As I imagined, it has been a tiring 24 hours.

The feeling of anger and frustration from the din of the final stage of campaigning has subsided.

A sense of calm mixed with pride has taken over, as I see people wait patiently to vote in long queues for hours on end without complaining.

A university professor went to vote at a polling station at the University of Ghana with her students.

They asked her to go to the front of the queue but she declined and waited with them for three hours.

She told me she did not mind, it was a small price to pay for citizenship.

I heard similar things said in pidgin English and local languages but articulated just as well by carpenters and masons and even one drunken voter.

False claims

I'm also excited because election day is finally here.

All the waiting is over and we will soon know the final score, the victor and the vanquished.

I waited until the afternoon to cast my ballot, by which time the early queues had subsided and the polling station was deserted, except for the officials.

People have killed and gone to jail for the right to carry out the simple act of sticking your thumb on an ink pad and putting it next to the candidate of your choice.

The ritual is almost spiritual, giving a deep sense of empowerment.

Of course, I am also hard at work. As a journalist looking for a sound bite, I have been to four or five polling stations at the end of the day, looking for people arguing about the conduct of the poll or the merits of the rival candidates.

But Ghana's peaceful electorate has let me down.

I'm looking for the yelling and yelping and raising of voices that I was complaining about two days ago. But I can't find any.

As the Akan proverb goes: "It looks frightening when it's coming but when it actually arrives, its very different from how it appeared in the distance.