23. Pretoria, 27 April, 1994
In which Kelebohile gets to vote.
The country prepares to vote. But yesterday's bombs are a visceral reminder: not everyone wants this change. 
Kelebohile
Kelebohile rides in the car with the Master and Madam. She still thinks of them that way, and calls them that. Some of her friends in service call their employers Mr and Mrs now. Or Meneer and Mevrou. She can’t bring herself to do that.
She had made breakfast as usual for them this morning, even though it had been declared a public holiday.
“Go and change,” the Madam said to her when they were done eating. “You’re not casting your first ever vote dressed in your uniform.”
She has put on her Sunday best. And the little brooch from Tebogo. It is one of the three pieces of jewelry she possesses: her wedding band, her crucifix, and Tebogo’s brooch. As she looks at herself in the mirror in her room, she cries. She can’t help herself. Tebogo is at peace now, his fight with the diseases at an end. But he died knowing the new South Africa was coming, and that brought him so much peace. He just didn’t live to see it.
Her children are grown and have jobs in Johannesburg. They finished high school. They have options she and Tebogo never had. Her grandchildren will be born into the new South Africa. It will be even more different for them.
If it weren’t for Henry, and the Madam, Kelebohile might think of stopping working. But what would she do anyway? Live permanently in Mamelodi and do what? She supposes she could start her own little crèche. She’s had plenty of practice with children. And the Master has offered to help with money to set something up. But as she looks at Henry in the backseat of the car next to her now, she can’t bear to leave him. Not just yet. He’s seven years old now. He can’t go to regular school, and is at a school for the disabled. He’s sweet and loving most of the time. And an absolute monster other times. His tantrums are like Highveld thunderstorms—wild, loud, sometimes destructive—and blowing over almost as soon as they blow in. But his look of utter confusion and bewilderment when he comes around after a seizure? It breaks her heart.
His push bike is in the back of the car, and a bag full of toys. And food and drinks for all of them. It could be a long day. The Madam will get tired. She can’t stand for long periods. The Master has brought a folding chair so that she can sit down. With the Madam’s disability pass, and Henry, they’ve been told they should get through faster, but it could still be several hours. No-one knows quite how the day is going to go.
Amongst the other workers in the neighborhood, the mood has risen and fallen like the waves in the ocean she’s never seen. Jubilation as the day comes closer. Despair at the bombs and violence. The government has declared a national holiday, so all of them have off. Only a few, like Kelebohile, have stayed at their workplaces. Most have gone home to the townships or the rural areas, to cast their votes there.
When they get to the front of the line, Kelebohile produces her new identity book, this thing of wonder which, unlike the dompas1 of old, is to liberate her, not imprison her. As she casts the first ever vote of her life, her hand is shaking so hard she struggles to get it into the box. The poll worker kindly steadies her hand so that she can do it. When it’s done, Kelebohile feels a strange mix of deflation and jubilation. It’s just a piece of paper. But it isn’t.
As she walks out of the polling place, tears pour down her face. She’s not the only one crying. The Madam hands her a tissue. She is so used to wearing an apron, she’d forgotten to put tissues in her handbag. As they walk back to the car, Kelebohile feels lighter than she has in years.
Maybe she will think about retiring.
Freedom has come. Maybe she should have some.
Eleanor
Election day in South Africa dawns. I’ve already voted, one of my privileges for being on the security subcommittee for the inauguration. But still I get up early and head to church for a quiet half hour. We will need every little thing that might help if today is to be peaceful. I find Father Robert already there. I join him, silently, on the familiar worn steps in front of the altar. A little while later, I slip out just as quietly, not wanting to disturb his prayers. I would stay longer, but we have too much to do.
When I greet the Brigadier as I arrive at five am he is pacing. Within an hour all of us are present, bodies tense, voices quiet, focus distracted. None of us are part of the Election Day security planning, but the Brigadier is like a caged bear, frustrated that he is not out there to respond to anything. But we can’t lose a single day in our planning and work.
I look around the room. The hush is us collectively holding our breaths, bracing ourselves. What will happen today? Only last night there was another bomb—the second for the day2. If today goes badly, what will that mean for our inauguration planning? The outcome of the election is not in question. The ANC will win. Mandela will be nominated president and be inaugurated in two weeks. But how peaceful and quiet today will be—that is very much in question. It could be a bloodbath.
As the hours go by, the news keeps coming in. Shoulders drop. Faces relax. Smiles blossom. Voices lift. There is no threatened bloodbath. There are only millions of black and white South Africans waiting patiently in long meandering lines to vote, most for the first time in their lives.
We continue with our preparations. The mood turns jubilant. The country did it. We did it. The elections have been peaceful. The threatened storm has passed. Inauguration Day will be peaceful too. We all know it now. We won’t drop our guard, but we no longer fear for what might happen in fourteen days. It will be a celebration unlike South Africa has ever seen.
The Brigadier ends the day early.
“Go home. Sleep. Rest. Tomorrow we start the last leg of our marathon. Be with your families tonight. Tell them you’ll see them in two weeks.” And we all laugh. We are making history. Sleep be damned over the next two weeks.
Mahdi gives me a big hug as I leave.
I fall asleep remembering his hug.
Bonus Material
The day apartheid died: The iconic photographs
A new day, a new flag, a new anthem, a new country: Honor the past, create the new.
Afrikaans. Literally, “stupid pass”. From 1952 to 1986 “pass laws” served as an internal passport system designed to racially segregate the South African population. These laws severely restricted the movements of black South African and other non-white racial groups by confining them to designated areas. The 1960 Sharpeville massacre was of protestors protesting against the dompas, and it lead directly to formation of Umkhonto we Sizwe, the armed wing of the ANC, and the apartheid government banning the ANC. Mandela was arrested several years later (1963), along with Walter Sisulu, Govan Mbeki and six others. Govan Mbeki was father of Thabo Mbeki—who became Nelson Mandela’s Deputy President (1994–1997), and later the second democratically elected President of South Africa (1997–2008).
In the two weeks leading up the election, the Afrikaner Weestandsbeweging (AWB), a white-supremacist, explicitly neo-Nazi movement that sought to halt or slow the end of apartheid (see 12. Pretoria, February 11, 1990), conducted a widespread and deadly bombing campaign to disrupt the election and intimidate voters.
The AWB’s bombing campaign resulted in the biggest peacetime military call-up in South Africa’s history to protect the elections and provide safety to voters.
“The campaign began in earnest on the 14th April 1994 explosions at Sannieshof in the Western Transvaal…This was followed by an explosion at the offices of the International Electoral Commission’s (IEC) at Bloemfontein, a fire bombing at the Nylstroom telephone exchange on 22nd April 1994 and a further explosion at the Natref oil pipeline between Denysville and Viljoensdrif in the Northern Free State…
“The 24 April Bree Street bomb in Johannesburg was…the largest act of bombing terrorism in Johannesburg’s history. It was part of a bombing spree…around Johannesburg which left 21 people dead and over 100 people with injuries between April 24 and April 27, 1994.
“…the very next day on April 25 a bomb was placed in a trailer allegedly belonging to Eugene Terre’Blanche (the AWB leader). The Trailer was towed to Germiston where it was left and then detonated in Odendaal Street near the taxi rank at about 8.45am…10 people were killed and over 100 injured.
“Later in the day on April 25 at 11.45am, a pipe bomb detonated at a taxi rank on the Westonaria-Carletonville road, injuring 5 people. Earlier, at about 7.45am, a pipe bomb went off at a taxi rank on the corner of Third and Park streets in Randfontein, injuring 6 people.
“At 8.30pm on the same day, a pipe bomb attack at a restaurant on the corner of Bloed Street and 7th Avenue in Pretoria killed 3 and injured 4.
“…on the Election Day itself, 27th April 1994 the final AWB election campaign attack came in the form of a car bomb at the then Jan Smuts International Airport (now OR Tambo International). The bomb was placed at this high-profile target so as to create fear on the Election Day itself. The blast left the concourse outside the airport’s International Departures terminal damaged along with a number of parked vehicles on the concourse.”
Source: https://samilhistory.com/tag/bree-street-bomb/