Zukiswa Wanner

Today, it is different. And I hope for all concerned it makes a positive difference. In 2004 when I voted in South Africa’s last presidential elections, I strolled at the voting station and less than 30 minutes later, I was out.

Today, I wake up at six in the morning to prepare my son some porridge. He is still sleeping and when he wakes up, we do our toilette and I put on the news. I know that voting stations are opening at seven so I figure like the last elections, I will go to vote around nine. Not so much because I think that there will be less people but because I want to have use the occasion as a chance to socialise with some of my neighbours. I am one of the lucky few who stays less than 10 minutes away from one of the over 1000 voting stations in the country so I decide to just peep outside to see how many people are showing interest in the election and boy, am I surprised at the crowd.

The polls said it, the energy prior to this election highlighted it, but now IK am seeing it for myself – today, it is different.

It is only 7.45 and already there is a sizeable crowd at the voting station. I there and then decide to just go indoors, get my ID and go and vote immediately to avoid spending my whole day waiting to vote. The morning is cold so I bundle up in a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jacket, woollen hat, socks and tekkies (sneakers).

When I get back to the voting station, the line is already snaking round the corner and a good 300metres long and it is getting longer. It is like its 1994 all over again.

It looks like it will be a long wait so I pat myself on the shoulder that I have Ronnie Govender’s At the Edge and other Cato Manor stories. The beauty of short stories is that they do not generally need as much concentration as novels but the beauty of this particular collection is that national awards’ recipient Ronnie talks of a South Africa that existed before the vote was available to everyone and this makes me appreciate democracy and the ability to vote all the more.

As indicative of my working class neighbourhood, there are people of all races. In front of me is a coloured couple and behind me is an Indian lady. A few feet from me is a white boy wearing a red t-shirt with a heart in ANC colours reading ‘Show your Love for the ANC’ but that is the only person wearing anything that hints at sloganeering. The line is moving slowly initially but I will not give up my place in line for a possibility of a shorter line later which might not come to pass. While in line I receive SMSs, many from the majority ANC party telling me to Vote ANC. One rather verbose one forwarded by a friend of mine who is a strong ANC supporter reads: Cause of death could be complications emanating from a combination of a multiplicity of deadly virus resulting from political kwashiork(sic), illdiscipline(sic) and mostly uncontrollable levels of greed, jealousy, tribalism, factionalism and all other counter-revolutionary isms one can think of. The baby COPE apparently (sic) was never vaccinated as the parents SHIKOTA & THE BIG MAN AT SHELL HOUSE are so CRUEL and irresponsible. No prizes for guessing who I am being told to vote for.

Another friend, a COPE supporter, sends me one less subtle reading: Stand up & be counted. Your vote counts. Vote for CHANGE and DEMOCRACY 4 ALL. U can make a difference. VOTE COPE. Greetings Terror & Mvume.

But by far the funniest  is from my friend Khens which reads: IMPORTANT NOTICE 2 ALL LADIES: VOTE 4 THE PENIS PARTY!!! The only Party that has BALLS and will STAND UP 4 U.

I scroll down my messages wistfully as I think, after today, I shall not be as popular. No-one will send me any SMSs courting me to come to a rally or to vote for them so yet again I become insignificant. After today, no politician will look at me right in the eye via my television screen telling me how good and how right they are for me. After today, Nando’s will probably also pull its hilarious Malema advert (WE DEMAND CHANGE).

But it’s not all doom and gloom.

After today my street lights will not be littered by mugs of politicians and parties. The posters will however become useful elsewhere. I have noticed in the past that they tend to come in handy for some of my enterprising fellow-citizens (I am thinking here of an old poster that I saw in some informal settlement some months back covering the dwellers from the summer rain. The poster said, Vote ANC, A Better Life for All.)

When I get to the door, my ID is checked with an electronic scanner to see whether I am registered. I am given a slip and shuttled in. My ID is checked again and I am directed to go to where my name is so that I could get my name cancelled, my thumb is marked with indelible ink, and I receive my two ballot papers, one for provincial and another for national selection.

I find myself frantically searching for the Penis Party.

There are a lot of dicks on the ballot paper but that party does not seem to exist.

In the end I find myself having to vote for some other party. Sure it is not the Penis Party but I hope that party (or whichever one wins) stands up for me and the rest of its citizens.

I go out outside and feel a rush of emotion and patriotism for this one moment in five years that democracy allows most of my fellow South Africans to speak up for the one minute that we are behind the booth. The last time that I felt that way was when the Springboks got the Webb Ellis trophy in France. It’s a wonderful feeling.

Even when I am questioning in the back of my mind how it’s possible that in a country of 47 million we could have 23 million registered voters.