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
Very well written, Sonia. You are gifted. You narrate causes of migration so vividly.
ReplyDeleteDear Mr. Dange how very kind of you to think of me in such glowing terms. Thank you ever so much. Warm wishes. Sonia
ReplyDeleteSonia, this makes such enjoyable reading ! Thank you, Lynda
ReplyDeleteThank you Sunshine. You bring light in my life! Thanks
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