Purple Thumbs and a Pink Crate

Because nothing brings South Africans together quite like democracy, a long queue and a strong opinion about how it should have been organised.

There are certain things that unite South Africans. Rugby. A good braai. Potholes. The petrol price. And the deep, personal belief that, given ten minutes and a clipboard, we could sort out whatever administrative disaster is unfolding in front of us.

Elections bring out the very best of this national talent.

A public holiday with a purpose

I love a public holiday as much as the next person. Waking up on a Wednesday knowing nobody needs me to approve a payment or explain why a reconciliation doesn’t balance is one of life’s quiet joys.

But this one was election day, and Gerhard and I take voting seriously. Whatever your politics, if you want a say in your country’s future, you have to turn up.

Besides, I’m South African. Standing in a queue and complaining about it is practically my cultural heritage.

The queue that ate Wednesday

We arrived to find that a large part of the neighbourhood had decided to vote at exactly the same time.

The queue didn’t so much stand outside a door as wind through the building, along balconies, around corners and across walkways. It was less a voting queue and more a guided architectural tour. At one point I spotted people on a completely different level, patiently waiting. For all I knew, they’d started on Tuesday.

At least the inside had aircon. I’ve learnt to celebrate these things.

And, as South Africans do when stuck together for any length of time, we started talking. One comment about the queue, and five minutes later you’re discussing municipal management and the price of cheese. By ten minutes, you know where they live, what they do and whether they agree it could have been organised better.

They always agree.

The Complaints Committee is officially established

Somewhere along the balcony we met Ronald and Tsidi. Gerhard and Ronald quickly discovered they had something important in common.

Opinions. Strong ones. Mostly about queue management.

I would love to tell you I stood quietly by, smiling indulgently. That would be a lie. I spend my working life dealing with processes, controls and people who treat deadlines as optional. You cannot expect me to stand in a queue for over an hour without offering an operational assessment.

And so the Complaints Committee was born.

Founding members: Gerhard, Ronald and yours truly.
Primary objective: identify improvements to the voting process.
Secondary objective: complain about them.
Venue: wherever the queue happened to be.
Minutes: none.
Action items: numerous, all allocated to people who weren’t there.

Between us, we could have reorganised the entire voting station before breakfast. Whether any of it would have worked is another matter. That has never stopped a South African committee.

And we laughed the whole way. Sometimes South African complaining isn’t really anger. It’s social commentary, entertainment and team building, all at once.

The pink crate economy

While the committee was conducting its performance review, someone else had quietly solved the actual problem.

A young man appeared with a bright pink plastic crate full of cold drinks and water. Then another, with biscuits. Then a third, with chicken mayo sandwiches.

No stall. No branding. Just a pink crate and a perfect understanding of the target market: hundreds of hungry, thirsty people with nowhere to go.

We were discussing efficiencies. They were making money. Someone is always making a plan. That’s South Africa for you.

The alphabet saves the day

After about an hour and twenty minutes, officials split the queue by surname.

Our surname is Scholtz. And on this particular morning, S was an excellent letter.

We were redirected and suddenly found ourselves almost at the front. One moment we were shuffling along with the rest of the nation. The next, we were practically flying. It felt like an unexpected upgrade on an international flight. No champagne, admittedly, and the destination was a voting booth, but still.

I have never felt such affection for the alphabet.

The Complaints Committee would like it noted that this was exactly what we’d been recommending all along. Or something similar.

Citizen number 4372

I was told not to forget my number on the voters’ roll, or the official would have to hunt through thousands of names on paper while everyone behind me grew steadily crankier.

Fortunately, I’m a bean counter. Remembering numbers is the one party trick I have.

4372. 

Somebody had found me on a list. I felt strangely accomplished.

Then the ballot papers, the cross, and the purple ink. Purple voting ink, I can report, is not considerate of a fresh pink manicure. Some sacrifices must be made for one’s country.

My Garmin said 08:51 when we walked out. Two hours to cast a vote.

I didn’t regret a minute.

Why I love this country

We have problems. Plenty of them. Some serious, some frustrating, and some that make you wonder whether the person who designed a process has ever tried using it.

I can be critical of my country. I can also love it fiercely. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

Wednesday reminded me why. It wasn’t the queue or the ink or my excellent surname. It was the people. Ronald and Gerhard bonding over a shared grievance. Tsidi turning strangers into acquaintances. The guys with the pink crates. My colleagues sending photos of their purple thumbs.

We didn’t need to agree on politics. We just turned up, together, for something that matters, and somehow turned a two-hour queue into a good morning.

We went out to vote. We came home with purple thumbs, new friends and enough material for a blog post.

As for the Complaints Committee, I suspect its work is far from finished. This is South Africa. There will always be something to complain about.

But there will always be something to love, too.

I love my country. Not because she’s perfect. Because she’s mine.