As South Africa’s elections draw ever closer, the BBC’s Nomsa Maseko reflects on 30 momentous years of democracy and how the country has changed since the end of the racist apartheid system.
When my mother cast her vote on April 27, 1994, she told me that the vote felt like a “get out card”—she felt empowered.
She was 43 years old at the time – and like millions of other South Africans, it was the first time she had voted.
It was the culmination of decades of resistance and armed struggle against the racist and violent rule of the white minority.
I was too young to vote then, even though election officials allowed me to ink my finger, and I saw what it meant for them and the disenfranchised black majority to be free and finally able to elect their own government.
A few days before the elections, there was tension and widespread fear of political violence. The smell of tear gas often filled the air in Kwa-Thema, the township where I lived east of Johannesburg.
Armored military vehicles drove past our house several times a day and into the night, with frequent shots fired in the distance.
The afternoon before the big day, my friends and I were playing hopscotch in the street when a white truck full of National Party T-shirts, balls and flags pulled up.
This was the party that came to power in 1948 and introduced legal racial segregation, known as apartheid, meaning “separate.”
Most of us had never owned a new ball before and so were happy to get it for free. But our excitement was short-lived.
The “comrades” – anti-apartheid activists – confiscated them all, the T-shirts were set on fire and the eggs were punctured with pocket knives.
We were insulted and told, “Never accept anything from the enemy again.” We may have been sad, but we understood why.
The morning of the vote was eerily quiet. It was sunny – and yet full of fear and trepidation.
The polling station was opposite our house – in a teachers’ college. Several blue and white “peace” flags flew high. Party representatives dressed in their different colors knocked door to door urging people to vote.
The lines stretched for miles, with young and old lining up, raising their fists in the air and shouting “Sikhululekile,” which means “We are free” in Zulu.
And I felt different – somehow lighter with the realization that I didn’t have to look over my shoulder and hide when white police officers came by on horseback.
Perhaps to this day I am still afraid of German Shepherd dogs, which were used by the apartheid police as sniffer dogs and sometimes attacked us children for no reason during their patrols.
But there are many positive memories of the liberation struggle in the Orlando West neighborhood of Soweto township – so much so that a tourism industry has developed there.
Sakhumzi Maqubela owns a popular restaurant on the famous Vilakazi Street where both take place Nelson Mandelawho became president when the African National Congress (ANC) won in 1994, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu once lived.
“Tourism has helped Vilakazi Street a lot. I saw tourists walking up and down in awe of what South Africa has become and then I decided to start selling food,” he said.
Mr Maqubela compared his own efforts over the past three decades with those of the country’s leaders.
“The last 30 years have been trial and error for our government, we can give them credit for learning.
“I have created 500 jobs here and sleep better knowing my efforts have made a difference.”
The first years of democracy were promising: after Mandela’s first term, Thabo Mbeki won the next elections; Civil society flourished – as did a vocal and free press.
But many believe the honeymoon is definitely over for the ANC, which is still in power and mired in corruption and infighting. The country faces high unemployment and violent crime, and many still suffer from a lack of basic services such as water and electricity.
The democratic advantages enjoyed by Mr Maqubela do not extend far beyond the Vilakazi Street area.
Just a 10-minute drive away in Kliptown, rows of portable toilets line the streets, rarely cleaned or emptied.
There are no schools nearby, but there are plenty of shebeens, as bars in residential areas are called here. Young mothers struggle to make ends meet.
“Thirty years of democracy means nothing to me, there is nothing to celebrate,” said Tasneema Sylvester, sitting in front of her hut wearing a sun hat, black jeans and a worn red T-shirt.
“I won’t vote this year because I don’t see anything the ANC has supposedly done,” said the 38-year-old mother of three.
“I have no job, no clean running water, no toilets. I’m angry and hopeless.”
Ms. Sylvester’s story reflects a much larger truth in South Africa today – the great divide between the haves and the have-nots.
And people in Kliptown feel their connection to the liberation struggle is often overlooked, as it was here in 1955 that the Freedom Charter was signed – the document drafted by apartheid fighters that set out the vision of a democratic South Africa.
“We have been neglected for too long. It is very sad that none of the ten clauses of the Freedom Charter have been implemented in this area,” said local tourist guide Ntokozo Dube.
For political analyst Tessa Dooms, there are difficult questions to consider on the 30th anniversary.
“It’s very clear that people don’t feel that we have fundamentally changed the architecture of our country,” she said.
“There are some glaring things that are still very similar to the past…high levels of inequality remain and have even increased in the democratic era.”
The crisis is illustrated by the hundreds of trained doctors protesting in major cities across the country because they cannot find work.
“It is very disheartening because people in South Africa desperately need healthcare, but we have a collapsing system and that is why we have 800 qualified doctors sitting at home,” said Dr.
Young people in particular are demanding change and may abandon all loyalty to the ANC for the realization of democracy.
Others are so disillusioned that they say they won’t vote at all.
But the vast majority of people, like my mother, who lived through apartheid, cannot forget the achievements and still believe in the power of the ballot box.
And as I work on May 29, the seventh general election under democratic rule, she will take my six-year-old daughter with her when she lines up at the same polling station in Kwa-Thema where she voted in 1994.
You can watch Nomsa Maseko’s documentary Africa: The Battle for the Ballot Box on the BBC Africa YouTube channel.