Wilbur’s Reincarnation?…A new role for Wilbur in British public life

A True Story

 

This, as I say above, is a true story reported in today’s Sunday Times of 9th August 2009.

 

Wilbur the cat was sniffing around in its owner’s garden and enjoying the warm weather. During this time of year, the grass grows very fast and if you do not cut it regularly, it can become even harder to control, not to mention that it provides safe havens for visiting animals, pests and vermin.

 

Getting back to Wilbur, its sniffing and enjoyment of the smells of the new grass did not last long. The neighbour’s 13 ft python (Named here as ‘Taboo’) had escaped but the neighbour had not realised this.  Wilbur must have come face to face with Taboo and in one swoop at lightning speed, Taboo must have struck Wilbur and taken care of his feeding requirements for a few days. It appears that a python can take as many as two weeks to digest large animals… and so no trips to Sainsburys. But how do they know that Wilbur has been eaten by the snake?  Well, Wilbur’s remains were found in the snake and ‘x-rays’ have showed the metal tag that Wilbur has been wearing. The tag was a good idea..Wilbur never ran away from home but the tag helped its owners to identify the snake in its death.

 

Wilbur’s owners are reported to be devastated and feel very strongly that the neighbours’ python must be put away as well. The only problem is that pythons are not covered in the UK’s Dangerous Animals Act. They are not animals; therefore they cannot be classified as dangerous. There is no need even to build prisons for snakes. Taboo is safe and well for the moment. Wilbur’s owners have started a campaign to have snakes included in the Dangerous Animals Act so that Taboo’s relatives can be apprehended in every corner of the UK. The sleek, slimy, slithering Taboo has caused a problem for its entire community. Wilbur’s owners are also reported as saying that its death should not be in vain. Wilbur has become a campaigner from his cocoon inside the snake! Taboo goes around with utmost impunity as there are no indications that it was killed when it was found – the people who may have tried to kill it would have fallen foul of the law.

 

I am reminded of the many dogs that the Wahindi had in East Africa and how they were always at the mercy of Taboo’s African ancestors. The Asians did not seem to like cats as much as the English do and I have never fully understood the reason. Was it a cultural difference? Are cats considered to be evil and dirty? Did the Asians find that they could not cope with the cat’s dietary requirements? One thing I do know that Gujaratis had vegetarian dogs. They ate daal, bhat, vegetables with relish. I am not sure if they were fed with yogurt or ladoos because I have never heard of a dog with a sweet tooth. And the Sikhs fed their dogs with meat and left over bones in plenty. No research was carried out to show whether diet had a special effect on the dogs’ ultimate purpose – to provide security for its owners. Very few dogs enjoyed the comforts of the sofa in the owner’s house and almost all dogs belonging to the Wahindi slept outside and offered splendid service throughout their lives. Their favourite areas for sleeping was under the owner’s car…what fun to sleep under a sleek, brand new Mercedes? 

 

Our dogs were looked after by the house worker… that task was in his job description right from the start. The owners provided the essential cleaning agents and powders to keep the dogs clean and free from fleas and smells. It is not known which dogs were prone to more illness – the vegetarians or meat eaters. One would expect that the dog as a carnivore must have missed their true diet when they were brought up as pets in vegetarian households. Our dog was known as Jimmy and there so many stories to tell. Jimmy came to our household as a puppy and lived till the age of 13; in the UK Jimmy would have had a bus pass and could have claimed a pension if we had been skilled enough to register it as a human being. All I can say here is that the UK benefits system has been exploited by many people of all backgrounds…it would be very sad if our Jimmy was to spend some time in prison. Thankfully, Jimmy spared us the trouble; he died in 1971 and who knows? Jimmy might have anticipated the expulsion……

 

Talking about Jimmy, there are many stories to tell. He did a perfect job as a local guard dog and by feeding him with ghee and meat, we turned Jimmy into a local legend. Many Africans said that to hear Jimmy’s loud bark was enough to stop people passing by the roadside where Jimmy could see them from the gap under the door of the sakati, or yard. Did you have a Jimmy? I think the naming of the dog also conveyed a story and created the cultural framework between the dog and its owners. I am yet to figure out why many Asians spoke to their dogs in English, as we certainly did. Perhaps if Jimmy had been named Ranjit or Kaku would we have spoken to him in Punjabi? I am aware that one family of Gujarati dog owners had named their dog as ‘Moti’. But I am not aware if Moti was spoken to in Gujarati. There is certainly no information to confirm or deny that Moti enjoyed the poetry of Kavi Kalidas. By the way, if you happen to get your hands on a musical rendering of Shakuntala, one of Kalidas’s epics, do let me know. You wont, because I think I have the rare copy of the dance-drama which was performed at the Bhavan Centre nearly 20 years ago.

 

Let me hear your stories about dogs. The Chinese say that the best way to judge the character of a person is to ask him to describe his best friend or his worst enemy. Their comments can be so revealing. Let us beat the Chinese; they have no monopoly of wisdom. How people describe their dogs in this blog will emerge as a new science…and very soon we will attract competition. You see, copycats can be ruthless.

 

In the meantime spare a thought about Wilbur. If you are a lawyer, please send your suggestions which can be passed on to Wilbur’s owners on how they may proceed to work non-violently to change the law. In the meantime, it is clear that Taboo the python certainly had no respect for Gandhi ji.

Strike it lucky, a Ugandan Asian story

The Story of Daal, Rice, Achar and other “foods”

Following the Ugandan Asian expulsion, Lucky ‘Mann’ (not his real name) and his family went to settle in Canada. Lucky and his wife had worked hard while in Uganda and saved a bit of cash, enough to give them a better start in the new country of their choice than many hundreds of other Asians in the same situation. Lucky told this to me some time ago and I cannot say more for the reasons you will soon discover.

After the usual resettlement matters had been taken care of i.e. house, car, getting the children into school, Lucky started to miss the freedom he had enjoyed in his own business and the income that he become accustomed to. Here they were in Canada, while his extended family were seemingly having a great time in East Africa; enjoying the sun and having their clothes cleaned and ironed by Opio, the loyal house worker.

(I would never, ever describe these domestic workers as “servants”; it is such a mean and derogatory term. How can one be so big and important that another human being can be their servant? I will come back to discuss more of this major concern of mine, but at some other time.

One day, there was a knock at the door. At the same time Lucky heard the sound of a large truck with a loud engine coming towards his house. Lucky opened the door and found that it was a parcel delivery truck. The delivery man walked up to Lucky and put a cardboard flap with papers under his nose, asking Lucky to sign for accepting the delivery of a huge crate, the size of a single bed. But Lucky told the delivery man that he was not the man to whom the crate was addressed. He was not going to take the delivery. The man insisted, saying that as far as he knew, Lucky was also from Uganda and that perhaps he could help find the real owner of the crate, which had left Uganda about four months earlier. Lucky took the delivery with some guilt and some anticipation; perhaps the true owners could be found…. On the following weekend, Lucky and his wife started to open the crate, knowing that it was bound to carry household stuff that the unlucky person had sent to Canada but after such a long delay, the parcel was effectively lost. It is also possible that the owner did not pursue the post office believing that the parcel had never left the country; those very helpful people in East African Airways had indeed helped, but only themselves. Lucky got the packaging out of the way and saw that there were several round metal canisters with secure lids, also made of the same light metal. He recognised that it was the type of container which was used to store uncooked food, mainly lentils, rice, dry powders, haldi, red chilli powder and that sort of storable items, in his mother’s kitchen. Lucky put his hand into the first canister of urid daal to check whether it was infested with insects, soaked in water vapour or dry enough to cook. It was in good condition and Lucky decided to check whether the can was dry right down to the bottom.

He did not get a chance to hit the bottom. Instead his hand felt a solid object with a smooth surface. Lucky took it out and found that he was staring at a large gold nugget! He called in his wife who was also stunned by their discovery. They decided to shut the door and draw the curtains of the room, also remembering to push the children into the lounge to watch the television; weren’t there so many good programmes on Saturday mornings, beta? No go, go please okay? Lucky and his lucky wife went from one canister to another, opening in haste and rushing to pull out more and more nuggets of gold. The precious metal was found in all dry foods except the achars. Lucky and now his also lucky wife started to pack the gold quickly, almost expecting to hear a knock at the door. A passing truck got Lucky thinking that the delivery vehicle was back, coming to reclaim the crate. They worked out a plan… the crate had to be discarded quickly and the canisters had to be stored at the bottom of empty suitcases in the cellar. The gold had to be hidden away in the attic. Lucky decided that keeping the separated items in one location was not a good idea. They had to be dispersed. He spent the whole of his Sunday morning breaking down the crate into small pieces so that they could fit into the boot of his tiny car. After several journeys to the waste yard, the crate had been safely disposed off, just before the yard closed for the day. Lucky and also his get-quick-lucky wife decided to be patient and to hold on to their newly found treasure for a few months, until the Ugandan Asian ‘business’ had died down. Then one by one, after safe intervals, Lucky Mann and wife disposed off the gold and the refinancing of the poor, poor Ugandan migrants’ life had started.

No one knew where the true owners of the crate were. It was later generally understood that many departing Asians had stuffed gold or other precious items into cheap looking parcels and crates. One would hope that the majority of the owners were safely reunited with their goods. It was inevitable that some would not even leave the country and other crates would be lost in transit. Lucky’s gain was someone else’s loss. It took Lucky nearly 35 years to divulge their secret. I have not told you this story. I am merely reporting what Lucky told me.

Introducing Vali and Son

The love of labour? Or a labour of love?

Introducing Vali Jamal and Son. “Vali Jamal and Son”, nah, it is not a business on Jinja Road, Kampala. It is a creative enterprise between a father, Vali- and son Arafat Jamal who tirelessly bring out news, analysis and original interpretation of the past, present and futures of East African Asians, who left the countries of Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania at different stages in the post colonial era to build new homes and futures in Europe, The Americas, and Asia but predominantly in the United Kingdom, US and Canada. Vali and Arafat make a formidable team who invest their time and money to help revive, promote and redevelop the fraternity and fellowship that made East Africa a unique place.

You had to be in it to win it; it was a prize that you only won if you invested in developing fellowship. Vali and Arafat know a trick or two and the contacts to match. What will posterity say when people talk about the East African ‘story’ in 20, 30 or 50 years time? Not much just as I discovered when in Kampala last year (2008). I met many young Africans who had only  vaguely heard about Idi Amin but not every youngster I talked to had heard about the expulsion of the Asian community. The growth of Uganda’s population has been so fast that when staying at the Sheraton, the staff pointed to the oldest member of staff on a particular shift on duty. He was at 34 old enough to have heard about the Asian story. To borrow Gunnar Myrdal’s skill in titling, he was barely aware of ‘The East African Dilemma’. The same is happening in the west where children and grandchildren of the Wahindi have not fully recognised the historic significance of the East African Asian story. Vali and Arafat, with the help of many volunteers and well-wishers and supporters are now working on a new book on the Great East African Story that has not been told. A terrific initiative, the Jamals’ book and blog are attracting information and pictures on a daily basis. But it is also your chance to add your own contribution to the book, which is now a communally shared ‘work-in- progress’ or “wip”.

You must join the project or at least check it out. The Jamals are coming. People say that you cannot write a report by committee. That may be true, but here people are collectively helping Vali and Arafat to write what should emerge as a tome of excellence; the history book of all history books. Why? Because it aims to cover so many aspects of the East African heritage and nostalgia; it is your story.

When touring in the Chinese province of Sichuan some months ago, our driver and ‘the bus boy’ refused to have lunch and refreshments with us during rest breaks. They were adamant and were prepared to go hungry but would not bring themselves to sit at the same table with the ‘high class visitors’ – thats me and my family. “Oh come off it”, I told them. We are East Africans and we have never discriminated against people who come from a lower ‘station’ in life. We have learnt to respect people for what they bring to a relationship and many of us miss the connection we had with African friends, neighbours, class fellows and work mates. The Chinese driver, speaking to us through a highly articulate tour guide and interpreter then said “A man who does not know where he is going should at least know where he has come from”. We all laughed loudly, shook hands incessantly and together ate one of the best Chinese meals that I have ever enjoyed, one from the ‘dhabba’ or hut on the roadside. This was the confluence of the Yangtse and another great Chinese river…. where the waters are rough and very  angry. And a large stone statue of Buddha watches over the ‘sangam’ the meeting point; a word that has been immortalised by Raj Kapoor’s Sangam. Vali and Arafat not only know where they have come from but also know where they are going. But you can help to enrich the sangam, the celebration of our cultural heritage in cyberspace and then in the book.

 Hurry up! Space is limited.

Visit www.vivaeastafrica.blogspot.com  Vali Jamal, BA Cantab, PhD Stanford, 1976-2001 Senior Economist, ILO. Author: Ugandan Asians: Then and Now, Here and There. We Contributed, We Contribute (forthcoming Nov 2009).

Please also see “VALI JAMAL’ OPUS”  by clicking the page title below the picture

The Search for High Value Items

Once the notice of expulsion was finally accepted by the Asian community, the massive task of preparations began. This little episode deals with some reactions of my mother-in-law. We rushed to the shops to buy something that everyone would need – suitcases! On arriving at the main shop on Kampala Road, we soon realised that the best suitcases and travel bags had already gone. We wanted to buy the most expensive items in order to use up our stocks of Ugandan shillings. Then, while looking at the less attractive items on sale, we noticed that the prices had been hiked to unacceptable levels. Worthless items of travelling gear had been priced to generate ridiculously high profit margins for the shops. In fact, everyone was unusually looking for the most expensive stock to use up their money rather than leaving it behind.

 We picked up some suitcases, essentially made of pressed cardboard with horrible green and brown colour patterns that reminded one of a terminally ill crocodile if that is indeed the pattern was aimed to show. It was a fake crocodile skin ‘pattern’ but somehow the owner of the skin had not taken care of his health! My mother-in-law reached out for the suitcase and then, while slowly beginning to accept the inevitable, she asked how much it cost. “Two thousand shillings, Ma Ji” replied the retailer with immense respect for the elderly lady. “What, two thousand shillings? How dare you call me Ma Ji?” The retailer was surprised but quickly resumed the sale. My mother-in-law wanted to know how much profit he was making from each sale. She was annoyed that this man was making money out of people’s misery. “So, what are you going to do with all the profit?” she asked. She wanted to know if he was going to take with him to his next life. I urged her to make up her mind so that I could pay up and leave. However, she still had one more question for the shop keeper “How the hell are you going to get the money out of the country, you rotten soul?” she asked. The shop keeper burst out laughing, “Ma ji, we are Gujarati traders, we know how to get our money out. We are not Sardarjis; we know our business” he confirmed. Mother-in-law had had enough. “Let us go and have a look somewhere else”, she commanded and walked out.

Of course the same thing happened in the next shop and the one after that - prices had shot through the roof as the traders realised that once their stock was sold, they would also be leaving!

Leadership at the time of need -2

I am going back to my views on Asian leadership at the time of expulsion. Let’s revisit the second question which was:

• Did the Asian leaders fulfill the implied obligations that the departing Asian community had expected?

On reflection, why was there an ‘implied’ need or obligation? Leaders are appointed as leaders because they are expected to lead. Are they? Really? It really depended on the interpretation of their role by the leaders themselves. In the absence of a politically affiliated framework, Asian leaders in East Africa saw themselves as religious or faith leaders most of the time when they were elected in faith- based organisations. It was also a role which many performed extremely well – making arrangements for regular events according to the cultural calendar, such As Diwali, Gurpurb, Eid and New Year celebrations. Arrangements for marriages, deaths and other functions connected to the rites of passage were also well managed considering that many volunteers were involved. Even the cleaning of the food halls and the communal kitchens was carried out by volunteers – in most cases the paid African workers were not particularly welcome in the communal kitchens, where ‘kosher’ food was prepared under vigilance. This policy reflected more the puritanical outlooks of the management and the members of the organisation.

Were the Asians fully aware of the implications of African independence on their status as non-citizens? It would seem that they understood the meaning of independence more in relation to concerns for work permits, jobs and trading licenses than in the context of self-determination of a people who were taking control of their own destiny. Besides, independence was not altogether a new experience! One did not need to be reminded that it was India that had first attained independence! A few farsighted leaders arranged the odd talk or advisory session during the period immediately before independence of Uganda. One that I went to attend dealt with ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ after the country became independent.  There was no mention to the people they would do well to have valid travel documents for the whole family. It must be granted that if the briefing process was not carefully managed, the leaders could be exposed to risk and accused of creating a panic during the run up to independence.

However, when the Asian expulsion was announced, there was no advice given to people who had been caught unprepared. Most of the leaders did not organise meetings to discuss the situation with the communities that they were leading. There was very little mention of support that could be arranged or really, needed to be arranged to help the departing families prepare themselves for the ordeals ahead of them. It seems that the leaders either failed to rise to the challenge or did not recognise that they had a responsibility. This is the reason for describing their leadership role as real and ‘implied’ roles.

One of our friends, Ranjit (not his real name) was caught in a situation where his British passport had been replaced by his newly acquired Ugandan Citizenship. He did not wish to stay in Uganda. The best option for him was to queue outside the British High Commission and to seek support for his application to go to the UK, a nationality which he had only recently given up. It had become known that the average waiting time before one could see an officer in the British High Commission (BHC) was twenty four hours. So about six of us went to offer moral support and also to queue for Ranjit…and give him breaks.  We arrived at the BHC at around 9 am hoping for the best. A long queue had already formed and people who were joining it the back could not even see the BHC building. The queue was moving at snail’s pace but people were talking, comparing their passport ‘situations’ and reasons for being in the queue, their family needs and how they were facing immense challenges. There was some humour from time to time and also commotion when the queue became unruly. The policemen would walk over to the queue and ordered the people to sort themselves out. The queue itself was very vigilant; making sure that no one was jumping the queue by performing a number of ingenious tricks backed by spurious explanations.

 

It was early evening and some of us had left our homes 12 hours earlier. There was a constant number of people coming to the queue and speaking to the person in front or behind. Almost all of these people were family members or friends who making sure that their relative was safe and comfortable. Then it was noticed that a particular man who was carrying a large bag with a strap over his shoulder was receiving quite a lot of visitors and all of them were very polite and formal towards him. Every conversation ended with      “So you’ve got everything, all the documents and everything will fine, Okay? Okay, yes? Yes.”And the man would reply with confidence that they would get their entry visas into the UK by noon the next day. He even said to some people that he had already spoken to a Mrs. K at the High Commission and ‘Kai Wandho nathi’ i.e. there was nothing to worry about. Then, a man came to check that the person in front of me was really the person who had his case to present to the High Commission. I asked him how many entry visa cases he was going to present to the BHC officers when he reached the desk. He ignored my question. “How many passports are you carrying?” I asked with some sternness which even surprised me. He replied “Not too many, don’t worry”. “How many passports are you carrying?” I asked loudly. He replied the number was 25 but most were for families with similar problems. I said that how I wished that his services were widely available and asked him how much did he charge per case? Maybe Ranjit, my friend should have asked for his help? He replied that he charged up to 1000 Ugandan shillings or more depending on the case, per passport. I suddenly told him very confidently that I estimated that he had 200 passports in his bag; which he contested with equal vigour. Then he said it was only 50 passports and it dawned on me that my friend Ranjit’s case would not even be heard as we would run of out of time. I asked him how many passports he was carrying for his own family. He replied, with considerable irritation that he was just acting for other people. I then told the person behind me that the man probably had 200 passports in his bag. The word started to spread and then someone shouted “Get rid of the Passport Agent, get rid of him”.

 

The policemen on guard suddenly realised that they had a worthwhile task to deal with and so they walked up to him, with me, aged 22, looking into his bag. “He is an agent and making money out of the needs of desperate people,” I spoke with great confidence, drawing on my investigations and feeling morally very superior but almost addressing the police. The policemen decided to deal with the easy issues first and said “Misita Seengh, you keepi quiet or I willi senda you home.” That was it. He had succeeded in silencing me with those few words. Then another man in the parallel queue said to the policeman,” Bwana, he is an agent and he is not here for his own family. He is making money…look at him, the evil bastard.” The policemen turned to him and said,” You! You willi not sweayar in thisi q, I am in chargi”. That brought the other man to silence. The policemen and the ‘agent’ were then involved in a conversation for quite some time. And then he turned around and summoned the Military Police van “He is an agent, take him away”. A loud cheer and hundreds of claps were followed by a sudden silence.

 

What were they going to do with him? It was too late. My intervention was probably going to lead the agent to prison and even death, I thought with increasing remorse. I spoke to the man in the parallel queue and he replied “Don’t worry, Sardarji, he will pay a few hundred bob and will be back in this queue tomorrow.” That sounded very reassuring. By this time it was dawn and in a few hours our friend Ranjit would be back from home and make a case for his entry into the UK. I moved out of the queue and someone else took my place to await Ranjit’s arrival. At exactly 9.36 am, Ranjit was called into the British High Commission by someone who said that she was Mrs. K. By 9.43am, Ranjit was out of the building. His case for an entry into the UK had been rejected. We had queued for over 24 hours and it took 7 minutes to dismiss his application.

How many hundreds or even thousands of people had a problem similar to Ranjit? Did the Asian leaders have a role if not a duty to help the very people who had donated small amounts of money to build the institutions that had given the leaders the power to lead?  Here are the scenarios that a proactive and problem solving leadership might have considered:

1. Start negotiations with the British High Commission to try to agree some issues in principle. They could have tried to negotiate a simpler method for processing documents.
2. Appoint a few lawyers with experience of immigration law to work urgently with families needing support. Once their documents had been validated, the lawyers could have been supported to work outside the queuing system since the principle of  ‘first-come first served’ did not apply.
3. Seek collective guidance from the embassies of other countries to help arrange safe passage of Asian families to their countries.

 It is not known whether any such attempts were made by Sikh, Hindu and Gujarati community leaders. The Ismaili community stole the honours; they were well represented, supported and also funded by the community leaders and The Aga Khan, their spiritual leader. Having said this, it became known later that a few poor Sikh families were offered confidential help to buy air travel tickets.

It remains to be judged by posterity whether Asian leadership had failed to rise to the challenge of supporting their communities immediately after the expulsion. It is difficult to be conclusive at this stage because more reliable information and evidence is needed. However, it is unlikely that accurate information will be available for very much longer. The majority of the older leaders are no longer alive. In the absence of records, an issue to return to at another time, it is almost certain that Asian community leaders failed to lead conclusively and comprehensively. Their communities were on their own, with little or no support.