Saying Goodbye Mali dadi Style

A few weeks ago, I find myself watching UBC news and the lead story has something to do with President Museveni flying out to South Africa for the Tripartite Summit.
What perturbs is that there was an entourage to see him off led by the Commissioner of Prisons, Robert Byabashaija and Minister Syida Bumba amongst others. They waved to him as he walked up the stairs to his jet and when it was airborne, they were still waving!

To Byabashaija and Ms. Bumba, you wasted your time for once the plane was airborne, President Museveni would have been unable to see you and I highly doubt he had his face pressed to the window and looking to see if he could see you, so that he could return your waves!

However, wait a minute, is the Uganda of today not a far cry from the pre-1986 Uganda? I also thought those things of seeing people off had died out? Well, whenever I fly out, they just drop me off - no fanfare, no hullabaloo.

When I was growing up and whenever somebody was flying out, going to the airport was a treat. Into the car we would all clamber with the front seat reserved for whomever it was that was flying out. And when I say we would all clamber into the car, ‘we’ involved grandparents, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, hanger on’s, people who happened to be visiting at the time and if there was space, House-ee would also squeeze herself in.

I am flying out and headed to Jo’burg for work and when I’m dropped off at the airport, it is a full house. Driver on seeing the crowd milling outside the departure terminal has the foresight to tell me that it looks like it will be a full flight - something that I am not too keen on. As I puff on my last Sporti cigarette across the road from the departure terminal, like diarrhoea, I see him being everywhere. Young Man is walking inside the terminal with a commanding swagger. He’s now back outside and he is talking to just about everybody there is to talk to and they are also desperately trying to talk to him though he brushes some of them off.

Perhaps he is a celebrity, but getting a closer look at him, his face does not register as one that I have seen in Have You Heard. In the meantime, he has started to sneer at me. No, tell a lie. He is looking at me with utter contempt.

I am back at the entrance to the departure terminal but I am not able to get in because Young Man’s people are blocking the entrance and my polite ‘excuse me’s’ are not washing with them. To make matters worse, his people have also taken on his utter contempt look as they cast their eyes at me.

I think it has something to do with what I am wearing – beach slippers, a faded pair of army shorts and a T-shirt that is due for retirement as a floor rag. He on the other hand, is dressed to the nines in a new suit with the makers label still sewn to the sleeve and was, probably bought the previous day. His shoes too, are new and he has a cowboy style belt with a buckle so big and dazzling with mali dadi flashing lights that if he came up behind you, you would think it was a police patrol pick up.
It was a struggle to get past his people. Once on the plane and in my seat, I am hope that the person who will sit to me is of sane mind and has flown before.

To my horror, my neighbour turns out to be Young Man. Standing my ground I give him an un-amused look. He returns my un-amused look by rolling his eyes. As we taxi to the runway, he tells me, “I see you don’t have any friends.” Asking how he came to that conclusion, he boasts of the three coasters mini buses full of family and friends that escorted him from his home in Najja to see him off. I keep mum.
He then asks if I am not embarrassed by flying out in beach slippers, shorts and a t-shirt yet, he has thrown on a new wardrobe. I give him a ‘what the f**k is your problem’ look.

When the drinks cart comes round, Stewardess deposits a four pack of Castle beer on my table. Young Man next to me who I find out is a first time flyer declines when offered a drink and dinner. In fact, he declines everything.

As I dine and the Castle beer quenches my thirst, I can see Young Man drooling at my chicken in a creamy mushroom sauce and watching enviously every time I pop open a Castle or Stewardess brings another four pack.

As we come in to land in Jo’burg, I lean over and whisper to him. “You must be hungry and thirsty? You know the food and drink are complimentary don’t you?” Alas, Young Man thought dinner and beer were for buying!

With that, he calls Stewardess and asks for dinner. “Sir, I am sorry. I can’t serve you because we are about to land,” she tells him.

His desperate face looks at me and under my breath I say, “Oli stupidi” (you are stupid). I also give him the same utter contempt look that he gave me at the airport when he saw nobody had come to see me off. For extra measure, I also swing him a ‘you villager – tumbavu!’ look because he also thought he was all IT in his new shoes, cowboy style belt with a buckle so big and dazzling with mali dadi flashing lights.