Revelations heard in the voters queue

What a week it has been. Last week saw what was probably the most astonishing election in the history of this country. It was certainly the big surprise of post-apartheid South Africa; a roller coaster ride of exhilaration and despair, depending on which side of the political divide you happened to be.

To boot, it was a public holiday, the morning sunny and bright and the queues began to form early, winding and curling around themselves as more and more people arrived to make their mark, to have a say in determining their future.

The IEC officials were friendly, caring and efficient, walking the queues to assist the elderly and disabled, guiding them to chairs at the front. It was good to see that kindness and consideration still exist in a South Africa where it is the shocking and inhumane which most grab our attention. After an election campaign which some parties based on race it was excellent to see a glimmer of our faded rainbow, and friendliness shown to all, regardless of colour, age or creed. Excitement rose the closer one got to the little white tent where history was about to be made.

Funny thing about queues is that one finds oneself having conversations and exchanging pleasantries with a variety of people and at times discussing the most personal and delicate of subjects. I even heard about an aunt’s Cooper’s droop worries and her obsession with wearing a good bra even though her advanced years would indicate that Cooper was an old friend. At 80 it is to be hoped that the old dear at least felt perky in the mornings after her first cup of tea. Along with this discussion came the jokes and little ditties last heard from leering boys in Std 5.

Also on the election queue agenda were the pros and cons of certain hair removal methods and then the entire queue heard from a loud woman about a grabbing sibling who had purloined most of mom’s goods, even the linen, when mama decided it was time to bid farewell to her warring tribe forever.

If I had encountered this chatty bunch in the supermarket queue, waiting for the teller to pause in her conversation with a colleague long enough to do a few minutes work, and move the queue along, I may have parted with a smile in greeting, not a revelation about my hirsute legs.

It seems that when there is a level of unity, be it in a queue of voters, or crowds gathered at the scene of a tragedy or anticipating a fun evening, people drop the barriers and masks and become real. Total strangers talk to each other. We need more of that openness.

Yet another public holiday on Tuesday, one that goes by the patronising name of Women’s Day as if the female species were a lesser breed. The thing about all these public holidays, excuses to not be at work or school, is that one gets used to working a shorter week and when the real stuff does come around it’s quite exhausting putting in five days on the trot.

Then there are those really clever people who work out well in advance how one or two strategically placed days leave will give a person up to 10 days holiday.

What this does for productively and the cost to the economy is of little import to people intent on a long break.

With elections done and dusted, Women’s Day gone, there are no more chances let to snag some free days until year end. Heritage Day in September is on Saturday, Reconciliation Day in December is a Friday and Christmas Day is on Sunday. Attempting to link any of those will take all your leave and more.