Are you bearing arms?

Today, my friends, I bring you another classic example of Ugandan tact and diplomacy.

This morning, as I pulled up to the supermarket car park for the obligatory glove box check (surely any would-be terrorists are not storing their bombs and firearms in the glove compartment anymore), I was greeted with a wide smile and the disturbing words ‘good morning, sir’.

“Sir?” said I. “I am not a sir, I am a madam!”

I paused, to give the guard the opportunity to retract his opening greeting. Perhaps to apologise and say he was distracted and didn’t really look at the driver of the oncoming car.

I wondered how I could possibly be mistaken for a ‘sir’, given that I was wearing a low cut, lilac top, positively feminine sunglasses and had my chin length bobbed hair down.

But no. This is Uganda, where the foot never strays far away from the mouth.

“Oh madam. I thought you were a sir because of your arms!”

I’ve always quite liked my arms. They are quite normal looking arms, spattered with a few freckles and of average size and length. They’re not particularly muscly, but then the bingo wings aren’t that bad either. Nor are they hairy or covered in sailor style tattoos.

For the sake of my sanity, I decided not to delve any deeper.

I told the ssebo I was not bearing any dangerous arms and drove off.