantly. “Education is your way out.” But school was a luxury we could not afford. A donated uniform and books were the only reasons I started. I excelled in academics and sport. That earned me a partial bursary. At fifteen, I started working as a hairdresser after school and on weekends. It was brutal. I thought about ending it all. But I didn’t. I had my mother to honour. I had Mandela’s words in my heart.

Today, I am 25. I live in an apartment with a heater and a blanket. I hold an Honours degree in Bioinformatics from the University of Pretoria and am pursuing a Master’s in the same field, supported by the Canon Collins Trust.

But that’s not the whole story. The true legacy lies in what I’ve done with the struggle. My twin sister and I co-founded Life of Purpose, a refugee youth-led organisation rebuilding lives and restoring dignity in underserved communities. We brought together young professionals, many of them refugees; lawyers, scientists, and consultants committed to changing the refugee narrative in Africa.

Mandela’s legacy demands action. It demands that we use our pain to build something better. That we see others not as burdens, but as part of ourselves. That we live ubuntu: “I am because you are.”

Mandela Month may end today, but the responsibility does not. For those of us who have lived through war, poverty, and exile, Mandela’s life is not a symbol. It is a standard. His legacy lives in every act of defiance against injustice. In every refugee who reclaims their voice. In every young person, rewriting their story.

My life is one of them.