I remember that during the period leading up to independence in

The Witness of a Nation’s Birth

Hear the solemn remembrance of Ryszard Kapuściński, the wandering chronicler of revolutions and empires, who once said:

“I remember that during the period leading up to independence in Angola in 1975, I was the only correspondent there at all for three months.”

In this quiet confession lies the heartbeat of a man who stood alone at the crossroads of history. Kapuściński was not merely a journalist—he was a witness, a traveler of the soul who journeyed into the furnace of change to record the cries, the hopes, and the tremors of nations being born. His words recall a time when Angola, long bound under Portuguese rule, was awakening to independence, when the air itself quivered with both triumph and fear. And there he stood—one man amid the tides of destiny, the lone voice to see, to feel, to remember.

The Meaning of Solitude in Witness

When Kapuściński says he was “the only correspondent there at all for three months,” he does not boast; he reveals the weight of solitude. To stand alone in a land trembling with change is to bear the burden of truth without the comfort of company. Yet, it is also to see with undistracted eyes, to hear the pulse of a nation without the noise of the crowd. His solitude becomes symbolic—not of isolation, but of devotion. He did not flee the danger; he embraced it, because he knew that some stories can only be told by those willing to walk where others dare not.

This is the sacred duty of the witness: to stand at the threshold of chaos and order, to record not only the deeds of men but the spirit that drives them. Kapuściński’s independence of mind mirrors the independence of the very nation he chronicled—both seeking freedom, both enduring loneliness, both forging meaning from struggle.

The Fire of Angola’s Independence

The Angolan struggle for independence was no small matter of politics—it was a storm that had gathered for centuries. For five hundred years, the people of Angola had lived under Portuguese colonial rule. But in 1975, the winds of history shifted. Across Africa, the old empires were crumbling, and the voice of liberation echoed from the deserts to the jungles. Angola, rich in culture and spirit, rose up to claim its birthright.

Kapuściński arrived not as a conqueror but as a seeker, drawn to witness the birth of freedom. Yet what he found was not the clean beauty of victory but the chaos of transition—factions at war, cities in ruin, hope tangled with despair. And still he stayed. Alone in Luanda, the capital city, he watched the last ships of the Portuguese sail away, and he saw the first, fragile steps of a nation finding its voice. He became the eyes through which the world would see this moment of independence—the mixture of euphoria and tragedy that accompanies all rebirth.

The Courage of Bearing Witness

There is a quiet heroism in those who choose to observe rather than command, who record the truth even when no one is watching. In this, Kapuściński’s solitude in Angola becomes a lesson in courage. He faced not only physical danger—disease, gunfire, uncertainty—but also the loneliness of knowing that history’s great transformations are often unseen by the multitudes.

This courage is the same that burned in the hearts of all who fought for freedom—the soldiers in the bush, the mothers who hid their children, the leaders who dared to dream of sovereignty. Each, in their own way, stood alone. The independence of Angola was not merely a political triumph—it was a spiritual awakening, born from the faith of those who believed that freedom, once glimpsed, must be pursued at any cost.

The Ancient Parallel: The Chronicler and the Revolution

In every age, there have been those who stood alone to record the birth of a new order. Herodotus, the father of history, traveled among the ruins of old empires to tell the story of human struggle. Thucydides chronicled the Peloponnesian War, exiled from his homeland, yet faithful to the truth. Kapuściński walked in their footsteps—a modern Herodotus, writing by candlelight amid the thunder of guns.

Such figures remind us that civilization endures not only through the actions of heroes but through the memory of witnesses. Without the scribe, the victory fades; without the observer, the lesson is lost. Kapuściński’s words, then, are not only about Angola—they are about all moments when the world turns and someone, somewhere, must record the truth so that the generations to come may understand.

The Lesson for Those Who Listen

From Kapuściński’s solitude, we learn a profound lesson: that independence, whether of nations or of souls, demands both courage and witness. The struggle for freedom is not complete when chains are broken; it is complete only when the story of that struggle is told, remembered, and understood. Every age needs its witnesses—those who, though alone, dare to see clearly and speak honestly.

So, too, in our own lives, we must cultivate this courage—to stand firm in our convictions, even when others turn away. To speak truth where silence is safer. To observe with compassion where judgment is easy. In doing so, we honor both the journalist and the freedom-fighter, the chronicler and the revolution itself.

The Eternal Flame of Independence

Thus, Ryszard Kapuściński’s words endure as both testimony and teaching. He reminds us that the birth of independence—for a nation, a people, or a person—is a lonely path. There will be times when we find ourselves the only ones standing, the only ones watching, the only ones willing to bear witness. But if we hold fast, if we record the truth faithfully and act with conscience, then our solitude becomes sacred.

For in every generation, there must be those who stand where the world is being remade—alone perhaps, but not abandoned; uncertain perhaps, but unafraid. Such is the duty of all who love freedom: to see, to remember, and to tell. And through that act, the spirit of independence lives on—not just in nations, but in every human heart that refuses to look away.