Africa here we come… We are driving to our Fathers Land

Flick, flick, flick flick, she flicks off a fly? An imaginary moth? Her mgwisho never pauses.

My Uncle looks at her with well concealed irritation tinged with admiration. He wants her to leave this group of men, this adda that meets every evening at the Adro da Capela to discuss politics, the exact time of the season to sow paddy, the latest gossip and of course women. 

And here she is uninvited… In a well-modulated voice, full of laughter she says, 

‘I hear you gentlemen meet here in the evenings for conversation and I thought you could use some company…’

 You cannot call her beautiful; she is tall, on the darker side, long hair flowing down her shoulders and purplish lipstick which should have looked garish but on her strangely doesn’t. She has a long elegant dress of some vibrantly coloured material.

At home the wives, mothers, sisters ask, ‘what is this type of clothes she wears, uhmm? Tchii, tchii, such loud colours and the designs baba rê baba’.

Much later after much prodding, they learn it’s a kitenge. 

No, no she is not beautiful in the conventional sort of a way, in the chocolate-box sort of a way, but oh the style, the poise, the confidence and the oomph she exudes makes her terribly desirable.

The men breathe in deeply, willing to make all sorts of concessions and all sorts of excuses…

All her stories, pleasant enough are woven around the theme ‘when we were in Kenya’… She the Africa returned, Africander.

Sometime in the Sixties and early Seventies, we in Goa were swamped by Africanders from various parts of British Africa. They returned to Goa, home of their ancestors, primarily because many African nations were on the verge of being Independent from Britain and rather than stay in these New Nations with different Governments that might not bode so well for them, they took a breather…’Let us see what we do now.’

We were pleasantly surprised with this new breed of people, they were polished, spoke so well, danced divinely and most of all, to my eternal delight read and had masses of books and Comic Papers, the trips I have made to Aida’s place to raid her stash  of June and Schoolfriend are innumerable.

These were Goans, well settled in Africa, some of them much before the Second World War. They even fought the War. A persistent question however niggles, nudges me… 

Why did people from all walks of life go to all parts of British Africa in droves? What motivated them to leave their families, their parents, their homes and their culture to go to a strange Continent that was so alien to them and whose Colonisers were unknown to them?

The truth, the exceedingly bitter truth is that Goa had nothing for the Middle Class. The unpleasant reality was that there were hardly any jobs in Goa. The only jobs to be had were Government jobs and maybe one or two at some fledgling Private Companies.  

‘João, oh  João says Ilda to her husband, ‘did you go and meet Advogado Fortunato de Pinho?

‘Não querida’, replies João tremulously and sadly.

‘But why... insists Ilda, ‘you know Zecas has been waiting for that job as a typist in the Obras Públicas.’

‘Oh João, what are we to do?’ she asks in a desperate entreaty, ‘Tonecas, Dona Maria’s son has already been lined up for that job…’

‘Really?’, João murmurs tiredly.

Of course João is aware that Tonecas’ Father, Jose de Miranda, is good pals with the Desembargador, Matias das Dores Furtado.

The Desembargador is undeniably going to push the lout Tonecas into the Obras Públicas, after being swamped with Uisky and Genebra not to mention the feni and urak distilled by Jose de Miranda in his properties at Paroda. Never forget the fish, those out-of-world oysters. People wondered has the Desembargador at any point of time in his career bought any fish?

Desembargador Matias das Dores Furtado could open a Bar if he so desired, he did possess an amazing collection of all types of Whiskies, Gins, Liqueurs as well as the choicest Urak and Feni, courtesy grateful Fathers whose sons he had, well, pushed into the right jobs.      

Actually João, had knocked on every imposing door, cajoled every person of importance, just for Zecas.

But there was always someone richer, always someone with more clout, always something or someone he João, did not have access to.

João was saddened to his soul. Think of it, as a boy he had been a brilliant student, be it in School as well as in Liceu and now he worked as the Escrivão das Comunidades.

Liceu, that bastion of Higher Learning. João  thought of that place with sadness, and anger mingled with disgust, that place riddled with Class and Caste, that place that worked only in favour of the Rich and the Powerful.

João, dreamt of being a Huge Landowner, it was not a mirage, it was not a dream, there were so many Landowners possessing huge coconut plantations, vast paddy fields, properties in Damão, even Factories. They did not want for anything…

‘Bai Ermelinda, Dotor Babak, aiz almosak, costletas de vak ou nusteacho gizad zai?’

Querido, Mari quere saber si queres comer costeletas de vaca ou guisado do peixe?

Não sei Ermelinda, não sei, estou atarefado. Deus me livre... 

Mari vac khor ghô ani tem salad. Pudim de caramelo cholta sobremezak...

Bai Ermelinda, Vitol eila Ambelim son, calvam geun, calvachem empad khorchem bai....?

Oh, yes João had these dreams of ‘If I were a Huge Landowner’ Not that he did not own land, oh yes he did, but his were not acres upon acres with thousands of coconut trees.

Luis de Mascarenhas, plucked around 50 thousand coconuts every pluck, now that was life…Sigh.

His family on the other hand were parsimonious, they had to be. His Tia Urminda walked miles meeting every Coconut merchant just to get a tiny increase.

Were these hard times? No, they were just inherently frugal. They had to be.

‘Mandri choi ani paim sôd’.

Food was good and plenty but not gourmet…

Oh to be in the same league as Luis de Mascarenhas he dreamt; whilst Ilda sleeping next to him dreamt about Edó the Coconut merchant giving her a better price than Shéddo…

To each his own dream. 

         

These Super Rich, whose sons breezed through Liceu, at times Medical School, maybe even Coimbra the favourite for Law. 

And all that was required from the f@#$%^ b#$%^s were middling marks and an f@$%^& amazing bank balance.

Things did look extremely bleak for Zecas, until their neighbour Bosteão said, ‘João Bab tum Zec Babak Afrikak kiteak dadnai?   

Glossary:

Mgwisho -- Fly swatter -- (Swahili)

  

Adda -- a form of intellectual exchange among members -- (Hindi)

Kitenge -- an East African cotton fabric printed in various colours and designs with distinctive borders, used especially for women's clothing – (Swahili).

Bai Ermelinda, Dotor Babak, aiz almosak costeletas de vak ou nusteacho gizad zai? – (Konkani)

Madam Ermelinda, would Dotor Bab like beef cutlets or a fish casserole for his lunch?

Querido, Mari quere saber si queres comer costeletas de vaca ou guisado do peixe? – (Portuguese)

Dear, Mari, wants to know if you would like beef cutlets or a fish casserole for your lunch?

Não sei Ermelinda, não sei, estou atarefado. Deus me livre... – (Portuguese)

 I do not know Ermelinda, I really do not know. I am terribly busy. God help me.

Mari vac khor ghô ani tem salad. Pudim de caramelo cholta sobremezak... --(Konkani)

Mari cook the beef and a salad, for dessert a Caramel pudding would do.

Bai Ermelinda, Vitol eila Ambelim son calvam geun, calvachem empad khorchem....? -- (Konkani)

Madam Ermelinda, Vital from Ambelim has come with oysters, shall I make an oyster pie.

‘Mandri choi ani paim sôd’. – (Konkani Proverb)

Stretch your legs according to the mat you sleep on.

‘João Bab tum Zec Babak Afrikak kiteak dadnai? -- (Konkani)

Mr. João, why don’t you send Mr. Zecas to Africa?

Africa here we come… We are driving to our fathers land.

The music to the title is got from the stirring song 

@https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TQ4axG7ArY