THE Asians were not newly arrived in East Africa. They had been there long enough to down roots, and the Asians we met were of the third or fourth generation, and should have, by now, taken on an East African identity. But it was obvious that they did not want to identify with the Africans and those among them who were affluent, and there were many, wanted to be accepted by the white men, not as his social equal, that was a bridge too far, but as someone worthy of becoming a member of their clubs.
But the Asians were industrious and played a pivotal role in East Africa’s economy, keeping the wheels of commerce running, merchants and shopkeepers, entrepreneurs and though they owned homes, were lodgers in these homes if one took a long-range view. They stayed on the right side of the British.
A news item had appeared that a lion had been found wandering in the grounds of the house of the governor who was Sir Evelyn Baring. There was much speculation about how the lion could have got there. It was unlikely that he could have wandered from the Amboseli game reserve, which was several hundred miles away from Nairobi, or he could have escaped from the zoo, though, he should have been detected. Was someone keeping a lion as a pet in the grounds of the government house? But surely his roars would have been heard. I had a chance to ask Sir Evelyn himself.
The governor decided to give a reception in our honour and the Asian community was over the moon. Never before had the governor given anything like a reception to any person or group that was Asian and we were told that it was a signal honour. We were briefed by Hamid Jalal and Kardar that we were expected to be on our best behaviour and to wear our Sunday best.
WE duly arrived at the governor’s mansion, not quite as awesome as the Viceregal Lodge in British India, but still very opulent, high ceilings, chandeliers, large reception halls and spacious grounds. Very Union Jack, very intimidating. We had expected to be lined up and formally introduced to Sir Evelyn and his wife Mary and then, after a few words, the hosts would leave. It was nothing like that.
It was a large reception and the whites with their memsahibs were there, the men in black tie and the women in evening gowns. There were quite a few Asians, stiff and starched and their wives in silk saris and dripping with jewels. It was informal, and one mingled with the guests. I got talking with a white lady, very handsome and very dignified, and she had asked me how I was enjoying East Africa. I told her that recently I spent several weeks in China and had wanted to show the same political curiosity as I had when I have arrived in China. But, so far, I had been horrified at the way the blacks were being treated and I didn’t see how great violence could be avoided. I was in full flow and I wagged my finger and told her that I found the political repression both brutal and uncomprehending. The lady listened without interrupting, and the conversation became a diatribe. After a while, she excused herself and I joined a group who were talking about cricket. A young, British captain in uniform came up to me, clicked his heels and told me that His Excellency wanted to see me. I was terrified and had visions of being put in irons and taken off to jail.
I walked with the captain to Sir Evelyn. We shook hands and he said (to my astonishment and great relief): “My wife informs me that you are a very interesting young man.” I had no idea what he was talking about until it dawned on me that the lady I had been talking to earlier was Lady Mary. “I am very sorry, “ I told him, “but I had no idea who the lady was and I was just letting off steam.” He seemed amused.
“On the contrary, she found your views refreshingly honest and I would like to hear them.” He said if I was not too busy with the cricket, I could perhaps have a cup of tea with him. “I am a journalist, Your Excellency. I hope our meeting will be on the record.” He said it would be if I wanted. I did interview Sir Evelyn and about that, later. But I referred to him in the article I wrote as the lion in the governor’s mansion.
WHEN we were there, the Mau Mau insurgency was at its height. We were told that everyone carried arms, even society ladies going to ‘sun-downers’ were reported to be carrying small pistols in their elegant evening-bags. It was a criminal offence for a European to lose a weapon; a Scandinavian youth was actually sentenced to two months jail and fined when he was robbed of three automatic pistols. Understandably, the tension was unendurable for the Whites. But we were unaware of the Emergency, as it was called, beyond being told of suspects being screened in detention camps and boys being picked up, caged with wire-netting and carried off in trucks.
A few hundred miles away from Nairobi were the Karatina Forests and we drove there one afternoon. We met a young man, Quayom Dar, who seemed to be in charge of a saw-mill. He was wearing a Government College, Lahore, blazer with his boxing-blue badge. He turned out to be one of those remarkable men that we read about in the Reader’s Digest. He was said to be the only man who had been taken prisoner by the Mau Mau and who lived to tell his story.
THE Mau Mau was operating in the Karatina Forests and while on his walk one evening, Quayum was ambushed by the Mau Maul. He was tied up and orders for his execution were given. How did he survive? He talked his way out. He explained to them that he was not their enemy, he was as much a victim as they were. One member of the group insisted on his immediate execution, others wanted to listen to what he had to say. He saw his salvation in keeping his monologue going and he wore his captors out and was released.
Did he pay any ransom? He did not, but he found himself under surveillance. The British were most suspicious that he should have been released, after taken prisoner. He was exiled from Kenya. But he returned when better sense prevailed.
He had a Kenyan maid and she had the habit of singing and humming all the time. I asked Quayum about this and he told me that she had been suspected of belonging to the Mau Mau and had been hauled up. She was pregnant then, and had lost the baby. Why did she sing? Singing was actually a Mau Mau way of communicating. Whenever they wanted to pass on any message, they sang the message.
Who and what were the Mau Mau? The British answer to this was that it was a terrorist group, organized mainly from within the Kikuyu tribe. Its origins were obscure and it had a complex mystical base and a secret oath. Much was made of this oath for to it was attributed the hold that the organization had on its members, a melange of witch-craft and black magic.
But the Mau Mau arose out of the grievances that the Kikuyu tribe had against the British and because of the profound social and psychological upheaval in Kikuyu society. It was being put down with merciless severity. Unlawful possession of arms, consorting with the terrorists, administering unlawful oaths, acting with intent to further terrorism, procuring supplies for terrorists were capital crimes under the Emergency. And scores of people were hanged for these offences. Yet it was curious that the Mau Mau actually killed very few white men, a handful of Asians and by far the largest number were blacks. There was no mass killings. Only mass hysteria.
THE man who was the leader of the Mau Mau was Jomo Kenyatta. His story is not unlike the story of other great leaders who fought against colonialism. He was educated in a Scottish mission school near Nairobi. He worked as a kitchen boy, a carpenter and an inspector for the Nairobi water works. He joined the Kikuyu Central Association when it was formed in 1922 and rose to be its leader.
In 1929, he went to Europe and lived outside Africa for the next seventeen years. He studied at the London School of Economics under Professor Malinowski, the well-known anthropologist. He lived like most African students, he was poor, he experienced plenty of discrimination and humiliation. But he never lost his nationalist ardour, his defiant love of his homeland. While we were playing cricket, he was locked up in jail, awaiting trial which everyone knew would be a mockery.
IN the meanwhile, I had troubles of my own. I had developed an earache and when the pain became too much to bear, I went to see a doctor. He put me on antibiotics. Within hours, I broke out in a rash that covered most parts of my body. The doctor was called and without much ado, he said that I had measles. I told him that I had measles as a child and it seemed unlikely that it would re-occur. “There is a chance, it can be an allergy,” he said and he gave me an anti-allergy pill. This time he got it right. The rash cleared.
This was a classic case of getting a second opinion from the same doctor. I was allergic to sulfa which the antibiotics contained. Had it been measles, I too would have been in quarantine, like Jomo Kenyatta, though not in a cage, but in a bedroom in Bashir Mauladad’s splendid home.
THE Asians were not newly arrived in East Africa. They had been there long enough to down roots, and the Asians we met were of the third or fourth generation, and should have, by now, taken on an East African identity. But it was obvious that they did not want to identify with the Africans and those among them who were affluent, and there were many, wanted to be accepted by the white men, not as his social equal, that was a bridge too far, but as someone worthy of becoming a member of their clubs.
