When I was about 12 or so I read a series of thirteen short stories. The stories themselves didn't stick with me, but the prologue to them did.
The author explained that he had been on a flight from Capetown to Cairo in the 1970's and the plane had stopped for refuelling in Uganda (which was under Idi Amin at the time). On the tarmack, in the hottest part of the afternoon, was a white woman and boy of about twelve. The woman was wearing an elegant evening dress and the boy was wearing a tuxedo.