It was a cold, dark, stormy night

A sophisticated and very classy young lady, the sort who walks on glass heels even when she is in flat shoes; the sort who insults you and leaves you feeling that perhaps she is right; the sort who inspires admiration and confidence; she had this little run-in with a noble and honourable older man; the sort who is strong of spirit, gallant and earthy; evidently a stern but dependable father; probably a possessive and jealous but loving and worthy husband; a man of character; the sort you would be proud to call your brother, father or son.

She was an office executive. He was a toilet cleaner.

I should tell you before we get too far into the story, that it is not THAT sort of story. I am not Red Pepper.

Anyway, there was a lot in the office that required executing that day and she had to work until after eight. After eight is usually the time the toilets are cleaned.

She took a break to … well, with such gentlepeople as herself, you do not name the process.

The stage was set for the encounter.

She was washing her hands at the sink of the ladies, when the door swung open and in he popped, dragging his mops and buckets and other janitorial paraphernalia.

She looked up and her eyes paused upon the sight: a man in the ladies’ loos.

He noticed her there and was a bit flustered. He did not expect to find anyone in the loo at the time.

Silence. Pause. Then he spoke.

As Ganda gentlemen are wont to, he greeted her with a polite and respectful word. “Mugyebale.”

Only trouble is, probably daunted by her evident schooling and education, and the fact that she does not look like a Muganda, he said it in English.

And this is why I love this story so much and am probably telling it for the fiftieth time. A lot of Baganda translate Mugyebale as


“Well done.”


Thank you. It is good to be back.