Confessions of a Presiding Officer

A sharp sound cracks through the hall, jacking me from my slumber. It echos as I gather my senses; an NYS trainee had just pulled an college arm chair that was in his way, not expecting the burst of noise he quickly turned to meet my eyes.
“pole mzae…” he seemed to say without uttering a word, I nod in an understanding tone.

There’s an unscripted language for those who go through a difficult time/moment and/or are forced by circumstances to work hand in hand either through the problem or after it to avert its reoccurrence. In our case the 2017 elections were our unifying process, not just the fresh Presidential elections but the general elections held on 8h August too.

Having been deployed as a Presiding Officer in stations in areas categorized as Hot zones has a calming effect, especially for those of us who take their good time to analyze, discredit or even appreciate government processes. The event places all of us volunteers in direct contact with the unruly populace. For most of us it’s a virgin experience that leaves a lasting impression on our perception of country. The position was advertised months to the election, to degree holders and consequently, in a country with a whole lot of jobless degree holders, the applications streamed in and IEBC had a chance at the spoils and it had its first pick; for the first time young graduates, as young as 20 years old, were given the momentous job of serving country in different positions, the age factor was so overwhelming that the trainers had to set an age minimum qualification to serve in some positions, never seen before owing to the experience and maturity owed to age.

So we push and pull in line as we pick materials, a process that takes about 24 hours. We witness the commission huggle with logistical challenges of equipping the just inflated number of Polling stations across the country. Reducing the number of voters per station in an effort to curb rigging resulted to a mammoth number of Polling stations across the country! In Nairobi too the case was similar. So fir the first time I saw the men and women who do the unthinkable, the almost torturous labor of allocating Polling stations and Polling materials. As if that’s not enough they go an extra mile to ask whether the ‘allocatee’ is satiated with said station!

I thought being a student leader throughout high-school, I had seen it all, that in some way I was equipped to deal with people in multitudes; or my passage through a Public University had somehow readied me for such but I was mistaken. Here is a group of fifteen individuals in a tallying center, charged with the responsibility of deploying about four thousand Presiding Officers and their three elections clerks per station. They make frantic calls, answer questions thrown at them from different directions, I am taken aback by their resilience. From the slightest concern as a clerks number missing a digit to the huge ones of a PO having gone missing at the last possible moment. I watch from the long queue until it’s my turn to get served, I follow instructions carefully, and give a smile to the clearly worn out lady handing me the necessities to at least put a smile on her face a reassurance that her hard work hasn’t gone unrecognized. She smiles back takes the few moments to catch her breath, gulp down water and proceed to the middle-aged fellow pushing behind, demanding speedy service.

My DPO and I, fifteen minutes later, are standing outside the collection point on a patch of grass with a load of materials, we take out the checklist and ensure we have everything, including two carton booths that can serve as counting desks, or beds as & when need be. We are bundled up into waiting matatus to be ferried to our polling centers. A police chase car accompanies us to the center, number of police advised by intelligence on the security situation on the ground. Off we went to set up, sleep and nibble on the snacks we were given for the day; milk, bread & bottles of water, at times not enough.

All day we do as needed, filling countless forms, stamping ballot papers and marking fingers. Counting is held, usually after the closure of Polling. Afterwards we head back to the tallying centers for another round queueing to hand over our forms 34As to the RO.

After a whole 72 hours of standing in queues, surviving on bread & a packet of milk, dozing on and off on polling booths, remembering to fill all forms according to the law, stamping, signing, scanning and uploading as needed by the commission. At around 2 am/3 am wee hours of the morning most of us complete the process. Those with private transport head out, those living close by, walk home setting up their security.
For those who live far off from the tallying center, we have to seek out a desk/ a booth, a warm room and corner and rest for just a few moments until crack of dawn in time to pick the early PSV transport to take us home.

We arrive home and like clockwork shower, eat, brush teeth and jump into bed. Only after we awake do we see the news, the political talk on TV, the complete discrediting of the IEBC. That our efforts were vid, insurmountable to anything concrete. Most of the temporary employees feels the pinch, most resign to taking the IEBC pay as enough consolation.

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