Jerome Sedgewick had always been a confident person, but he had to admit that since meeting Buyekezwa he was feeling more than a little concerned about his campus election campaign. The problem was that she was incredible – charming, intelligent, funny, and, as if all of that wasn’t enough, good-looking too. Wherever she went she turned heads, and this could mean only one thing: she was a good advertisement for the DA.

As far as Jerome was concerned, good news for the DA was bad news for the ANC.

The funny thing was, he didn’t feel altogether displeased about his new political rival in the varsity cafeteria, despite holding her in high esteem. Not only did her presence mean he would be forced to campaign harder – which was a good thing – it meant this year’s election campaign would be a lot less boring.

Usually it was him alone pushing through the noisy crowd, and most of the time it was a thankless task: when he started talking politics, people generally ignored him or tried to change the subject. Even with an election around the corner, it was as if people cared more about movies and music than social issues or government policies. His own friends were no different; to them politics was ‘uncool’ or ‘a waste of time’, no matter that some of them were able to vote for the first time in their lives.

Right now, however, none of that seemed to matter as he watched Buyekezwa chatting up a table a short distance away. He had to admire her style: the way she held back at first, a little bit coy, not wanting to impose herself too much for fear of offending anybody by being too pushy. He liked her smile, and the way a few of her braids had escaped from her hair band and hung loose around her face. Instinctively Jerome reached up to check his own hair, which felt a little unkempt and greasy.

He also made a mental note to wear more stylish trousers, and to go shoe shopping for something a little more eye-catching than his K-way slip-slops. Buyekezwa’s raised platform V-soles, for instance, were probably worth ten or fifteen votes – enough to swing an entire election. He needed to up his game.

With this in mind he made his way over to a group of cafeteria ‘regulars’ he half-recognised from around campus. They were most probably art students, judging by their black Goth-style dress. “Yo! Whatzup peeps?” he said, in what he hoped was an acceptably upbeat tone. “Anybody in the mood for an election?”

Evidently not, he thought to himself, as the group looked him up and down in stony silence. Nobody smiled. All the guys wore thick black trench-coats of the kind seen in mafia gangster movies. The girls wore choker necklaces and day-glo nail-polish. They all stared at him as if he had just dropped in from a strange and distant planet.

Eventually a woman with a jet-black ‘Cleopatra cut’ took a long drag on her cigarette, tossed the glowing butt into a half-empty polystyrene coffee cup, and leaned forward to answer him.

“Tell me ‘comrade’, does it look like we are in the mood for an election?” The ring-piercing through her lip wobbled slightly when she blew him a kiss goodbye.

“Sorry to bother you,” said Jerome, moving on.

No point wasting precious pamphlets on those people, he muttered under his breath. But the next table was no better, possibly worse. Nobody even looked at him when he introduced himself and tried to hand out his ANC pamphlets.

“We’re not political,” snapped a guy in a Bob Marley hoodie.

“But Bob Marley was political,” Jerome replied, hopefully. “He stood up for universal human rights.”

“Who cares? I just like his music. Now leave us alone.”

Definitely no votes there either.

Jerome could feel his mood plummet as he wandered from table to table, generally making little impression on his fellow students. Why were they so apathetic? Was nobody even curious about what he had to say?

Where were the idealists? The revolutionary minds? The young firebrands who used to march across campus, holding up banners about injustices from the past and in the present?

To make matters worse Jerome couldn’t help noticing, just then, how Buyekezwa had seated herself at the head of a nearby table, and everybody was leaning in to listen to her speak. Suddenly they all laughed as if she had just told a fantastically funny joke. Then it was high fives all round when she stood up. Clearly she had made a great impression. And there was even more laughter as she reached up to attach a DA button-pin to somebody’s beret, patted it, and turned to go with one final word of advice for her admirers: “Just in case you forget who to vote for!”

Damn, she was good.

By comparison Jerome was battling to make any headway. Occasionally somebody would take one of his pamphlets, but there didn’t seem to be much genuine interest in the party manifesto. He felt that if he could just persuade one person to register for the election and vote ANC he would regain his confidence. Just one person – that’s all he needed. To get back on track. Just one convert to the cause.

Jerome was sure it was not a coincidence that he happened to look up at that very moment and see a student quietly reading a magazine in the far corner of the room. Was this the convert he was looking for? Quiet, solitary, thoughtful: he seemed a likely candidate. He even wore a ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirt – a sure sign of political consciousness. Saving the rhino had always been a little bit political.

Lo and behold there was even a vacant chair directly in front of the solitary young conservationist. Jerome did not need further invitation. Like a sniffer dog following a scent he strode across the room with renewed vigour, ‘rhino man’ in his sights. He was already half way over, when, to his great surprise, he saw somebody else sit down there first. It was Buyekezwa.

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Tell us what you think: Are most young people ‘apathetic’ (not interested) about voting? Are you?