Obituary: Oliver Tambo
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.NO REMEMBRANCE of Oliver Tambo is complete without a picture of him with his family, writes Paul Boateng (further to the obituary by Anthony Sampson and Richard Dowden, 26 April). My fondest memories of him are 'at home' with his dear wife Adelaide, whether in Muswell Hill or, more recently, in Johannesburg, surrounded by the children, his own, or like myself and my wife Janet, 'adopted'.
Adelaide Tambo created an oasis for him whenever he was home that was full of love, joy, good cheer and her own good cooking. The house always buzzed, not only with political activity and the comings and goings of grass-root activists as well as political dignitaries, but also with the children and their friends from the world of music, fashion and film.
Oliver Tambo was at the centre of it all, radiating a calm strength and a gentleness that came from a profound spirituality. He would pat the sofa next to him and amidst the surrounding hubbub it was as if no one and nothing else existed except the object of his attentions and the matter in hand. Conversation would range widely, not only the struggle against apartheid, to which he so selflessly dedicated his life, but music, religion, the children, and the future of the Labour Party.
Always there was that gentle humour, a ceaselessly inquiring mind that never lost its incisive command and a heart that remained, even amidst failing health, true and warm. I loved him.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments