Hi friends. I hope that you are all well. My mood is certainly improving now that the weather is. hehe
It's been a big couple of weeks for South Africa and South Africans everywhere. April 27th, 1994 was the first time ALL South Africans were allowed to vote in the national elections and the first time the African National Congress won. On April 27th 2014, we celebrated 20 years of democracy. It was also the first time we, as a new democratic nation, were celebrating our freedom without Nelson Mandela here to share in our joy. (I must warn you that from here onward, this post may be mushy and sentimental. I can't write his name without tearing up.)
I remember bits and pieces of that first democratic election. I was a teenager and in high school. My parents were going for Hajj (the holy pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina that every Muslim must do at least once in their lives) and my brother and I were going to be home alone. My mother was really worried. Here were my parents embarking on the most important spiritual journey of their lives and they had no idea of what to expect when they got back. Civil unrest, maybe war, definitely some kind of revolution. And as Indians, where would we stand? What would happen to us? Ever the practical one, my dad stocked our kitchen cupboards with canned foods and long-life milk and said that if things got dangerous, to stay indoors. But nothing awful happened. The ANC won. Nelson Mandela became president and thanks to him, the country avoided civil unrest.
That was then. Today, the country's leaders are greedy and corrupt. Our current president is certainly not a man 'of the people' - unless they're his own people. He has squandered millions of Rands and has left millions of people disillusioned and apathetic. Nobody wants to vote for him or the ANC, but who else can they vote for?!
Last Wednesday, voting was open for South Africans abroad. I didn't know who I was going to vote for. I knew who I wasn't going to vote for. I woke up that morning and it was cold and rainy and I didn't feel like going all the way to Manhattan just to make a mark on a piece of paper. But I did. Because I told myself that I would be a better, more responsible person. And because after attending Madiba's memorial service, I promised him that I would do more to fight for freedom and justice.
As I stood at the voting booth at the embassy in New York City, I remembered my dad telling me how unforgettable it was for him - his first time voting in 1994. He was in Medina and they had made special concessions for South Africans to vote in their hotels. This was the first time in his life that he got to have a voice, and he did so from the holy land. What a proudly beautiful moment that was for him. And here I was, having my own little moment in NYC. My eyes welled up with the thought that my grandparents, uncles and aunts had lived and died in SA without ever getting to do what I was about to - make a simple 'X' on a piece of paper and hopefully change the future.
I know that my vote alone cannot change South Africa. But if we all remain indifferent, we cannot make any difference whatsoever. We owe it to ourselves to vote. We owe it to Nelson Mandela, to Mahatma Gandhi, to all the people who fought for us and all the people who died for us to have the right to make an X on a piece of paper.
