Mourners undeterred by hours of queueing

Thousands of people wait patiently to pay their respects to the country's first black President. Photo / AP

After about three-and-a-half hours of zigging and zagging, twisting and turning, the police realised things were not going to plan. There were too many people and not enough buses. So they decided it would be quicker to walk. "Hold hands with the person in front of you," said a police officer. "We will walk up the hill."

Finally, we were moving, a human chain heading up the hill to see the body of Nelson Mandela.

But it was slow going. Thousands queued for hours in South Africa's capital, Pretoria, to pay their respects to the country's first black President, who is lying in state until tomorrow. While about 10,000 people were able to file past the flag-draped casket where Mandela lay dressed in a patterned shirt, when the authorities cut the line and the coffin was taken back to the mortuary for the night, many thousands were turned away disappointed.

Dignitaries and members of Mandela's family, including his former wife Winnie Madikizela-Mandela and his widow, Graca Machel, were taken there privately, and the media were then permitted entry. But for ordinary people wanting to catch a glimpse of the 95-year-old's remains, there was no alternative but to line up and try to board one of the dozens of buses ferrying people to the site.

Constance Malebano and her fiance, Fannie Shongwe, set off in the morning, walking down Madiba St, the route Mandela's cortege had taken a few hours earlier. She wore a denim skirt, he had a South African flag wrapped around his shoulders.

Even by noon local time - the time at which the public were to be admitted - the line for the buses looked vast, stretching back across Church Square and then heading down another street. But Shongwe, 38, a teaching assistant, was not disheartened.

"In the election in 1994, when we first got to vote, the lines were much longer," he said.

Also in the queue were Pule Msibi, 26, and his 17-year-old sister, Mosa. Msibi said he was 7 when South Africa won the rugby World Cup, a victory over the All Blacks that was inspired by Mandela's election as President the year before. He said he remembered his grandmother dancing for a week.

The afternoon wore on, hot and chaotic, with the line largely retaining its discipline as queue-jumpers were ejected. Msibi played songs by the late Nigerian musician Fela Kuti on his mobile phone, while Shongwe picked up fried chicken from a fast-food joint for everyone. Some suggested calling it a day and trying their luck the next morning, but almost everyone stayed. Officers handed out water.

After the police told people to walk and not take buses, the pace quickened. Soon the line inched its way up a steep incline towards the Union Buildings, seat of the South African government. Nineteen years ago, Mandela had been sworn in here.

The nearer the line approached to his casket, the more sombre the mood. Police ordered people to turn off phones and stop singing. Some songs had been of peace, others reflected the years when Mandela headed an armed struggle. "Hurry up," the police chided. "We are going to cut the line."

There were more twists, more turns, an ascent of steps leading to the presidency building and suddenly everyone was confronted by the site of a white temporary structure containing the Nobel laureate's casket. Four junior naval officers in white uniforms stood guard, as did dozens of police. Some were said to be holding boxes of tissues.

By now what had started as a reverential walk had turned into something approaching a trot. People passed on either side of the casket, with just a moment to glance at Mandela. His eyes were shut, his white hair immaculate. Some said they spotted the faintest hint of a smile. In an instant, everyone was past him.

Outside in the sunshine someone checked the time. It had taken five hours and 10 minutes to get here, and now it was over, the group was hushed, still. "Suddenly it is real," said Shongwe. "Until now it has been like a dream. But now I have seen him, I know he has gone."

Msibi was close to tears. "I feel like I have lost a father. I feel like crying. But with elders it is not respectful to cry when they die, because it suggests they have not done enough during their lives."

- Independent