It was said by some commentators that the system of voting for that day would be too complex and complicated for the supposedly unsophisticated voters. We had decided on a system of proportional representation: the electorate had to vote for the national legislature and the provincial one on the same day. All of these were thought to hold complexities that might be confusing to voters.

‘In the end, it turned out that South African voters had an almost natural affinity to the process of voting.

‘There were scores of foreign observers who also travelled the country, including my future wife, Graça Machel, either assisting in voter education or monitoring the situation during the campaign period, ensuring that the conditions for free and fair elections existed.* Almost without exception they afterwards commented about the positive spirit that existed in the country.

‘There were other mechanisms operating to assist South Africans to operate in the spirit of open democracy in the run-up to the elections. Amongst these was the Independent Media Commission to ensure that all parties were fairly treated by the media, both in reporting and coverage.’14

There are as many impressions of the days of voting as there are people who were compos mentis during the elections, the days themselves a focal point from which to think about the reality of democracy. For South Africans, this is a long moment etched into their brains the way Americans remember John F. Kennedy’s assassination or – for older, diminishing generations throughout the world – the end of either one of the world wars. It was, to use a hackneyed phrase, for most South Africans, an experience to remember for the rest of their lives. Given its import, the election would be spread over two days.

Tuesday, 26 April 1994, a trial run for the election the following day, was reserved for the elderly, people living with disabilities, and South Africans outside the country. For many such people, especially some expatriates in foreign climes, the act of voting clarified their minds about their origins – and allegiances. For the religious, if Mandela’s release epitomised liberation from bondage, the first democratic elections marked the reality of the existence of the Promised Land. It was a poignant moment for a frail Archbishop Trevor Huddleston, the president of the British Anti-Apartheid Movement and a lifelong campaigner for Mandela’s release, when he entered South Africa House in London’s Trafalgar Square in order to cast his vote in South Africa’s first democratic election. Hobbling on crutches, he spoke to the assembled supporters ‘in the reading room heavy with colonial history, [thanking] God for being able to participate in “something unspeakably wonderful”’.15

People from all walks of life trickled like water from everywhere and formed queues that snaked for miles as they took steps to the centres where they could place their vote. If there was nervousness about right-wing attacks, people didn’t show it. It was all about resolve, which was broadcast far and wide.

‘At some polling stations in black areas,’ according to Paul Taylor of the Washington Post, ‘lines began forming at 4 a.m. At others, disabled voters were carried to the ballot boxes in wheelbarrows or litters. Countrywide, the prevailing mood seemed less one of exuberance than of quiet resolve. “I’m tired; my back is sore; I haven’t eaten all day,” a stoical Susan Ndhlovu, sixty-seven, told a South African reporter as she waited in a long line under a hot sun in Bloemfontein. “But I’m staying until I’ve voted.”’16

On the morning of Wednesday, 27 April, Mandela ‘voted at Ohlange High School in Inanda, a green and hilly township just north of Durban, for it was there that John [Langalibalele] Dube, the first president of the ANC, was buried.* This African patriot had helped found the organisation in 1912, and casting my vote near his graveside brought history full circle, for the mission he began eighty-two years before was about to be achieved.’17

Mandela observes that on the dawn of that day, which symbolised a new beginning, ‘the South Africans queued in their millions to cast their first democratic vote, the foundations had been laid during preceding months. That memorable day fittingly capped the positive spirit of hope and expectation that reigned predominant in spite of the tears and trepidations.

‘The smooth and orderly manner in which the elections occurred, and the violence-free transformation that followed, completely shattered the depressing predictions of the prophets of doom, who included some of the well-known and respected political analysts. They had predicted that the history of South Africa, especially during the four decades of the apartheid regime, clearly showed that the white minority was determined to cling to power for centuries to come. A wide variety of commentators underestimated our determination and capacity successfully to persuade opinion makers on both sides of the colour line to realise that this country is their beloved fatherland, with primary responsibility to turn April 1994 into a memorable landmark in our turbulent history.

‘This was the day for which a long line of celebrated legends had fought since 1652 when the foreigner Jan van Riebeeck landed on our shores.† They laboured tirelessly for the liberation of our country: the Khoi leader Autshumao, Abdullah Abdurahman, Cissie Gool and Hettie September, Yusuf Dadoo and Monty Naicker, Bram Fischer and Michael Harmel, Khosi Tshivhase, Alpheus Madiba, Queen Manthatisi, Selope Thema, Moses Kotane, Albert Luthuli, Oliver Tambo, Chris Hani, Robert Sobukwe, Zeph Mothopeng and Steve Biko, and a multitude of others.’*18

Later, reflecting on the aftermath of the historic national poll to legitimise democracy, Mandela couldn’t help adopting a sardonic tone towards the naysayers and the timorous who had prepared for a catastrophe.

‘After the elections, when all was over and matters turned out so differently to what the prophets of doom had predicted, there was great mirth and levity about those who stockpiled in such fashion. But at the time, it was a matter of great seriousness and it did affect the overall mood.’19

The ANC won a landslide victory, taking 62.6 per cent of the popular vote, which Mandela attributed to his party’s hard work and its adherence to discipline. Notwithstanding difficulties caused by the late participation of the IFP and the violence that imperilled free political activity in rural areas of Natal, or the hacking of the vote-counting system to boost the National Party, Freedom Front and IFP, which was foiled by the IEC, no one contested the legitimacy of the elections, nor that they had been ‘substantially free and fair’.20

But, as with all elections – or any contest where there are winners and losers – it was inevitable that some, including elements within the ANC itself, would complain about irregularities. For instance, when a delegation of ANC provincial leaders from Natal came with evidence of irregularities that favoured the IFP, Mandela insisted on accepting the ANC’s narrow loss of the province rather than mounting a challenge that might have cost the legitimacy of the election and have serious implications for stability and peace. For his part, De Klerk was also not immune to internal rumblings, with some National Party leaders calling for a legal challenge to the results. He took the view, he says in his memoirs, that ‘despite all the irregularities, we had little choice but to accept the outcome of the election in the interest of South Africa and all its people’.21

Although elated, Mandela still worried over some of the results. The ANC had failed to win the provinces of the Western Cape and KwaZulu-Natal, and the Northern Cape had been won with under 50 per cent of the vote. The ANC had to address concerns of various constituencies, specifically the white working class, traditionalists in Natal, and the Indian and coloured communities. These issues would be a strong focus for Mandela’s leadership of the transition in the coming years.

On the evening of 2 May, after De Klerk conceded defeat in a televised address, the party celebrated at the ballroom of the Carlton Hotel, which abuts the Carlton Centre, Africa’s tallest skyscraper, with fifty floors towering above the central business district of Johannesburg. Although advised by his doctor to take it easy as he had a cold, Mandela could not pass up the opportunity to rejoice with his compatriots.