It was excellent queuing weather. We waited for the downpour to pass, had a lazy morning with tea in bed, and after breakfast, joined the line of people waiting to vote in the local government elections. Our allocated venue was the Blue School ( it has another name, but Pinelanders have forever named the primary schools in the area according to the colour of the uniforms.) It was Daughter's first time voting, so there was an extra zing in the air. She had done her prep work - finding out who was standing on which policy platforms, deciding where to put her X. Andrew found a friend (well, our lovely neighbour) to chat to to, Daughter had brought a book, and I was content to just pass the time watching people and thinking.
My thoughts drifted off in two directions. Firstly, I was fairly familiar with the Blue school, as my mother taught there when I was a youngster. At the age of about 7 or so, I would catch a school bus from my primary school in Rondebosch and walk to meet her there and wait until she had finished teaching. It was a bit of an adventure for a 7 year old, and I could feel my thoughts shrinking into small girl mode, feeling important that I was so independent. I pictured Little Me, blue dress, straw hat, t-bar black regulation shoes and a book bag of learning.
Secondly, I was remembering the very wonderful 1994 elections and that voting queue. We were living in a different part of Cape Town then, and the queue was very, very long. As the first democratic elections in South Africa, it represented a birth of some kind for the country. There was joy, relief and excitement in the air, and such a feeling of community and good will. It is also the first - and only- time I have ever fainted.
It was a bit of a surprise to find myself on the ground, surrounded by concerned people and a kindly stranger holding my green umbrella. It took me a moment to figure out what had happened. It turns out that I too was at the beginning of a new era. I was urged to go to the front of the queue along with all the other people who were ill, old or pregnant. But there was no way I wanted to miss out on this historic occasion, so the three of us - Andrew, me and the Being who turned out to be our auspicious Son, resumed our wait.
Making our mark in the world is a way of owning our right to be an individual and to engage with community. That X in the block is so much more than a vote for a political party. It is a sign that my opinion matters, my decision counts. I am here, World, and what I think matters just as much as (and no more than) the next person.
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| Mother Daughter bonding moment. The zany nail is hers,obviously! |
