6 | The Lion King
Cover Story
Ubiquitous UBA -
My banking hall with me
By Anthony Osae-Brown
1980
T
omuka is up early. It is going
to be a hectic day. He is
going to the bank. The
office has issued him a cheque
for the month’s salary. He has
already told his supervisor that
he is not going to be at work
today, because he will be at the
bank. His supervisor has raised
no objections, since he had also
been at the bank yesterday, to
cash his salary. He did not return
to the office.
For Tomuka, it is a monthly ritual;
the month-end all-day stay at
the bank. It is something that
he even looks forward to. It has
become a month-end meeting
point, a place to make friends
and even strike some new deals.
He actually met his fiancée at the
bank during one of those long
waits. Now, they are considering
getting married.
So, now anytime he is going to
the bank, he carries with him that
fond memory. Like this morning.
At 7:30 a.m., he was already at
the bank’s gates. But it was not
early enough, because he could
count about 20 people already
waiting when he got there. He
could recognize many familiar
faces, so he immediately struck a
conversation.
8:00 a.m. sharp, the doors to
the bank opened for business.
Everyone rushed in shoving and
jostling to get a vantage position.
The bank staff were behind their
high counters, busy with their
ledgers. None looked up. It was
as if none heard or saw the fact
that more than 20 people were in
the banking hall shoving, jostling
and squeezing themselves.
But the security man noticed.
Soon he barked an order.
“Everybody line up properly
and keep quiet. If anybody
makes noise, he will be sent
out. This is not a market place”.
With that order, everyone kept
quiet. Silently, they struggled
for position on the line, men
shoving against women, women
shoving against men, not
bordered about the reaction
that their close body contact
was generating in the opposite
sex. All they cared about at that
point was getting their money
from the bank’s vaults.
Thirty minutes later, another
security guard appears with a
box full of plastics cut into nice
square shapes with numbers on
them. They were called the “Tally
Numbers”. He hands them to
everyone on the line. Tomuka
gets his, he is number 25. He
realizes he has a long day ahead
at the bank. Everyone is asked to
hand in his passbook or cheque
book with his tally number to the
lady in a cubicle with a tiny hole.
Everyone does this, including
Tomuka. It was already
9:00 a.m. Tomuka felt
hungry but he had no
money on him. He also
felt tired from standing
for over two hours now,
but he could not sit
because the only long
wooden bench in the
banking hall has been
taken over by other
customers waiting to
withdraw their money.
He could also feel
the heat building up in
the banking hall. There
was just a single fan,
standing in a far corner
of the banking hall. Some
customers were already
blocking the fan in a bid
to get as much of the breeze
as possible on themselves. He
could see many other customers
beginning to sweat but no one
was willing to leave the very
choked banking hall because if
you leave, and your tally number
is called while you are away, you
will have to wait till the end of the
day or come back another day.
He managed to secure a place
on the floor beside some other
customers, one who was already
sleeping and snoring loudly.
Soon, he was also dozing, only
waking up when his drooping
head hits that of his neighbour
who
wasted no time in
shoving it
back. He
was hungry,
tired and
sleepy but
