Arch: always thinking ahead: Even though he's retired, it's good to know he's there

Written by Jonathan Jansen

For a Nobel Laureate who could easily command millions in any currency, this is not where I expect to find the offices of Desmond Mpilo Tutu.

For those of us who grew up in the Cape, Milnerton was the poor white area. Drive down the long stretch of road that shares a name with a nuclear power station (Koeberg), and the sight of decaying old buildings are familiar from childhood. If you looked carefully, any number of drug dealers and hobos could be seen lying in wait along the side streets that offer an array of illegal wares, especially as dark settled. Aunties in rollers, with red faces that hinted at a life of alcohol, hung over fences.

The directions from the intimidating (at least on the telephone) personal assistant of the Arch are as clear as she is: Turn right and left at the Caltex garage opposite the cheapest hotel in the land, the Formula One. This must be a mistake. Half of the grey, warehouse-type buildings are vacated. Why on earth would Arch settle here? Just across the bay lies the rich land of the Waterfront and any number of classy suites in the shadow of that mountain. "He surely has choices," I mutter to my capitalist self.

Up the stairs to the nondescript offices, and into the modest waiting room. None of his endless number of honorary degrees hangs from the walls, the way doctors decorate their surgeries to remind you they qualified somewhere. And then the wait. This is the first time; I am nervous, a rare reaction to meeting people. Suddenly, a loud but warm Afrikaans greeting behind my back. It is Arch. The Afrikaans catches me off guard, and I stumble with my words.

Into the sparse Office of the Arch. He speaks first. "Let's pray."

I feel calm after the intercession, and the time flies as we discuss flammable topics: the church and politics; education and transformation. I feel an enormous respect for this humble man, remembering how he stood virtually alone as the moral voice of the struggle while our leaders languished in prison or in exile. He took so many risks that could have ended his life, like diving into the middle of an angry crowd to save a young man from a certain necklacing. He did the same for me in late October 2009, wading into angry political waters to make the bold claim that "forgiveness is not for sissies".

We remember what is perhaps his single most important contribution, and that was to send hundreds of black South Africans to get their degrees at American universities in the 1980s.

Arch had the good sense to know what many of us at the time thought impossible, that the apartheid government would have to give up (or at the very least share) power.

A new generation of civil servants, academics, entrepreneurs, engineers and architects had to be prepared to take their position in a democratic country one day.

The Arch not only forced American companies to disinvest their resources from upholding the old South African government, he got them to invest in the future preparation of skilled young people to lead in the new country.

I was privileged to be one of the beneficiaries of that programme, called the Educational Opportunities Council.

"God has a sense of humour," he reminds me. With this cue I tell Arch that I live on Whites Road in Bloemfontein. I worry that he is going to choke the way he laughs - a black man on Whites road.

Arch has hung up his collar, so I am cautious about asking him to come to the University of the Free State to receive an honorary degree acknowledging his powerful contribution in making this new country, and for being the conscience of an unequal world for justice and reconciliation. As usual, he sees the bigger picture, how important this event is, not only for the UFS but for the country.

There is a generation of wise, decent, patient and embracing men and women who are retiring from public life and passing into old age. Some of them have already left us. I think of the gracious Congress Mbata, the Professor at Cornell who taught me; a founder member of the ANC Youth League, who died in exile.

There are many others, like Chabani Manganyi and the late Eskia Mphalele, the last of the great intellectuals who wrote this country.

Even if they do nothing, the fact that Arch and Nelson Mandela are still there brings comfort and reassurance in the midst of all the noise.

(This story was provided and used with permission by Timeslive.)