Thread by @antonyaltbeker

Today is the 25th anniversary of one of the best days in my life. This is not just because it’s the 25th anniversary of possibly the greatest day in SA history, but because I personally had one of the best days of my life. 1/n

I was 24 and, despite that, I was in charge of a voting station in Alexandra township. 2/n

That was not my original post, but the day before I told my boss that I didn’t want to watch the election in the suburbs & asked if there was anything else I could do. Turned out there was, and so, along with 8/9 other IEC officials I went to our station before dawn to set up 3/n

We were driven in by a driver. But, when we got there, we found no voting materials. No ballot papers. No invisible ink. No rolls of IFP stickers (The IFP had joined the election late, so its name wasn’t on the ballot paper; we had to physically affix stickers to each ballot) 4/n

This was a surprise. We had no cellphones (it was 1994, and few people did), and I told the driver to tell them back at the office. 5/n

We set up what we could: the voting booths, our tables, the posters. I was in charge, so I had to tell a colleagues that her headdress was a little to close to the colours of the ANC, so she should remove it. 6/n

And then we waited for the rest of the materials. 7/n

And waited. 8/n

And waited. 9/n

By 9 or 9:30, we had a queue of 5000 people outside the station, but they couldn’t vote because we had nothing. I walked to a nearby station that had the same problem. No materials. No news. 10/n

I went back to the voting station and thought, “this is bullshit. I’m going to go into to town to get what we need.” I had no car. But the ANC observer did, and I got him to drive me. (He charged me R10 for fuel money). 11/n

We got to town in no time: the streets were dead quiet, and I raced up to talk to my boss and get materials.

This is where things got weird. 12/n

My boss, a middle aged medical professional in real life, took me aside and (and I swear this is true and that these are her exact words), said, “There has been sabotage on a massive scale. War has broken out on the East Rand.” 13/n

Reader, I would not lie to you. That is exactly what she said. 14/n

Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. I thought. Or words to that effect. 15/n

What to do? 16/n

I decided that I would try at least to get my station voting. That seemed the thing to do.

But how? 17/n

As I was contemplating that question in the buzz of the office, with people seeming to be scrambling around. I saw someone put two boxes of ballot papers on a desk.

I stole them. 18/n

I walked up to the desk. Picked them up and walked off. 19/n

I still needed IFP stickers and invisible ink. 20/n

The IFP stickers were no problem: in the foyer of the IEC building there were large piles of rolls of stickers that must have had 10,000 to a roll. I picked up two. Hung each on an arm, and exited the building. 21/n

Back at the car, I persuaded the ANC observer to take me past the polling station in Joubert Park, where voting seemed surprisingly peaceful for a country at war. 22/n

I begged the official in charge for a bottle of invisible ink. I told him that people would die in Alex if we didn’t start voting and that I needed his ink. I literally had tears in my eyes. I promised I would get him a replacement (I never did). 23/n

Now I had everything I needed to get voting underway: ballots, ink and stickers. But did I really want to do this? 24/n

Remember, as far as I am concerned at this point, shit had hit the fan. There was no sign of this in town and the radio didn’t offer any clues. But my boss had told me of massive sabotage and war in the East Rand. 25/n

I decided that I was going to head back to Alex, but that if smoke were rising, then I would ask to be dropped off before we entered the township. 26/n

But, of course, everything was quiet. There was no smoke. No sirens. Just long queues of people wanting to vote. 27/n

So we went to the polling station. By this point we’d been gone no more than an hour, and, while we’d been away, IEC logistics , bless them, had dropped off a pile of boxes of ballot papers and multiple bottles of invisible ink. 28/n

But no IFP stickers, without which we could not start voting. 29/n

But I had IFP stickers. Two rolls’ worth. 30/n

We could vote. And we could vote, then people would hear that voting had started, and there would be no need for trouble. 31/n

Busy, busy, busy.

Then we opened the doors. 32/n

It was like magic: opening those doors meant that people could vote for the first time ever.

It was very hard not to cry. 33/n

And then I had an epiphany.

I had TWO rolls of stickers. If I took one to the neighbouring station, then there would be two voting stations open.

I left the station with a roll of stickers on my arm, and walked down the street. 34/n

As I got closer, I started to pass 100s of people sitting in the sun, waiting to vote at a station that hadn’t opened its doors.

And they’d been told that the reason the station hadn’t started was that it didn’t have IFP stickers. 35/n

And there I was, walking past them with a roll of stickers visibly hanging from my arm.

So as I past them, people stood up and started to clap and cheer and sing. 36/n

This was among the greatest moments of my life, and, reader, for a young, white lefty such as myself, it was the ultimate wet dream.

37/n

Anyway. I got to the second station. Gave them the stickers and, good son that I am, went to look for a phone to call my parents to tell them that, whatever they saw on TV about the East Rand, I was safe. 38/n

And that’s how I discovered that war had not, in fact, broken out. 39/n

The next day was even better. But that story is too long and crazy for a tweetstorm.

Fin\