The build up to this election has been the most feverish in years. There were political scandals, campaigning was more extreme than ever before, and less than a year before the most important date in our political calendar, we got a new president. Not to mention tension over land reforms, a water crisis, Eskom under scrutiny… It has never been a more uncertain time in our country. Yet at the end of all the speculation, the questions from family members and Uber drivers – “Oh I don’t know who I’m voting for, what about you?” and predictions and ridiculous campaigns (I’m looking at you Aunty Pat), things emerged exactly as they always have except, again, for Aunty Pat. GOOD for her!
Believe it or not, at the ripe old age of 23, it was my first time voting. I had an opportunity to vote in the 2016 local elections but I don’t really remember why I didn’t. I think I was caught somewhere between not wanting to and also missing the registration dates. Fast forward 3 years, and I’ve had a change of heart. For all my ill feelings towards politics (as a politics major no less!) I think at a certain point if we want certain changes to occur on the ground level we may have to bite the bullet and make some moves towards improving legislation.
My experiences registering and voting were both quite similar, and surprising. I was back home during the final registration bloc in January and I decided to do the things. Luckily there was a school quite close to my house and I decided that if I go later in the day I’ll likely avoid the queues. I was right – it took me a total of five minutes. However, because I was coming to Cape Town for school I was forced to re-register. Once again, I was rather lucky, with an IEC truck popping up on campus and after another 10 minutes, I could officially vote.
The day of the election was odd. During a week of uncharacteristically warm weather, the 8th of May turned out to be a dreary day with strong winds and rain every now and then. I didn’t leave my bed until 2pm, due to being hungover. After checking where I was supposed to vote, I took a shower and walked with my friend to Westerford High School. The rain had calmed down at this point, and there was a certain hush in the air. We followed the IEC posters and finally found our way to the entrance. There were security guards and a tent selling DA t-shirts. We ignored them and made our way inside. There was no queue, my gamble paying off once again. We received the mark I’d been seeing all over WhatsApp statuses and made my way inside. Five minutes of voting, another 10 waiting for my friend, and we were making our way home. I guess they were right when they said the most mundane things are the most important.