i see you, pk.
it is not for you or me to say what it means. an old man, one of the dignitaries says something to nguni.
onoshobishobi ingelosi. the crowd goes wild, chanting, singing over and over as pk and mandoma stand in center ring, arms raised.
please excuse me for coming like a thief by the window.
second greatest in this room.
when you say to me, onoshobishobi ingelosi means nothing, you are right. and you are wrong. the legend gives the people hope for a good tomorrow. but hope alone will not make a good tomorrow for the people. you cannot write our letters, get us clothes, food, work. these things we must do ourselves, so we can be part of this country's good tomorrow. if we are not, the hope will disappear. the people will grow tired. the tired will grow angry and there will be no good tomorrow for anybody -- black or white.
to be part of something you must know what everyone else knows. we have our own knowledge. we need yours.
then it must be the same with us.
yes. and teachers who cannot do more than their own abc's. we have a system made not to teach us.
you taught the singing to thousands at barberton prison. you were only twelve. mandoma rises.
you are a great fighter, pk.
i see you, p.k.
morrie.
you some great friend.
you are one brave boer, miss maria.
and you are one lucky english. he kids pk. pk blushes.
i know.
so are we.
miss marais. will she not be coming?