Friday afternoons were festive occasions at the Vice & Chancellor pub attached to the campus sports centre. Despite her dwindling finances Buyekezwa felt particularly festive as she sat down at the bar counter with a couple of close friends. She had just enough coins left to buy a large glass of white wine, which she drank thirstily, enjoying a sense of relief as her friends’ gentle chatter washed over her. For once she felt no compulsion to jump around campaigning for the DA; she was off-duty, and happily so.
“So what’s with the new T-shirt girlfriend?” asked Ayanda.
To her surprise Buyekezwa realised she was still wearing her ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirt, and it reminded her of her peculiar contest with Jerome Sedgewick. Before long she had told her friends the whole hilarious story, prompting much laughter and teasing.
Their barman thought the situation so ridiculous that he insisted on giving Buyekezwa another drink on the house, in the hope that she would tell them even more about, as he put it, ‘the Great Rhino Hunt’.
They were all laughing so much they didn’t notice Jerome walk into the room among a group of friends and sit down opposite them at the bar.
Jerome didn’t notice Buyekezwa either in the crowded room. But a short while later, as luck would have it, they both got up to go to the toilet and literally bumped into each other in the corridor.
“Well, well, well! We may be from different parties, but I see we have the same taste in T-shirts,” said Buyekezwa, reaching out and poking the horn on Jerome’s bright yellow rhino T-shirt.
Jerome laughed and rested a hand on her shoulder: “All is fair in love and war, comrade.” He took a step back, happy to see her. The draught beer he had bought with his leftover coins had already gone to his head, and he was in no mood to argue with his political arch-enemy.
Quite the opposite actually. As they stood staring at each other through the swirling cigarette smoke of the Vice & Chancellor, looking faintly ridiculous in their bright ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirts, Jerome felt warm towards his political rival.
Yes, they both wanted Mr Rhino’s signature. Yes, they both felt there was a lot at stake. But more importantly, she, like him, believed strongly in the power of the political process to bring about deep and meaningful change in the country– whether it involved rhinos or not.
“Just one question,” Buyekezwa said, playfully pushing him against the wall. “Did you sign him yet?”
“I’m getting there,” said Jerome. Then, in a slow, mock-menacing voice: “You’ll be the first to know!”
Buyekezwa moved her face to within an inch of Jerome’s nose: “Not if I sign him first,” she growled.
Just when it seemed the two rhino T-shirts in the corridor might seal their liaison with a kiss, a third figure appeared out of the smoke and let out an involuntary shriek.
“Oh my God! What are you guys doing here!?”
Buyekezwa and Jerome turned to see a most unusual sight: it was Alistair Kammies, a classmate from their political studies class, wearing his trademark beanie and an extra-large, bright pink ‘Save the Rhino’ T-shirt with three ‘Save the Rhino’ pin-buttons on each sleeve.
They all stared at each other in disbelief.
“So he got you in the end, hey?” Alistair said, shaking his head. “I thought you two would never give in, being candidates for other parties and all that.”
Buyekezwa and Jerome looked at each other, slightly alarmed. “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Jerome, stepping forward to hear better above the music.
“The T-shirt you guys are wearing,” Alistair continued. “You bought it from that Mr Rhino guy sitting in the corner of the cafeteria right?”
“Yes we did. So what?” Jerome shot back.
“And you signed his register and paid R100 right?”
“That was a petition,” snapped Buyekezwa. “And the R100 was a donation to save the rhino.”
Alistair threw his head back and laughed. Then he bent over and laughed some more – and he would have carried on laughing if Jerome had not hauled him upright to demand an explanation.
Eventually with the help of the wall Alistair steadied himself enough to speak: “That Mr Rhino whom you guys have been harassing for the past two days,” he said, still chuckling, “is actually the first campus campaigner of South Africa’s new Green Party.”
Alistair lifted his T-shirt and pointed to a small Green Party logo beneath the rhino’s left front hoof, then continued: “A couple of us were chatting to him yesterday and agreed to sign up with the Green Party on one condition – that he sign you two up first.”
Alistair starting to chuckle again, gently at first but within seconds he had to lean against the wall to catch his breath: “The ‘petition’ you signed is actually his party registration list. Membership costs R100. You guys just joined the Green Party.”
“So it seems we are all comrades after all!” laughed Buyekeswa.
There was only one person campaigning in the university cafeteria that night, a solitary figure standing near the cashier, handing out pamphlets to whoever passed by. Some people stopped to chat briefly, others glanced at the pamphlets before tossing them into the bin – but it didn’t bother him. He knew that even if the Green Party lost heavily in the upcoming election it had already scored a famous victory among students, right here on his home turf.
Yes he had tricked his political rivals. No, he had not been entirely honest about the ‘Save the Rhino’ petition, nor the charity donation. But if he had bent the rules a bit it was only to prove a point: every voter was important, independent, privileged. Voters should not be misled by false prophets and bogus promises. Above all voters should not be mindless fodder for self-serving politicians desperate to win power no matter the cost.
Elections could be funny, but they were not a joke.
And political rights were, in the end, just like the rhino: you only realised what they meant once they started to disappear.
* * *
Tell us: Do you think Jerome and Buyekeswa made ‘bogus promises’ on behalf of their parties? Have you registered to vote (if you are eighteen or older)?
