By Sumaya Hisham

Reuters,… My earliest memories are from newspaper clippings. I also have video clips of news bulletins that were smuggled in South Africa by dissidents to evade censorship.

Because he was an activist who allied with the African National Congress the archbishop was barred from access to white minority government media.

The smuggled tapes would show the archbishop in his royal mauve robes looking elegant praying at protesters and activists who were killed by the apartheid police or appealing to people for an end to violence.

As a young woman during this tumultuous time in my country, I saw him as a man of God fighting for our freedom, a man pleading with the world to end apartheid, an elder we hoped could one day help restore peace – even if we weren’t always that confident it would ever happen.

I didn’t know then that I would eventually be writing newspaper articles about “The Arch”, as the archetypal name here. He was a photographer and I had the opportunity to see him often as a journalist.

Here’s a memory that dates back to 1985, before everything else. Nine years ago, I participated in anti-apartheid actions in the Cape Flats neighbourhood. It was an area that had been declared “nonwhite” in the segregationist Group Areas Act.

We were a mostly Indian-American family and were therefore restricted in our movement. Our schools were placed under emergency by the government. The police fired tear gas at us – yes, at a bunch of primary school kids and their teachers! – and my eyes stung with the pain.

The main protest came from Alexander Sinton High school, just up the street. My dad was there as a teacher, and my sister as a student. The protesters demanded that schools are opened. Police used tear gas to drag students from their classes. My father and my sister were taken into custody and then released hours later.

Tutu came to the school the next day to console the students. Black-and-white photos show him wearing his glasses and tunic, with a white halo around his forehead and his cheeks.

The Human Family

My family and I were waiting on Nelson Mandela’s arrival in Cape Town, as we waited for him to arrive. We sat down at the Grand Parade, opposite City Hall, Cape Town, February 11, 1990. Mandela emerged from the balcony holding Archbishop Tutu’s hand.

We were overjoyed. While we were overjoyed to see the democratic society my family had worked for, the joy came with the sadness of knowing that it was not possible.

This was nearly 20 years ago, and I finally had the opportunity to photograph Archbishop Atallah at this residence. I remember being too shy back then to be able to talk to him. But over the following decade, I had the opportunity to photograph him numerous times for Reuters as well as for his foundation. I got to get to know him more.

Even at the cost of his life, his courage to defend social justice was always a shining example – not only during apartheid. His former allies in the ruling ANC often got into a fight over the failure to eliminate poverty and other inequalities they had promised to end.

Four months ago, the ANC tried to exclude Tutu from Mandela’s funeral at St George’s Cathedral. I took a photograph of Tutu there. Only after public outcry, did the party relent.

He said that he would not vote for the ANC.

I say this with a heavy heart. Our dream was of a society in which people truly felt they were valued. This is impossible in a society with people who are hungry at night and many children living under trees.

It was the manner in which Tutu welcomed everyone, no matter if they were state heads or street homeless that I loved. Tutu often visited an elderly home, where he took cake and other treats to share with them. As he was shaking hands with 40 other people, I watched as they walked by.

Tutu sent a gift package to the hospital when I was forced to cancel my appointment because of an appendicitis attack in 2016.

Leah, his wife, told me about her childhood. He gave up his jacket to another child, and was accompanied by a blind man. As he was growing up, he felt the chill, fearing that he would be scolded for not bringing it home.

It was the Tutu whom we all knew, loved, and loved.

All of this shows me that the Arch truly believed in “Ubuntu”, which is a Zulu term that refers to the belief that all humans are linked by an universal bond, that requires sharing and compassion.

He once stated, “We were meant to exist as part of one family, The Human Family.”

While Archbishop Tutu had many risky times in his lifetime, that wasn’t the only one.