Where is the voter in all this?

The ink stains on my right hand’s index finger have been a constant reminder, throughout the week, of the unresolved electoral impasse that has taken a toll on my emotions since I voted that Tuesday.

I walked into that polling station with a lot of enthusiasm some time before 5.00pm. I smiled at the officer with a voters’ roll who ignored my pleasantness, asked for my voter registration card and quickly checked my name on the roll before ordering me to dip my finger in the ink.

He later picked up a used tissue that I could tell had been lying on the ground for hours and dried my finger tip while mumbling some words I couldn’t catch. Given the long day he must have had sitting in the sun, I kind of understood why he was low-spirited.

But my enthusiasm did not wane; and I smiled as I made my way to the three polling booths to vote for counsellor, Member of Parliament (MP) and President.

All I saw on the councillor’s ballot paper were strange faces. But I didn’t want to waste the ballot paper, so I ticked on a youthful female candidate. I had followed the 50-50 gender campaign months before the election, so I thought I could support the gender cause in this manner.

My next task was to choose an MP. Again, strange 13 faces greeted me on that ballot paper and I was about to employ the gender reasoning again when at the very bottom of the paper, I saw a familiar face—musician Allan Ngumuya.

Apart from a ‘vote Allan Ngumuya’ poster I had seen on some tree—I can’t remember where—there was nothing I knew about his campaign message. But I enjoy his music and for that reason, I gave him my vote.

Choice of the President was not much of a problem because I had already decided on who to vote for before I left home. I’d listened to the presidential debates, read several articles in the newspapers and although there was none among the candidates who truly inspired me, I made my choice.

Satisfied that I had done my part, I walked out of the centre and headed home to wait for the poll results, which I thought would be ready by Wednesday or latest, Thursday.

I hardly slept for two nights as I was glued to the radio trying to make sense of the vote counting process. Little did I expect that the waiting would be this long and emotionally draining!

Little did I know that immediately I walked out of that polling station, I had lost complete control of my vote, which could now be subject to disagreements and court injunctions that have left me bored, angry and confused.

Political parties are holding countless press conferences to make or dispute rigging allegations; candidates and lawyers are running in all directions to get court injunctions; I see published pictures of ballot papers found in wrong places…

Where am I, the silent voter in all this?