Editor – When I arrived at the polling station to vote, there was hardly anyone in the queue.
I saw police officers and IEC officials huddled under blankets. Yes, I know it was cold, but it looked so unprofessional.
The lady who eventually found my name on a list did not even bother to look up to see if my ID actually belonged to me. I was about 18 when the photo was taken… I look nothing like that now.
At each place, they insisted on taking my ID document, but not once did they compare me to my photo – all they were interested in was seeing the tiny slip of paper proving I was entitled to vote.
I was given my three ballot papers and made my way behind the cardboard box to make my marks. As I left the hall, I thought back to 1994 and the pride I had when I voted for Madiba. Now there is just the motions to go through.
I wonder if it is because I am white that I felt this election was not for me? I wonder if everyone felt the same or am I the only one who regrets getting up on that Wednesday morning and casting my vote? I have a stained finger nail as testimony and thanks for my vote. But I still feel cheated out of a sense of purpose. And it has nothing to do with who won.
