For the first time in my adult life, I stood in a voting line that felt real.

There was no whispered certainty about the result the night before, no hollow theatre dressed up as democracy, no ballot cast only to decorate a predetermined victory speech.

For the first time, my generation did not perform citizenship -- we practised it. And we made a choice that was neither romantic nor naive.

On one side stood a politics that openly imagines a future where women shrink -- where our public lives are conditional, negotiated, permitted in moderation. On the other stood a party whose history carries the smell of muscle, patronage and street power, a past heavy with intimidation and extortion.

We did not vote because we were inspired. We voted because we calculated.

We chose the lesser danger so the greater one would not become law. We chose you.

Understand what that means.

This was not loyalty -- it was conditional trust. We escorted you into parliament knowing exactly who you have been, and hoping -- not assuming -- who you might become. You were not handed a mandate of love. You were handed a probationary contract.

And women were central to that contract.

Many of us voted against fear more than for ideology. We voted to prevent our lives from being negotiated in theological committees. We voted so our ambitions would not require permission slips. We voted because even flawed secular politics still leaves room to argue, organise and resist. We voted because space matters, even imperfect space.

Now that space is your responsibility.

So here is the message: Do not misunderstand our vote as forgiveness for your past. It was an investment in your future behaviour.

You promised governance instead of gangs. Deliver it. You promised rule of law instead of influence. Prove it. You promised safety in streets and workplaces. Enforce it.

Women do not need symbolic respect; we need structural protection.

Make cities where a woman returning home at night is routine, not bravery. Fix public transport so harassment is punished swiftly and visibly. Reform policing so reporting violence does not feel like negotiating humiliation. Train officers who record complaints instead of interrogating character.

In workplaces, safety cannot remain a corporate slogan. Strengthen labour monitoring, ensure complaint mechanisms actually function, and punish retaliation against women who speak. Sexual harassment policies exist on paper across the country; your job is to make them exist in consequence.

Online spaces too are now part of public life. Digital abuse silences women faster than censorship ever could. Treat coordinated harassment, threats and image-based abuse as civic crimes, not personal inconveniences.

And understand something deeper: women’s participation in society is not preserved by protectionist speeches about honour. It is preserved by predictable justice. When systems work, freedom survives. When systems fail, control replaces it.

We did not vote so you could “allow” women to live freely. We voted so you would build a state where freedom does not depend on who is in power.

Also, clean your own house.

Remember this, if extortion continues under new banners, we will notice. If student wings become private militias again, we will notice. If local strongmen become untouchable because they wear your colour, we will notice.

This election gave you legitimacy, but your behaviour will determine whether you deserve it.

Democracy is not the day ballots are counted. It is the days after, when power chooses restraint over habit.

Our generation did not grow up trusting politics. We grew up studying how it failed us. That makes us patient but not forgiving. We understand compromise, but we do not accept betrayal.

We voted for the future, not for nostalgia.

We voted because we want a country where “choosing the lesser evil” is no longer the only rational choice.

So, here is the simplest way to honour that vote -- make it possible for the next election to be decided by hope instead of fear.

You now govern not just a state, but a moment -- the fragile moment when citizens tried believing again.

Do not waste it.