I have never met Nelson Mandela, but we have had many conversations.
In my family's tiny shack in Nairobi's Kibera slum, my one-way exchanges with the great man kept me going. Mandela survived 27 years of prison; maybe I would make it out, too.
Even as the shadow of AIDS spread, I saw no reason not to die young, because I had nothing to live for.
It was Mandela who saved my life.
A visiting American gave me two books. I had never gone to formal schools, but I had learned to read and write with the help of a kind priest. The American gave me a collection of speeches by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Mandela's "Long Walk to Freedom." It was Mandela's book that spoke to me. I couldn't put it down. Here was someone whose life I could somehow picture.