I beat Guka (the cock that hangs out with my chicken) to waking up having set my alarm for five thirty a.m, today, March 4, 2013, Election Day Kenya. I finally jumped into the car a few minutes after 6am and drove off to find this 'borehole' - lucky I overheard a neighbour mention the change in venue. (I had registered just up the road and as far as I know, the place is not known as ‘borehole’...in fact, I have never heard of this ‘borehole’. In my sleepy mind, I was sure that I would walk in, quickly vote and get back home for breakfast, a shower then make my way to work, all before 10a.m. Shock on me! First, the borehole place was very very far away. There was one car in front of me all the way and as we neared the place, I noticed people in a line that was quickly growing longer as I watched, and parked. I joined the queue and after a few idle comments learnt that borehole ni 'kule kwenye hiyo tank'. What! What tank?
It took me a while to focus on a far off tank high up in the air that became clearer as the morning cold lifted with the warming sun... Oh yes, the sun. Yesterday was harsh and today promises nothing less...I had thrown on jeans and flats and hadn't bothered to change the turtleneck jersey I had slept in, plus I has a scarf on my head (I washed my hair only yesterday, Syoki dust inajulikana... ) and a heavy jacket. Si I had thought this was going to be a walk in, walk out affair…?
Clearly, I am not the only one who underestimated Syoki’s population. And surely, is this the only polling station here? You can't be serious!
The line was not moving much, just a few steps every now and again apparently because the station was not yet open…all the tents were not up yet…at 7:30a.m.Hmph!. So I decided to go sit in the car for a while and catch up in a bit. It didn’t take too long for me to start looking for breakfast and I got out and bought some cookies, yoghurt and water from a nearby shop…but wait, is there anywhere to pee? I won't drink the water soon...And how come those guys who walk around with tea dispensers like at railways at night are not here…they would make money if they were.
“I need to sit. And I need a hat! How did I not carry a hat, even after reading the 'fab girl's guide to voting'? I did not plan to be here when the sun got up and began to blaze. Now where are my shades jameni?” There was no way I was going to drive all the way back home so I called my favourite bodaboda guy and sent him home to fetch me a seat and my hat (fortunately, my shades were in my hand bag and my red brolly in the boot). And I got comfortable with people on the queue commenting 'umejipang...' as they passed by. If only they knew...
“Ok. This is not going to work for me. It’s going to noon and though I can now see the tank in the sky clearly and the tops of the tents at the station, the mass of humans on the ground in front of the tents is really large....I honestly don't see myself voting today. But did I wake up at 5:30a.m to spend the last 5 hours in the scorching sun and turn back before the station is closed....no”. So I picked up my chair and moved on up with the line of voters.
Two hours later and I have hardly moved forward. “…can't do this...and my press card can't even help me, I need to be IEBC certified...” I eventually had to leave and go all the way to town to get an accreditation card so I could walk up to the top of the queue and vote in a record 30 minutes. And it’s a good thing I did because when I got to the start of the queue, there was problems! Suffice it to say that IEBC had not trained their people in handling the public. I know it’s not easy to do so but the basics of walking around, listening and answering a few questions here and there will give people the impression that they are in touch with and more importantly are being listened to by the organisers. For real.
Basically, the polling station area was a disaster. There were posters marking the queues, yes, but they were not placed well...the public could not see them. Then the lines were not moving. As I walked past a particularly long queue, (which I had just jumped…you do want to read your paper tomorrow, no? Well I work at the papers…) I was stopped by a member of the public who could not find his queue and asked if I could help. The problem was first, that the posters were not visible and second, which name should he be using to find his queue, the first or the surname?
Apparently, we registered with our first name. I have no problem with that but I wonder if the IEBC were not trying too hard to overhaul the system and in so doing, throw out some good stuff. Surely, is it not the surname we on all official registration first, then the other names? Even during graduation ceremonies it is the surname that's called out: 'Onyango A, Onyango C, Onyango M,' and 'Mwangi J, Mwangi R, Mwangi'.
There will be any number of people with the same first name who will crowd the queue while those with names starting with the less common letters 'F,H,I, R,Z and such will have the IEBC election guys dozing at their table and twiddling their thumbs having done away with their queues in no time.
If the system had changed, the IEBC should have included that information in their nationwide communication campaigns and educated the public way before today. I would have helped the poor official directing the public on which queue to join and saved him the stress of reading identity cards pushed infront of his face by people asking him where their names fall…queue ’JA’ or queue ‘JU’…!
The Syoki sun did not help one bit either…
My IEBC badge attracted unhappy members of the public who were sending subtle messages suggesting that they could riot, and I was very happy to help by walking around looking for the guys in luminous green half-jackets from IEBC, to communicate their queries and problems, I even went to find the presiding officer and told her that her clients were requesting audience with her as soon as possible and since they couldn’t leave the line, they needed her to come to them. She said she would see them. (Did she?) Yes, I did that because I was wearing the badge and the public needed some contact with IEBC officials.
Finally, I resist and refuse to talk about the lack of sanitary facilities which I think would have been no problem had the polling station been located at a school (isn’t this one of the reasons why children were sent on a long mid-term so the public could access the space and necessary facilities there? I could be wrong...) or the fact that clearly, the stakeholders were not consulted while picking a location, or in the decision to have just one and not three or more polling stations in Syokimau. They would probably have saved us the time and my neighbour, whom I found on the queue at 6:30am (and did not have the good fortune of 'knowing people' or working at a media house with the possibilities of acquiring the necessary accreditation) would not have stood for 12 hours. She would have voted before 6pm.
May the lessons therein be learned.
Need I say that I drank my bottle of water, bottoms up, on the way back home?
