Egyptians queue patiently to vote for change

AT EIGHT o’clock in the morning the line of voters four and five abreast and 200 metres-long stretches along October 26th street, turns the corner at Aziz Abaza street and doubles back on to itself. The well-dressed ladies of upmarket Zamalek, many sipping take-away lattes from local cafes, are accompanied by a scattering of men, most of whom vote at a separate school a 10 minute walk from here.

Diana Edwards, a pretty round-faced women in her 20s, is standing with a group of friends, chatting. “I came at quarter to eight and I am determined to stay until I vote. It’s the first time most of us vote. We feel we might make a difference. Before we did not.” She does not favour ongoing protests against the ruling military council taking place in Tahrir Square and places her faith in this, the first parliamentary election since the fall of the Mubarak regime last February. She predicts that the Muslim Brotherhood, tipped to secure a solid bloc of seats, “will not win in Zamalek.” Mervat Amr, a handsome older woman, is delighted with the turnout. “All of a sudden people have a sense of belonging. I have never seen anything like this before.” Two awkward young soldiers in battle gear guard the gates of the Zamalek Kawmia School while volunteers armed with reams of yellow and blue ribbon attempt to channel indisciplined voters. A separate queue of elderly women, some with Zimmer frames, folding chairs, and canes, is given preference.

At the Experimental School in a mixed social class area of Maadi district, the line of men reaches the end of the block. Amr (30), an architect who spent many days protesting in Tahrir, says, “People should not be in Tahrir today. We feel we are back to square one” because the military continues to rule. “But I don’t think the people will allow the military to stay in power.” At the line at the nearby polling station women with headscarves and head-to-toe conservative coverings stand alongside women in jeans and jackets.

Imposing, bareheaded Dina, who is in public relations, complains, “I have been here since seven and I have only moved a few feet. There was no ink here” to mark the fingers of voters.

“This is our opportunity to stop the Muslim Brotherhood. Everyone we know,” she gestures to her friends, “has come to vote today. We are from all social levels.

“People are well informed. They have seen so many programmes on TV where the candidates have given their opinions. The media has played a big role ... everyone believes in change.” She argues that the ongoing occupation of Tahrir Square is a good idea. “It exerts pressure ... progress has been too slow..” Farouk Square is festooned with election banners and posters showing the smiling faces of candidates beside their symbols. Many casting ballots in this, Egypt’s first real multiparty poll, are illiterate. One man has chosen a nail, another a bust of Egypt’s ancient Queen Nefertiti, female campaigner Gamila Ismail selected a blender, perhaps to make a smoothie of the apple, mango, and banana symbols sported by rivals. There are few bearded faces, signifying fundamentalist candidates.

Habib, our Coptic Chrisian driver, says, “Most people will vote secular. They are not interested in religion. The Muslim Brotherhood only wants power not to make Egypt a good place.” Traffic eases on the broad highway flanked by drifts of stinking rubbish and potteries displaying their wares. At the City of the Dead, the sandy road between the one and two storey tombs is empty, calm. Caretakers hover at the entrance to the magnificent domed mausoleum containing the remains of the family of Muhammad Ali Pasha, 1769-1848, the Ottoman ruler who founded modern Egypt. He is buried in the citadel on the Moqattam hills. Few people are about, even at the popular cafe at the heart of this sector of Cairo’s vast cemeteries, dating to the 8th century. People who cannot afford the capital’s high rents share the tombs with the long and recent dead.

A ragged line of unshaven men gathers beneath an election poster advertising the moderate Muslim Wasat party on the wall of a school on a squalid street. They have been waiting for 45 minutes. None have voted before. Sayyed Muhamman (52) who lays tiles for a living, observes, “We hope this parliament will change things.” His companions nod in agreement.

Horriya party candidate Mamdouh Abu al-Magd, whose agents are illegally handing out fliers, dismisses the anti-military demonstration in Tahrir. “The army will stay until we finish the parliamentary and presidential elections, then it will return to barracks,” he asserts.

Back at the school in Zamalek at 1.15pm, the line has not diminished but voters have progressed. Diana Edwards brandishes her little finger to display the inked tip. “I did it, I voted.”

Egyptian election: How it works

During the first, two-day phase of the parliamentary election, 17.5 million voters are eligible to cast ballots at 3,809 polling stations in nine provinces, including Cairo, Alexandria, and Luxor. In this stage, 1,452 party candidates and 2,357 independents are contesting 168 seats in the 498 member lower house. Voters mark two ballot papers, the first for a single party list or bloc of parties, the other for two independents.

Two-thirds of the seats in parliament have been allocated to lists and parties, one-third to independents.

Turnout is expected to be much higher than the 5 to 10 per cent that participated in the last parliamentary poll which took place at the same time last year. The National Democratic Party of ousted president Hosni Mubarak took nearly all assembly seats in an election that was considered by most Egyptians to be fraudulent and contributed to the collection of grievances that inspired the uprising.