JUST A THUMBPRINT

In 2011, I participated in the on-going electoral process by staying glued to my radio set because I had not yet come of age. Hot 99.5 FM gave me minute by minute update on the happenings in my state and beyond and somehow I gradually connected with the voting process and kept late till the results were announced. Come November, 2014 when another round of fresh registration begun, I swore that there was no gallop that would stop my leggedes benz from reaching a registration centre.

I spent two consecutive days at two different centres without succeeding until I went to a third centre, where after the second day of shortened early morning sleep, struggling and enjoying the showers of blessings the sun sent down on me, I managed to smile at one of the village indigenes who smuggled me into the hall to get captured. That was one day I did not regret being a girl.  I went back home to the cheering of my family for my courage and persistence. If only they knew that the main reason I endured all that suffering was because I was graduating the next year and needed a substitute for my school ID card. I encountered similar challenges when I went to collect my temporary and eventually permanent voter’s card but at the end it was all worth it.

Prior to this election, political banter and campaigning amongst the youth was at top notch on social media to the extent that it became a source of amusement for me. Whenever I felt sad my next companion was comments and posts on Facebook and Twitter alike. Though it was encouraging that my generation had stepped up their game and decided to exercise our rights as citizens of Nigeria, I could not just shake off the conviction that the noise was going to end where it started.

Election proper came to light and school population began to thin out. I too went home as I had decided to complete the journey I started during the registration process. The number of soldiers that greeted my arrival into the barracks was like they had decided to do a moonlight dance, trucks and men alike were being deployed for security purposes and then came a feeling that the election tomorrow was going to be a different one.

8:20 AM I found myself with few others at Umuanunu the village where my polling unit was located, and soon enough which was like in an hours’ time I got accredited. As I waited patiently in queue for my turn to reach (I was number 3 on the line but was number 27 to get accredited. Naija my country) the old men and women did not fail to crack me up with complaints and all manner of excuses they gave to ensure they got a consideration. Healthy women became sick, strong knees became weak with arthritis but then who are we to complain. These were people older than my parents who braved the sunny weather just to come and vote. When the card reader failed to recognise their print, they rubbed their thumb against the wall and massaged it to increase the flow of blood. I laughed hard at this but then looking around I saw them shifting with their chairs and recliners as the queue crawled along, shouting at the INEC staff to hurry up and even educating themselves on how to place their thumbprint, the candidates for each party. The occasional finger wag and curses thrown at the security officials to remind them to keep an open eye on what was going on couldn't be missed.

This was pure PASSION and PATRIOTISM being exhibited by people who the government turns a blind eye to. Apart from the pension and gratuity payment little is being done to cater for the aged unlike in other developing countries.

I compared the patience of the old man trudging forward with his walking stick to my fellow youths who just came around to see if money was going to be disbursed. This same youths that are always embedded in every 1000 point agenda of every government. The irony of the whole situation was disheartening. If only we channelled the same energy shown on social networks. If only we showed more concern and made extra efforts, maybe then our votes would count.

Just a Thumbprint

I left the centre at 4:28 PM after I had cast my vote and up till then the ratio of aged to youth kept increasing. During my walk back home, I reflected on my first voting experience and couldn't decide if the stress was worth repeating in two weeks’ time. For one it was too manual a process, with so many flaws, the sun bath that left my handkerchief damp isn't something I relish and that nagging question of if I hadn't just wasted a whole day which I would have utilised studying for my tests.

At least I made the effort, fulfilled all moral, social and personal obligation and no matter how little contributed to ensuring Nigeria is a better place for me.  I am optimistic and certain that the change we all need is lurking around the corner and could come in form of just a thumbprint.