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" \u202A \u202C Photo: Getty Images Nelson Mandela was released from prison on my mother&amp;#039;s 40th birthday. I&amp;#039;ll never forget that Sunday morning: February 11, 1990. My twin sister and I prepared breakfast in bed, as we always did on her birthday, and carried the tray up to her room. She was watching television, crying. &amp;quot;Madiba is leaving Victor Verster,&amp;quot; she whispered through unbridled tears. The only thing we could think to ask in our considerable shock was, &amp;quot;Why?&amp;quot; Born in London and raised in Boston, we had no idea who this Mabida was, why she was leaving Victor, or why the news so moved our mum. &amp;quot;Sit with me,&amp;quot; our mother said. We joined her on the king-sized bed. One arm wrapped around each of us, she told us about Nelson Mandela.  Related: Remembering Nelson Mandela in Quotes and Pictures My mother was a student in Zambia in 1975, when Mandela&amp;#039;s daughters were first allowed to visit Robben Island. Her account of his imprisonment was alive with years-old pain and rage: at the political oppression, the denial of justice, the destruction of minds and families that she had witnessed in Nigeria and Southeastern Africa firsthand. We&amp;#039;d never seen our mother so impassioned, nor felt so angry ourselves. If there is a single moment that marks the birth of my own political consciousness, it is this one: crying with my mother, watching TV, not fully understanding my rage. At 11 years old I was no doubt aware of the brutal political history that had rendered my mum&amp;#039;s beloved continent unsuitable for the pursuit of her dreams. But the story of Nelson Mandela touched me differently than that of Kwame Nkrumah or Wole Soyinka, great men of whom my family oft spoke. 18 years in prison? That was longer than I&amp;#039;d been alive. And yet the man on the television, driving to Cape Town&amp;#039;s City Hall, was placid. When he addressed the crowds, declaring his commitment to peace and reconciliation, I asked my mum, &amp;quot;But isn&amp;#039;t he angry?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;No,&amp;quot; she said. &amp;quot;He&amp;#039;s free.&amp;quot;  Related: ELLE profiles Taiye Selasi For the next twenty years I looked to Nelson Mandela&amp;#039;s words for guidance in coming to grips with the ways\u2014the inexplicably brutal ways\u2014in which the world works. In graduate school, studying International Relations, I&amp;#039;d often re-read the speech he gave at Johannesburg&amp;#039;s Soccer City days after his release, trying to understand how to understand history free from hatred. For this, I&amp;#039;d learned at 11 years old, is what cannot be taken from the oppressed, the brutalized, the disenfranchised, the economically marginalized. Freedom from hatred. The study of International Relations suggests that the history of mankind is often redirected, irreversibly, by the vision of single men. Our history\u2014my history\u2014has been redirected by Nelson Mandela. To say that I am grateful for his example doesn&amp;#039;t suffice. I am changed by Madiba&amp;#039;s life. I am inspired to act, to write, to fight, to forgive, to love myself, to be myself. I am freed. Rome, 11 Dec, 2013  Photo: Twitter "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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