Jerome arrived on campus much earlier than normal the following day. Cleaners were still mopping the cafeteria floor when he sat down at one of the tables to eat breakfast and read the morning newspaper. He felt confident and happy. The woman behind the food counter had commented on his new brown Chinos, which pleased him because he had made a special effort to look presentable. He had shaved, washed his hair and tied it in a pony. He wore his favourite ANC T-shirt, fresh from the laundromat, and a pair of shiny Doc Martin boots. He hadn’t looked this good since his high school graduation.

He had also come prepared. His bag was bulging with several campaign accessories, including a new wad of pamphlets, some ANC Today newsletters, and several ANC berets he had picked up from the regional party office in Salt River. It was a measure of his competitive nature that he had even brought along one of his most prized possessions, a Nelson Mandela scarf. He intended to give it away just as soon as the right person came along.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Mr Rhino appeared at the far side of the room and walked to his usual corner table. He wore a different ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirt, a purple one this time, but pulled out the same National Geographic magazine he had been reading the day before, with its cover story about Kazakhstan.

So far so good, thought Jerome, who just this morning had bought the very same issue of National Geographic about Kazakhstan, which he now took out of his bag and tucked under his arm. He downed his coffee, picked up his bag, and set off across the room.

His plan was simple: make friends with Mr Rhino, win him over to the ANC, get him to sign up. Easy-peasy.

“Mind if I sit here,” said Jerome, hovering above the vacant seat opposite Mr Rhino.

Suddenly he realised how ridiculous he must seem. There were probably 250 empty chairs to choose from in the cafeteria, yet here he was asking to come and sit down, for no apparent reason, next to the only other person in the room. This was awkward; it was not supposed to be this way. He had assumed the cafeteria would be crowded, not almost empty. But it was too late to turn back now.

“Mind if I sit here,” he repeated, a little louder.

Mr Rhino lowered his magazine, adjusted the specs on his nose and stared at him. He frowned, cast a slow look across the hall, and then peered at Jerome again. “Well…” he sighed, “if that’s what you really want, go ahead.” He picked up the magazine and continued reading.

Not a good start, thought Jerome, digging into his bag for his own magazine.

For a while both of them read quietly, or pretended to read. Jerome waited several minutes before launching the next phase of his plan. “My God this is so weird!” he exclaimed, prompting Mr Rhino to lower his magazine once more. “Check it out – we are reading the same magazine.” Jerome held up his copy and pretended to be excited.

Mr Rhino did not seem that impressed. “Wow,” he said, without lowering his National Geographic.

“I mean, what are the chances?” Jerome continued. “The very same issue – Kazakhstan. Amazing!”

Mr Rhino lowered his National Geographic once more. He looked anything but amazed. But Jerome was past the point of no return and decided to push ahead regardless. He stuck out his hand in greeting. “By the way I’m Jerome Sedgewick, your ANC campus candidate. How do you do?”

The conversation that followed was both unusual and unexpected. Jerome launched into a brief synopsis of ANC environmental policy, dipping into his bag from time to time to take out a pamphlet or a newsletter. He made a special point of highlighting the ANC’s tough stance against rhino poaching.

Mr Rhino listened intently but didn’t say anything until Jerome had finished, at which point he leant back in his chair and folded his arms. “Very interesting,” he said, but it was obvious he didn’t mean it. Mr Rhino looked thoroughly bored, and even picked up his National Geographic as if to signal the end of the conversation.

Under normal circumstances Jerome would have left it at that and walked away. However there was much more at stake here than just a single voter. Exclusive rights to campaign in the cafeteria would almost guarantee success at the polls; Jerome simply had to find a way to impress Mr Rhino and secure his support.

He decided to revert to his original plan: National Geographic.

“Great article about Kazakhstan hey? What a place. I would love to go there,” said Jerome, brandishing his copy and pointing to the front cover.

“Why would you possibly want to go there? It’s at war,” Mr Rhino replied, frowning again. “About 200 people are killed there every day.”

Oh, dear! Jerome did not know that about Kazakhstan. In fact he knew absolutely nothing about Kazakhstan other than the fact that it was on the cover of National Geographic. Of course, he hadn’t read the article – he hated National Geographic. He only read newspapers and political journals. As far as he knew this magazine only wrote about mountains and flowers. What the hell were they doing writing about a shit-hole like Kazakhstan!?

“I mean once the war is over,” said Jerome, now standing up and gathering his things. “Once things have settled down a bit, then it would be good to go to Kazakhstan. To help out a bit.” He dropped his magazine into his bag. “Have to run. Got a lecture in five minutes. Nice to meet you. Let’s chat again.”

Jerome turned and fled towards the door.

* * *

Tell us what you think: Does Jerome still stand any chance of signing up ‘Mr Rhino’ or has he ‘blown it’?