Yesterday, a couple of my work mates and I decided to give the food in bugolobi market a try. To be honest, I have worked in bugolobi for nearly two years now but I had never gathered up enough courage to eat that food. Some of my bosses even beat me to it and if you knew my bosses, you’d know how much of a miracle that is! Of course there was the incentive that someone else was buying me this lunch,free lunch, why not?
On the way back from lunch, I happened to pass by the bank, I had some deposits to make. I wasn’t really the one lining up, my colleague who is a regular and gets special no-lining up treatment is the one who did. So I went and took a seat in some comfortable looking chairs that were right outside the branch manager’s office. It is here that I met, the man who was the delight of my afternoon.
If I were to guess, I’d say he was about late 60’s or early 70’s. After greeting him and asking how he was, he half jokingly-half seriously tells me he is not well. So I asked him why and he says it is because he doesn’t have money to pay his water bills and hence he had to leave the soap in his hair and he said that is why his hair was white. You know how Renee Zellweger(spelling?) says in Jerry Mcguire “shut up…you had me at hello” I think he had me at that sentence. We went on to talk about other things, with him occassionally offering to carry my money for me if I had forgotten to come with a bag because his shirt had four pockets and asking why those young men in the line were wearing their pants so low (they were not that low, he obviously has not seen Kenzo). He was there to see the manager,he might have been withdrawing a big sum of money, and he kept complaining, wondering where she was and why she was making “a young man” like him wait.
I loved the 20 minutes or so that I spent with that man. Eventually he was attended to and he left me in the bank. I smiled as I saw him walk to his car outside. He had told me that he had to go and struggle in a taxi after I’d told him that he deserved to be driven around. He reminded me of my father. His sense of humour and the fact that he spoke to me so easily, he spoke to me just like I assume my father would.My father passed on when I was 9, but from what I remember, more than 10 years later, I think he would speak to me like that. With respect, yet still playful because he recognises how much younger than him I am. I miss my dad. I miss my grandfather too.
There is a special something about talking to a man who is way older than you,who you know loves you and has your best interests at heart, who you know would defend you. I miss my dad. I miss knowing my grandfather. I want to tell my dad about how it went at Touch Fm this morning and I want him to reassure me that all will be well and celebrate with me. I want to tell him about how I want to go back to school and ask his opinion on how to balance all I have to do. I want to show him my work. My blog post, my attempt at fiction and my poems. I want to write him letters. There is a part of me that thinks we’d be writing each other letters. At least he’d read them.
When I meet my spouse, I want to be both anxious and excited about the day he meets my father. I want to see the look of approval on his face on that day when he says yes to our request for marriage. I want o hear him say things to my sweetheart about me, his sweetheart. Oh, how I miss my father!