Running to the polling station…. I should have walked

Running to the polling station…. I should have walked

If there is a time that I have ever enjoyed a voting experience, then that time was today.  The main reason being that I decided not to lose any sleep over the elections this year.  Literally, did not lose any sleep.  I have always gone to the polling station by six in the morning in all the previous elections that I have participated in… and they have been many, since the 90s.  Unfortunately, I have always left past eleven, despite reporting at the wee hours.  

This time it was different.  I slept through my morning, despite the loud vuvuzela noises that had started around four.  By five they had gone too loud that sleep was almost impossible, but I still did sleep.  I did not care about the morning rush.  I almost did not care whether I voted or not.  Voting has caused me so much discomfort on those long queues.  Shouldn’t voting be enjoyable?

It finally become enjoyable when I strolled to the polling station at the primary school next to Uthiru roundabout at two-ten in the light of day.  I had actually just gone to this centre to gauge the numbers, with a view of even coming back at a later time.  My initial plan was to vote at around five in the evening, when they are just about to close the station.  I was even ready to be thrown out in case they decided to, in case they deemed me to have been time barred.

However, my observation at that afternoon time at 2.10pm was that the polling centre at the primary school grounds was deserted!  This was strange!  I expected a chaotic ground with lots of people confused, moving around and unsure.  I have even experienced stampedes or two during such.  But this was not to be.  The polling centre was to have 12 stations.  The classrooms were well marked with the labels for ‘Polling station no. 1’, sequentially, all the way to the ‘station no. 12’.  I had already confirmed my details on SMS confirmation by sending my national ID number and DOB to short code 70000.  A message had confirmed that I was registered at this station, and I was on polling station no. 1.

With the grounds this empty, and hardly any queue at any of the classroom entrances that marked the polling station entries, then I surely could still just cast the ballot now, than at five.  I therefore joined the queue of twenty-five other voters that was next to the very first classroom on the train of classrooms.  This was actually the longest queue at the centre.  I could observe that the second classroom door had about five people on queue.  Class three had no one on queue.  The subsequent classrooms had less than ten people queuing.

Twenty-five people ahead was manageable on this sunny day.  I enjoyed the warmth of the sun as I moved slowly towards the entrance of that station no. 1.  I had my earphones on, but was also listening to the chatter going on around.

“Hi ni laini ya letter gani?,” someone behind the person behind me asked.

“Hata sijui, nafikiri ni ‘A’ na ‘B’,” she told the guy.

Of course, that was not true, nor was there an official to guide on who-should-go-where.  The truth was that each polling station had the fully mix of names from A to Z, somehow randomly distributed from the total pool of over 7,000 voter names.  I was letter ‘W’ and on station no. 1 for crying out loud!

Anyway, I got into that station no. 1 at 2.40pm, hardly thirty-minutes since I got to the polling centre.  Five or so other voters were ahead at various stages of the voting process.  I presented my national ID card, then presented my left hand thumb to be scanned onto the Kenya Integrated Elections Management System (KIEMS) kit, a tablet computer that should read the fingerprint and display your details.  These KIEMS kits were already a full debate since morning while I was still asleep and half-listening to the news.  The kits had failed in several stations within the country, with some polling stations reporting almost full failure of all kits.  The numbers were small, but the effects were massive.  

Imagine locking down a whole primary school of 12 stations due to failure of the 12 gadgets assigned to that centre!  Such events had already led to delays in voting in these stations, with some voters even leaving due to apathy.  The officials called it ‘minor and insignificant’, but as a voter, who has queued for hours in past elections and even witnessed people collapse due to long waits, I can tell you that being kept waiting cannot be just brushed off as ‘minor’.

In my case the kit did read my fingerprint and did display my details.  I had to recall when I took that youngish passport photo when they kits were being introduced about six years ago.  This confirmation then enabled me to move to the positions of the next three officials who provided me with six different ballot papers for the different electoral positions of the day.  

The presidential ballot was white, the rest was a mix of colours.  The presidential ballot had only four rows, for the four candidates.  The rest of the positions were long ballot papers with many names!  The worst affected was the member of country assembly (MCA) position that in my view had more than twenty faces – none of which I knew.  The women rep ballot was equally busy, same to that of the senator, governor, and member of parliament.

I was very familiar with the four faces, actually eight, since the presidential candidates were photo’d along with their running mates.  That was the only easy choice of the six ballots.  The other five were a real struggle, going through the many rows of names and pictures and party symbols... then making a choice.

I finally dropped my choices onto the different colour-coded covers of the clear see-through ballot box.  Six drops of ballots to those six boxes on the table at the middle of the classroom marked the end of this big vote.  I got the fingernail of my left pinky marked with indelible ink and then the national ID was handed back.  I had finally voted, in a vote whose campaigns had started in 2017, just after the last election had been done and the presidential results nullified and redone.  It had been a long 5-year of electioneering.  We have seen things in that period.  We had seen friends becomes foes and foes become friends.  We have seen names called and name-calling done.  I was just glad that it was over.

I was out of the polling station no. 1 at exactly 2.45pm and out of the primary school polling centre a minute later.  It was however not all joy through the republic.  Those who had the KIEMS frustration had their delays, but the big story was the cancellation of county gubernatorial elections for Mombasa (641,913 voters) and Kakamega (844,551 voters).  These close to 1.4M voters would only be given 5 ballot papers, since the governors ballot would be missing.  MP elections in Nakuru Rongai had also been postponed due to ballot paper misprints.  

These cancelled electoral positions would now have to be voted for on August 23, two weeks from today.  Was the voter turnout just low, or were voters waiting for five o’clock as I was initially?  My estimation was just 50% turnout, based on the queues that I was seeing!  That would mean 22M registered voters would only show up to the 11M mark.  What is going on here?

I am just glad that I did not queue for so long this time round.  I was however cognizant that some places in Kenya were experiencing long queues due to failed kits.  So, when the election officials say that “200 failed kits out of 46,229 is not significant”, then I just wish that they could spend a full day on the queue and know that it is significant when you are affected by a delay due to a failed kit.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, August 9, 2022

Indelible Ink

Indelible Ink

I hold the Motorola on my left hand, toying with the clip, only to realize that my left pinky nail is getting discoloured.  Discoloured, yes.  The ‘pink’ ink that was painted on Wednesday is slowing ‘peeling’ off.  That very Wednesday when I queued from 6.30am to 12.30pm to cast a ballot in the quest to select 6 leaders from local to national level.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

“Why do they do that?,” the daughter asks, noting that my gaze is examining the residual effect of the colouring.  The growing nail has created a distinct semicircle of colour.  The upper part of the nail is completely discoloured.  I have scrubbed the damn nail and it does not seem to be willing to get cleaned.   That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

Back to the question, I explain that the mark signifies that a registered voter had cast their ballot.  Its visibility means a recent vote.  Its lack thereof means the person did not vote.  It segregates the patriots from the ‘don’t care’ on voting day.  It is now four days later, we are glued to the screen waiting for this election process to get over by the announcement of the final winner.  This does not negate the state of the pinky.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

The radio crackles, “There is so much noise, shouting, activity… over.”
My own vicinity is not spared either, there is noise, shouting, activity.  There is more here, blowing of vuvuzelas, some singing (or attempt to), whistling, honking.  Some chatter!  Even a blackout on the main street lights adds to the collection of happenings on this wee hour of the night.  It is past midnight and it seems no one wants to sleep today.  Ordinarily I would be two hours in dreamland.  This is not ordinary.  I am expected to be on vigil.  “Stay vigilant,” was the instruction.

The radio crackles, “Confirm status… over.”
“It is almost one o'clock for crying out loud, over!,” I am very much tempted to shout that, but once the left thumb is pressing the channel engage button, the mouth utters that, there is noise, shouting, activity.  That shall be the night.  Now I know.

“That finger colour looks bad,” the very daughter who knows these things volunteers the next day at breakfast.  She knows that I have been idolizing over this pinky thing.  She even corrects me that the colour is ‘purple’ and that I can try home dry cleaner to bring back the nail to its natural colour.  However, I know that she has no experience for now.  That ink is surely ‘indelible’… and it stays on the fingernail forever!

I have resolved that I am better off running a 42km, where I spent upto 4 hours on then road, then get my results, medal and certificate there and then.  And just like that... all is done.  Rather than soil (spoil) my pinky, without pink, and wait for four days to end up with almost half the runners feeling like winners while the others being completely lost on what their status is.  However, whether I shall be on the queue for 6 hours again in five years time, just to get colour on my finger…  The ink shall remain ‘indelible’… and stay on my fingernail forever!

WWB, Nairobi, Kenya, August 12, 2017

Running with an injury – not recommended

Running with an injury – not recommended

The lady behind me just collapsed on the pavement.  This was the fifth hour on the road.  I could feel her pain.  It was the many years of running experience and learning from being in a similar situation that kept me going.  This is how it came about. 

I left the house at 5.40am on Monday, March 4, 2013.  I assumed that the starting lineup would be settling at 6.00am as already advertised.  However, I could see the multitude flocking towards Uthiru roundabout, despite the morning being dark.  By the roundabout I could see the tens of people coming from the Ndumbo flyover.  I could not believe what I saw at the polling station.  There were hundreds of people running around, in utter confusion.  It was dark, the signs were not visible, and there was not one to tell anyone anything.

Lost
“Hi ni laini gani?,” I asked?
“Sijui?,” someone on the queue answered, “But am just queuing”
He was about position 100 on that particular queue.
I moved to the next queue, nobody knew nothing.  There was no signs.  Just “Polling station”.
Finally, it started making sense.  I could make out the direction signs with the names:
“WA - ZZ”
“R - V”
Finally after searching like forever, “AA - CH” (First name)
I joined the queue at about no. 30, only for ‘someone’ to tell us that the queue was ‘the other one’.

We left the queue in a hurry and ran to the next queue, forcing  us to jump over short hedges and barbed wire barriers, to join the next queue, already swelled.  We wanted to gain vantage on the new queue.  It is during the run to the next queue that I jumped over a barbed wire fence and landed on a rock.  My third left toe hid the rock so hard that I collapsed on the grass lawn, only to be pushed up with the struggling masses behind me.  I ended up on the next queue somehow, with over one hundred people ahead.

Long queue
The queue coincidentally lined just next to the washrooms, of the Primary school, which were surely in a bad state.  The stench was unbearable but we had no choice, we had to queue and await our turn to vote.  Before hitting the stench-filled region, the sobriety of the masses led to an agreement to relocate the queue to a more conducive region of the lawns that was a little bit far from the washrooms.  This helped, a little.

The queue was not moving.  I joined the queue about 5.55am and by 8.00am I had not moved an inch.  Then we faced a new struggle.  Some people joined the queue that I had left earlier and insisted that it was the genuine queue.  Those on the new queue protested loudly saying that they had been asked to leave the previous queue to the new one and therefore those on the old queue needed to relocate.  None of the occupants was bulging. 

Both queues were stretching in their hundreds and ending up at the same classroom door, to enter the polling room.  Shouts and name calling rented the air for some time, but finally, there was no agreement.  The final non-agreement was that both queues are maintained and served.  This new arrangements caused further delay.

Assumption
When I left the house in the morning, I had assumed that I would be through with this ‘run’ by ten.  I therefore did not take breakfast knowing very well that I would surely be done in four hours.  I had even put on open shoes, since I assumed the queue would be short and the elements would not come to bear.  I was wrong.  By ten, we had not made much movement on the queue.  Despite this slow motion, the runners were quite determined to endure the run.  It was going to be a long run.  By toe was also starting to hurt.  I could see it swollen.
“Where are you?  When do you expect to be back,” the daughter called.
“I have hardly moved.  At this rate, I shall be home around 4.00pm!,” I responded.

It was at eleven the lady behind me just collapsed.  The fall could have been fatal had she hit the concrete of the veranda.  She was saved by the cushion created by the sea of humanity around her collapse.
“Carry her to the shade,” someone suggested, even as two guys lifted her limp body to the nearby tree.
This elicited debate.
“Are they frustrating us deliberately?,” one asked.
“Is it that they do not want us to vote!,” someone else shouted.
“Riking,” someone else said.  He mean to say, “Rigging”

Stories
There is something that long hours of wait brings about.  And that is small talk and debate.  While in the initial hours everyone was on their own, just quiet and observant, the wait enabled the strangers to start talking.  The stories were many and diverse.  There was the story of Abunuwasi and how he hit the king with a ‘rungu’ after being given the ‘license to kill’ flies.  There was the story of how Kabarak High school regained the top position in KCSE exams 2012 as released last Friday, though I did not take this lightly since I have finalist interests there.  There was the story of how some tribes have amulet that can make two people get stuck.  The folks briefly talked about the English premier league, and the team that was beaten eight goals.  (Am not a fan of that league, if anything, my team is the Chuma Blue IFC, which plays at the annual LR International tournament.  I could therefore just listen in without much ado).  And in reaction to seeing the number of people jumping the queue due to their status, the story of “the most active names” just started…

“Yani hawa watu wa A, B, C ndio wanajua hii mambo kuliko wengine?,” someone asked.
“Why is it that all expectant ladies and those with young ones are only coming to this queue?”
That also brought the story of “babies for hire”, that some women were lending out their babies to be used by those who want to jump the queue.  To resolve this, someone on the queue suggested that the pinky of the children should also be marked by indelible ink after they vote.


Mid-day
Finally, at exactly noon, I went into the polling room.  The first activity was a left-thumb scan to confirm registration.  This displayed the picture I took during registration as a voter.  Thereafter, my ID was taken and checked on the voters role.  I also saw my full names and picture on the printed roll book.  The next phase was being handed six ballot papers and my ID, then shown the marking booth.  I quickly marked the six papers, then dropped them as per colour code onto the respective ballot boxes.  I was done in 3 minutes.  One official, just next to the door, marked my left pinky with indelible ink and I was out of the station – leaving behind a long queue.

One week later, the results are out, there is celebration and disappointment in equal measures, the indelible ink is still indelible, my toe has healed and I have planned a real lunch hour run today.  I have been out of the road since the UNEP marathon.  I just have to be back to the road, today.

On your own
After hitting the Nbumbo hill and finishing the run in 0.50.12, I realized that the road was still the same.  The hills were still as mean as before.  The sun was still was hot was never before.  The dusty created by the vehicles near the ‘tank’ was still chocking.  And the body still felt tired after the run.  I reflected on the pains of democracy, where 50% + 1 carries the day and the other 50% are left to fight another day.  I also reflected on my own field of marathon, where the winner takes the million and those of us who come in 1 hour later and not even an acknowledgment (though we finally get certificates and medals, so the loss has some gains).

Therefore, whichever of the eight candidates that you voted for, or did not, life continues.  Make no mistake, marathoners - you are on your own.  No one, I repeat, no one shall run your run – you have to do it yourself.  Get out of your celebration or mourning and take care of your race – it is in your own hands.

Wanjawa, Wamkaya Barack - Nairobi, Kenya, March 11, 2013