Elections 2009 Revisited

Unbelievable long lines for my sleepy suburb. Is spent 2 hours waiting for my turn to ink my thumb. The larger majority of my fellow voters still reflected that this had been previously deemed a white Afrikaans-speaking group area. The line snaked out of the primary school and into the street. Behind me a tall young man of Asian-descent kept the ear phones of his MP3 cellphone firmly in his ears the whole time. In front of me an elderly couple joked in Afrikaans and jostled lovingly with each other. Immediately in front of them a gaggle of smartly dressed young adults chatted away in Sesotho. The lines grew longer and longer throughout the morning. A young ‘coloured’ couple wheeled their little baby in a pram.
The mood started off a bit grim. Maybe it was the low hanging clouds and the chilly wind. But....surprisingly few gripes. Just a strange quiet determination. Maybe a hint of expectation? Resolve maybe?
The police moved us off the street and into the school grounds. The number and diversity of the group came into view. It was going to be long wait for all of us...but hey...
This was the Rainbow Nation. Present and in attendance. Quite a bit jaded. The 1994 lustre gone. But here anyway. Standing in orderly lines. Doing democracy thing.
It was probably the first time most of us could actually appreciate the integration that had taken place in this lower middle class suburb.
The time ticked by. Outside some entrepreneurs sold coffee and pancakes.
A lady with a parrot on her shoulder took her place in the line. Gospel music blared meekly from a cellphone a few places in front of me. A wannabee punk tried his best to look out place with a torn jeans and a half-hearted attempt at a Sid Vicous Mohawk.
All around conversations piped up in Afrikaans, Sesotho and Zulu. Not a lot of English here.
A boisterous father joked loudly if it was possible to vote slower. A young other played with her kids on the school grounds while her husband kept her place.
Then it happened. In English darem. Someone looking like (acting President) Kgalema Motlante’s younger brother (smart, presidential and a greying goatee) and an Afrikaans-speaking man more-or-less his same age, started joking about the main topic in South African politics. And what about? JZ, who else. Just before it could go anyway, the discussion unfortunately broke off as the younger Motlante had to take a call on his cell.
The rest of us stood quietly. Grimly? Militant? Not really. Not at all in fact.
More like the look I remember outside the Wits University exam halls. This was something that had to be done. Maybe this could work? Maybe the ANC could be beaten?
Then it was time to vote. Check ID. Check voters roll. Ink on the thumb. Collect ballots. One last think. Final decide between which of the other Guys you vote for.
Then it was over.
As it turned out the middle class Velvet Revolution was a non-starter. The ANC’s 107 year-old brand held and 65% of South African voters chose to give them one more chance to do a better job than the last time.
But maybe there was something left behind in those long lines. Maybe ...?
Selah