Yesterday, after "suffering" for weeks without any functioning flasks in my house, I went out to buy. After weaving through the human traffic, I found myself at Mega-Standard supermarket. The female guard frisked me up and down and then proceeded to peer into my bag. There was a half-drunk bottle of Fanta, the small one.
“You can’t take this in.” She took it out.
I immediately went into war-mode. “Why?”
“I have said you cannot take this in. Leave it at the front counter!”
I was having none of this. How could I leave an open bottle of soda at the counter? Someone could spit into it, just like Toundi secretly spat into the Commandant’s glass of water in ‘Houseboy’.
In a huff, I grabbed my half-consumed bottle and stomped out.
I later realized that I could have… maybe… just maybe... softened her heart if I had addressed her as “Afande".
I have a cousin of a cousin in the village who is a primary school teacher. Some years ago he started volunteering as a community health worker, distributing malaria drugs around the village and diagnosing children with illnesses they didn't have. Now he is a self-styled ‘Musawo’ not “Musomesa”.
Members of Parliament will respond to journalists’ request for a sound bite faster when you address them as “Honorable”.
Male teachers would like to be called “Master” (pronounced “Maasita”) when parents pop into the school to check on their children’s academic progress.
What about the pot-bellied so-called mafuta-mingis dressed in linen high-waited trousers like Pepe Kalle’s? These ones are happy to be are classified as “Mugagga” by the guards at the bank who don't bother to check them, but just let them pass.
And the market women to whom everyone is “Auntie” or “Uncle” when they want you to buy their wares.
And anyone who wears a taqiyah on his head, even if he is a careless taxi driver who doesn't bother to button his shirt sleeves, instantly becomes “Hajji”. A woman in a veil is “Hajjati” whether they have been to Mecca or not.
I have seen, and heard people trying to wangle their way through a deal by calling the other moneyed party “Boss”.
In the year that I have made regular visits to Mulago hospital, I find that I can easily manipulate a smile out of the stressed nurse who takes blood pressure readings when I call her “Musawo”. Not the simple “Naansi.”
The days of men hissing at us and labelling us “Sister” are long gone. These days we are all “Model” (pronounced “Moddo”).
And there’s this thing that bodaboda guys have when they see you approach. They slap the passenger seat of the motorcycle hard and say “Ogenda nyabo?”. Only that one called me “Maaso Glory.”
Any other “BIG” names?
I later realized that I could have… maybe… just maybe... softened her heart if I had addressed her as “Afande".
I have a cousin of a cousin in the village who is a primary school teacher. Some years ago he started volunteering as a community health worker, distributing malaria drugs around the village and diagnosing children with illnesses they didn't have. Now he is a self-styled ‘Musawo’ not “Musomesa”.
Members of Parliament will respond to journalists’ request for a sound bite faster when you address them as “Honorable”.
Male teachers would like to be called “Master” (pronounced “Maasita”) when parents pop into the school to check on their children’s academic progress.
What about the pot-bellied so-called mafuta-mingis dressed in linen high-waited trousers like Pepe Kalle’s? These ones are happy to be are classified as “Mugagga” by the guards at the bank who don't bother to check them, but just let them pass.
And the market women to whom everyone is “Auntie” or “Uncle” when they want you to buy their wares.
And anyone who wears a taqiyah on his head, even if he is a careless taxi driver who doesn't bother to button his shirt sleeves, instantly becomes “Hajji”. A woman in a veil is “Hajjati” whether they have been to Mecca or not.
I have seen, and heard people trying to wangle their way through a deal by calling the other moneyed party “Boss”.
In the year that I have made regular visits to Mulago hospital, I find that I can easily manipulate a smile out of the stressed nurse who takes blood pressure readings when I call her “Musawo”. Not the simple “Naansi.”
The days of men hissing at us and labelling us “Sister” are long gone. These days we are all “Model” (pronounced “Moddo”).
And there’s this thing that bodaboda guys have when they see you approach. They slap the passenger seat of the motorcycle hard and say “Ogenda nyabo?”. Only that one called me “Maaso Glory.”
Any other “BIG” names?
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