And the fat lady has sung

We arrived in the UK right behind the shock referendum in 2016.  I didn’t fully understand the vote, nor did I have a real vested interest in understanding, the vote was done, what part could I play in this?

But then a snap general election was called in 2017, followed by various council by-elections and an EU election and now the biggest, and probably most historical, general election ever held in the UK.

I voted in every single one, not only to be part of the oldest democracy in the world, but also because I really wanted the experience.

And boy…has the experience been something we as Saffas cannot comprehend.

Shortly after arriving, we registered on the electoral role, as encouraged on multiple immigration pages.  We duly received a little card telling us exactly where to vote, which came in the post and the novelty was almost too much to stand! The card clearly says you don’t need to take it with to the polling station…but it says little else.  So we dutifully gathered our passports, brand new UK licenses, proof of address and BRPs along with the polling card and presented ourselves at the polling station. 

Which was held in a 500-year old church, with an ink-jet printed sign stuck to the gate post outside with duct tape advising us that this was indeed the polling station.

First world signage

So, after confirming that the polling station was where the sign said it was, we walked inside with our collection of documents, practically shoving it in the lap of the really polite man sitting behind a school desk with a few sheets of paper, greeting people.  His reaction to ignore it completely and ask us our name and address.  He then painstakingly drew a line through our names with a ruler and pencil, wrote a mysterious little number alongside and handed us a ballot paper.  The ballot paper itself is printed in the cheapest way possible and looked a bit like a school notice.  And with that, we were pointed towards a school desk at the side and told to cast out vote. 

No secret booth, no ID check, no barcode readers, no indelible ink on our thumbs.  There wasn’t even a queue outside and we were done voting within minutes.

I truly felt robbed.  I mean, I have an accent and everything and not a soul checked if I was legally in the country.

The next day at the office I spoke about how strange this was for me and then explained what a vote is like in SA.  My main concern was how on earth do they stop people voting multiple times or falsely representing someone else?

The reaction was one of pure horror.  That is simply not done here, everyone, even the most lowly criminal mind must respect the voting system.  And that is simply that.

And so we went through several other votes in a similar way until yesterday we took part in the major event of 2019.  On this morning, we walked outside the garden gate, around the fence and to the village hall where we now live.  We walked inside, got a hearty greeting, were shown the empty ballot box which was sealed in front of us and cast our vote.  We were home again in under 4 minutes.

The most mind altering experience of all of this, was the fact there exists a website to help you decide who to vote for.  By reviewing certain policies that matter to you, without the benefit of a party name, you select the ones you identify with most and…voila…you are presented with the party that best represents your interests. This is revolutionary!  Making a decision that is not based on historical allegiance, or mudslinging or even because of window dressing…..here in the UK, you vote for what matters to you and you expect the party you vote for to deliver on their promise.

Wow.

This vote is done and we have the result, so here’s to trusting the government to lead us in the right direction for the next 5 years.

Upgraded signage in 2019!