Arguably the most important event of the year for Rwanda, the national referendum voting exercise took place calmly and neatly across the country last week. I will not go into tiny details of facts and figures because my more sober colleagues, Eugene Kwibuka and Kenneth Agutamba are better experts at this. What I will do, as usual, is offer my own perspective from my own (and limited) view. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, which is so true, and which is the reason APE Rugunga secondary school acquired new swag value after pictures of president Paul Kagame casting his vote from there emerged in the media. I based my other observations on the polling exercise as captured by The New Times’ snappas, Doreen Umutesi and Faustin Niyigena. What was very clear from viewing the pictures is the sheer force and gusto with which the country’s senior citizens turned up for the occasion. To my fellow youths, all I can say to you is that starting now, you should begin to accord even more respect to anyone in your community who goes by the title “mucekuru” or “musaza”. For a country that boasts one of the most youthful populations in the world, perhaps it’s time for the youths to up their patriotism game? The second conclusion I came to was that, like other important national holidays, this too should be made to become an annual fete. This would of course make more sense than most of these internationally celebrated holidays, some of which are a mockery of your very being. That said, my real-time experience of the event on the actual day was very minimal because I stayed at home, and for good reason: The first is that I’m a foreigner and therefore not eligible to vote here. The second reason I didn’t venture out of home is because I had forgotten that, as is tradition for every public holiday, there would be a free and sumptuous lunch buffet served to all staff at The New Times. The food that The New Times serves to staff on all national holidays is so good that I was forced to investigate and establish its source: It comes from a certain establishment whose name is so misleading; you are likely to go there to get your car washed or pimped up, not to dine. That place is located somewhere in the heart of the cobbled-stone road capital of Kigali–Kimihurura. The last reason has got to do with the fact that not only am I a journalist, I am also one that hails from Uganda, a country where most elections are synonymous with drama and madness at the very best, and outright violence in the worst case scenario. So it would have been in my interest to be out and about on Friday, checking out the activity of voters. But the government of Rwanda and the national electoral body decided to conspire to deny me this chance by organizing such a neat and clean affair devoid of the kind of odd beats and ends that appeal to the sensational journalist in me.
