Men in Uniform!

There is something about ex-colonies
Take a man
any man
dress him in uniform
any uniform
and he becomes a boy
No matter what you call him
police or clergyman
fireman or army man
officer
sergeant
admiral
major
or general
take a man
any man
and he remains a boy

Today as I sat in early evening traffic on the way from my hosts home to my friends host family, I recognised the second guard from the home where I stay. Just like my encounter with the first guard while off duty in his neighbourhood. There was no reason for him to stand out in the crowd. He was rather unremarkable, just another face in the hustle and bustle of garbage day Usine Niary Tally. There was absolutely no need to even notice him pass by, except for the fact that at that very moment some of the bystanders at the corner eatery where I stood awaiting the arrival of my friend and tour guide for the day became a little too welcoming for my liking. His face became a welcomed respite, a reason to ignore the swarm of men who chose to harass me and my partner and establish some form of rootedness or at the very least familiarity with the place to further dissuade the requests and bellows to help us get acquainted with our ‘new’ found environment. Our welcomed visitor took a minute out of what seemed to be a very determined course of action. He engaged in some small talk, seemed genuinely interested and impressed by the fact that we had actually ventured into his little patch of heaven like he had suggested, and not shrugged him off as overbearing and perhaps even per cautious. So off duty guard number one, clad in plain clothes like everyone else around him, greeted us as though we were equals (which the absence of the uniform allows us all to feel) inquired about the days plans, and we made no mention of who it is that we are acquainted, except in greeting each other farewell we acknowledged that our impending meeting would be sooner, rather than later.
Now this other gentleman, off duty guard number two, is a much older man, old enough maybe to even be my grandfather. He was rather unremarkable because the absence of his uniform also meant the absence of the surly, and somewhat forlorn expression that adorns his face at every of time we have encountered one another. He simply looked alive, there was a striking spring in his step, and he looked to be enjoying the sunlight, instead of hiding from it because of the way the uniform top hat heats his bald head almost to roasting. As I stretched my hand outside the taxi window to acknowledge him, a Colgate smile tore across his face, his eyes sparkled. Like off duty guard number one, he inquired about my day, and wished me well for the rest of it. He too looked interested in the interaction, the look on his face spelt more than uh oh yes I do know you; he looked genuinely pleased to have encountered me as a man, and not as a boy dressed in uniform.

Uniforms suck the soul out of a man and turn him into the UNIform = BOY.