On Tuesday afternoon a group of people with blue helium balloons left Government Avenue and disappeared through a little gate between the National Gallery and the Holocaust Museum.
Being curious I followed at a distance only to be presented with a dilemma.
I wanted to see what was happening outside Parliament but should I join the thousands of anti-Zuma protesters?
More out of fear of being crushed than respect for President Jacob Zuma, I decided to walk away.
I was wondering what would happen to the blue helium balloons.
En route to the library I asked a few opposition party supporters, but nobody knew or cared.
As things turned out, by the time votes by secret ballot were cast and counted it was too dark for a cloud of blue balloons to make any sort of impression anyway, celebratory or otherwise.
On the Grand Parade a less intimidating gathering of ruling party supporters jived and ululated around a mobile mini-stage blasting Struggle songs.
The yellow-black-and-green atmosphere was contagious, presenting another dilemma. Could I sway even modestly to the rhythm without appearing pro-Zuma?
Not out of fear of being crushed this time, but before the vibe clouded my judgement completely, I walked away.
So where does a killjoy like myself belong in all this craziness? And wasn’t Tuesday’s party atmosphere a bit bizarre?
These are, after all, very scary times.