A gum-boot dancer nearby entertains the crowd, kicking up dust as he stomps his way through the mining dance, his black rubber boots providing the percussion, while an enterprising teenage boy makes his way along the line selling roasted mielies and Styrofoam cups filled with lukewarm Coke. The police step in to separate African National Congress and Inkatha Freedom Party supporters after a skirmish breaks out between them. They’re hauled off to the dreaded Hippos, the armored South African Police trucks.

Zodwa recognizes a few faces in the queue and issues greetings as they walk along. Her smile freezes when she sees them up ahead: Thembeka and Mongezi; her ex–best friend standing with the father of Zodwa’s child. The fact that they’re still a couple hurts more than Zodwa can express.

Before Zodwa can dip her head to pretend that she hasn’t seen them, Mongezi turns and catches sight of her. Quickly checking that Thembeka is otherwise occupied, he turns back to Zodwa and winks. Something inside of her cracks; it’s like the lightning bolt that slices through a block of ice when it’s dropped into a warm drink. She can almost hear the fissure as it cleaves through her.

Zodwa turns from him. She resists the temptation to speed up, as there is no way the gogo could keep up. When they finally reach the front of the queue, Zodwa spots someone wearing the blue Independent Electoral Commission bib. It’s only when the person turns around that Zodwa realizes it’s Beauty Mbali, a township neighbor and her mother’s best friend. The woman hugs Zodwa when she catches sight of her. She’s in her element today as an IEC volunteer, something she never thought she’d live to do, and it makes Zodwa happy to see the huge smile on her face.

“Where is your mother, child?” Mama Beauty asks.

Zodwa doesn’t want to get Leleti in trouble with her zealously political friend, so she pretends not to hear the question. “Excuse me, Mama Beauty, but ugogo is ninety-four years old and she has been standing in the line for more than four hours. The heat is making her light-headed. Would it be possible to let her vote now?”

Mama Beauty looks past Zodwa’s belly to the tiny woman behind it. “Sawubona, gogo,” she greets her. “Unjani?”

“Good morning, my child,” the woman replies. “I am so well today. I am the best I have ever been because today is the day I vote.”

Mama Beauty laughs. In her sixties herself, she is hardly a child except to someone so much older. “Then let us not delay any longer, gogo. Let us take you now so you can make your mark.”

She leads them up the stairs past the queue into a blessedly cool classroom whose tables and chairs have been neatly stacked against the walls. “Can I have your identity books, please?”