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There was on shop in the town of Mufulira， which was notorious for its color bar. It was a drugstore. While Europeans were served at the counter， a long line of Africans queued at the window and often not only were kept waiting but， when their turn came to be served， were rudely treated by the shop assistants. One day I was determined to make a public protest against this kind of thing， and many of the schoolboys in my class followed me to the store and waited outside to see what would happen when I went in. I simply went into the shop and asked the manager politely for some medicine. As soon as he saw me standing in the place where only European customers were allowed to stand he shouted at me in a bastard language that is only used by an employed when speaking to his servants. I stood at the counter and politely requested in English that I should be served. The manager became exasperated and said to me in English， If you stand there till Christmas I will never serve you. I went to the District commissioners office. Fortunately the District Commissioner was out， for he was one of the old school; however， I saw a young District Officer who was a friend of mine. He was very concerned to hear my story and told me that if ever I wanted anything more from the drugstore all I had to do was come to him personally and he would buy my medicine for me. I protested that that was not good enough. I asked him to accompany me back to the store and to make a protest to the manager. This he did， and I well remember him saying to the manager， Here is Mr. Kaunda who is a responsible member of the Urban Advisory Council， and you treat him like a common servant. The manager of the drugstore apologized and said， If only he had introduced himself and explained who he was， then， of course I should have given him proper service. | 
