Amilcar Cabral’s famous injunction to “tell no lies, claim no easy victories” is the leitmotif playing in my head as I listen to the stories that unfold at the recent Wanted Wine & Executive Club Dinner at Fairlawns.
My guests are Zamaswazi Dlamini-Mandela and Zaziwe Manaway, granddaughters of the late Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, whose new documentary, The Trials of Winnie Mandela, examines one of South Africa’s most complex and consequential lives.
From their telling, Cabral’s line was probably their own backing track. Winnie’s story is deeply embedded in our national psyche, but for the sisters it is a profoundly intimate act of familial excavation. For 13 years they have confronted both our collective memory and the historical wounds of a nation, while navigating family trauma and trying to make sense of the deeply affectionate, larger-than-life woman they called Big Mommy.
The delicious dinner, superbly paired with Paul Siguqa’s wines, feels like a moving prelude to the sisters’ story. He tells us how he purchased Klein Goederust in Franschhoek, the farm where his mother worked as a labourer for a lifetime. Having the first and only 100% black-owned wine farm in the country felt like both a duty and a rite of passage. It set the tone for the conversation that followed.
I ask the women about their childhood, and the answer is immediate: “We grew up surrounded by love.”
Public perceptions of the Mandela family are often shaped by history books, headlines and political mythology, but their memories are different. They grew up between Soweto, Brandfort and Eswatini, surrounded by cousins, siblings, grandmothers and aunts, anchored by the presence of Big Mommy.
“People have perceptions about our family, but for us it was filled with love, safety and a beautiful experience. With all the turmoil people see in the documentary, our home was more than anything filled with love.”
For the sisters, Winnie was not first an icon, she was a grandmother pouring love into her grandchildren. Dlamini-Mandela explains that her mother made a conscious effort to ensure they spent time with Winnie during the difficult years.
“She wanted to give our grandmother as much normalcy as possible because she was going through so much. My grandmother poured everything she couldn’t give to her own children into us as grandchildren.”
Throughout the evening one theme surfaces repeatedly: the gap between public narrative and lived experience.
Nowhere is that tension explored more deeply than in The Trials of Winnie Mandela. The documentary project began unexpectedly when Winnie entrusted Dlamini-Mandela with a journal written during her period of solitary confinement.
“I knew immediately I couldn’t keep it in a drawer because it was history. It was important. It was a part of my grandmother’s story, and I felt a responsibility to make sure it was preserved and eventually shared.”
The journal became the catalyst for a years-long journey into family history, political history and personal reckoning. What strikes me most is the courage required to revisit painful terrain. South Africa is a country built on stories that were often never fully told. Entire generations survived by leaving certain wounds unspoken.
“We decided we were going to tell everything. I wasn’t going to do this unless we addressed everything. If we were going to tell my grandmother’s story, then it had to be honest and complete, even when it was difficult.”
That included some of the most controversial and painful episodes associated with Winnie’s public life. The result is a documentary that refuses easy answers or easy victories.
Human beings, I suggest, seem to crave simple narratives of heroes and villains. The sisters know that better than most.
“We’ve lived black and white to the core. We had a grandfather who became an icon of icons around the world and a grandmother who was often cast as the villain. We grew up with that contradiction every day of our lives.”
The sisters speak passionately about the gendered nature of historical storytelling and the way powerful women are often denied complexity.
“Our grandmother was always vilified. The media was very calculated in shaping her legacy and her story. One had to be the icon and one had to be the villain and so often the woman is the one who takes the brunt of that narrative.”
Yet this project is not simply about reclaiming Winnie Mandela’s legacy. It is about reclaiming women’s stories more broadly.
Dlamini-Mandela points out that visitors arriving in South Africa can easily find institutions dedicated to preserving Nelson Mandela’s legacy. Far fewer spaces exist to honour the women who shaped the nation’s history.
“My grandmother always said to me, ‘Tell my story, but tell the stories of every other woman that you can’. So for us this has never been only about Winnie. It is about the women of this country whose stories still need to be told.”
As dessert arrives and Siguqa’s final wine pairing is poured, I ask what they have learned from the journey.
For Dlamini-Mandela, the process taught fearlessness. Thirteen years earlier she had no experience as a filmmaker, interviewer or storyteller. Yet she persisted.
“This was supposed to be a five-minute sizzle reel and then it became a seven-part documentary. The journey taught me that nothing is impossible. My grandmother gave me my fearlessness.”
Manaway speaks of resilience. She recalls visiting the tiny rural village from which Winnie emerged and reflecting on the extraordinary distance between those modest beginnings and global recognition.
“You can come from the smallest village, from circumstances nobody would ever imagine, and become a force of nature. My grandmother came from Bizana and the whole world knows her name.”
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.