It's Friday morning and my wife and I drive to the voter registration centre at KIRDI in South C. We are met by five young IEBC clerks, two girls and three boys (yes, they are so young and I am so old, so no disrespect meant!). They are friendly and respectful, even responsive to my old school humour.
The two girls attend to us. They take our IDs, give us a form to fill our details, type them into the BVR laptops, take our fingerprints and photos and give us our new voters cards. All in less than five minutes.
As we walk out of the centre, my eye catches a poster on the door that reminds me, that my vote is my future. I whisper a silent prayer for the land of my birth, now besieged by vultures currently forming coalitions of impunity circling for the kill, and I hope against hope that as many as are qualified will register and prepare to vote for real change when our date with destiny finally dawns upon our troubled shores...
The two girls attend to us. They take our IDs, give us a form to fill our details, type them into the BVR laptops, take our fingerprints and photos and give us our new voters cards. All in less than five minutes.
As we walk out of the centre, my eye catches a poster on the door that reminds me, that my vote is my future. I whisper a silent prayer for the land of my birth, now besieged by vultures currently forming coalitions of impunity circling for the kill, and I hope against hope that as many as are qualified will register and prepare to vote for real change when our date with destiny finally dawns upon our troubled shores...
