Two weeks ago, I spent a night at one of the relatively decent accommodation facilities in the fast-growing township of Makambako, which straddles the Iringa–Mbeya–Zambia highway. The town is also a strategic junction connecting to Njombe and Songea and onward to other southern regions.
I had arrived at the facility a few minutes before midnight, after driving for more than eight hours from Morogoro. Unsurprisingly, as soon as I checked in, I went straight to bed and slept like a baby.
I woke up very early the next morning, preparing for another three-hour drive to Mbeya, where I had urgent family matters to attend to.
It was when I attempted to open my contraption—read: old car—that I realised, to my horror, that I had forgotten to lock it the previous night.
Apprehensively, I opened the car door and checked whether everything was still there. The good thing about me is that I never keep expensive items in my car. Nevertheless, I was dismayed to discover that my mobile phone power bank, a packet of fresh milk and a loaf of bread were missing.
I looked around to see whether the facility’s security guard was nearby. He was at the far end of the garden.
I considered going over to scold him for the loss, but thought better of it. After all, it was my fault. I was the one who had left the car vulnerable by failing to lock its doors.
Irritated, I entered the car and switched on the engine. Just as I was about to drive off, the security guard came running towards me, holding a small disposable bag.
“Sir! I have your items with me. You left your car open last night, and when I made my security rounds, I noticed there were items inside which could easily have been taken,” he said.
He added that he had kept them safe and handed me the bag. Indeed, everything was there.
I was dumbfounded. Only moments earlier, I had been on the verge of giving this man a piece of my mind. Now, here I was thanking him profusely for his professionalism and for being a good Samaritan.
Needless to say, I gave him the loaf of bread and the milk for his breakfast, along with a reasonable tip. I also promised to keep in touch with him and to stay at the facility whenever I am in Makambako. Naturally, I would also be happy to give him a glowing recommendation for any security position.
This incident reminded me of two other experiences highlighting the enduring traits of humanity, which I read some years ago in a WhatsApp group of UNICTR alumni, of which I am a member.
One was shared by a member who calls himself “UN Gipsy”, owing to his globetrotting lifestyle. He recounted how, one morning at a hotel in Nigeria, he handed his shoes to a shoe shiner stationed outside the hotel.
The shoe shiner took them and never returned, and the hotel staff were none the wiser. Fortunately, Mr UN Gipsy had another pair of shoes in his room.
The second account came from another former UN colleague, Rosette Muzinga from Uganda, who worked in Arusha for about two decades, beginning in 1996.
To do justice to her experience, I quote her verbatim:
“I have a beautiful story about Arusha. In 1996, during the initial appearance of the Akayesu, Rutaganda and Kayishema case, we were picked up from the then Novotel Hotel, where we were staying, and driven to the court premises at the AICC building.
“At the time, the Tribunal had no vehicles, and there was no bank dealing in foreign currency for the new ICTR staff, so our Daily Subsistence Allowance (DSA) was paid in cash.
“I had three weeks’ DSA in my purse. At the AICC, I got out, paid the taxi driver and left the car. We were rushing to receive court robes that had just arrived by DHL from The Hague.
“Later in the evening, as we left the AICC, the same taxi driver ran after me shouting, ‘Dada! Dada! Samahani’—meaning ‘Sister! Sister! Sorry.’
“We had already been offered a ride back to the hotel. Irritated, I told him that just because he had driven us in the morning did not mean we had to use his services again in the evening.
“He did not respond. Instead, he pulled out my purse and said, ‘Madam, you forgot this in my car. I was afraid you might change your clothes and I would not recognise you, so I waited the whole day for you.’
“I wished the ground would swallow me. He insisted that I count the money to ensure it was all there. When I asked him to name his reward, he said he only wanted prayers, as his reward was in heaven. He refused a tip.
“From that day, he became our regular driver, and at the first opportunity, he was employed by the Tribunal. It was truly a humbling experience.”
Indeed—what a story.
