From Down Under

It is fifty years since we were together as a group. Despite going together through both primary and secondary education at Dr. Ribeiro Goan School, I doubt if we really knew each others pre the Dr Ribeiro years. I shall make an effort to outline my background.

Just after his teens my father and his younger cousin took an adventure trip to East Africa. His cousin returned to Goa after a few months while my father took up a job in the government in Entebbe. On his second trip back to Goa my father married my mother who accompanied him back to Uganda. While still doing his regular job, my father started a side business: brewing beer, having learned the technique from his father who was in that business in Bombay. He was in the act of importing advanced machinery when he was transferred to Jinja and it was at this time that war broke out and he sold the brewing business. Today that company he founded is called Bell Brewery.

Soon after the outbreak of the war, my mother returned to Goa with us while my father enlisted in the British East African Forces. He took part in the humiliating defeat of the Italian forces in Kenya, the siege of Addis Ababa where the Germans surrendered and the siege of Alexandria, Egypt where the retreating Italians were routed. He was one of the very few officers in his contingent that could communicate with Italian prisoners of war because of his Portuguese language background.

Back in Goa, young as I was, I can still recollect, how I scrutinized my father’s letters while my mother read and explained. His letters hade censure stamps both outside and inside and sometimes whole lines blackened out by “CENSURE”. We never knew which part of Africa he was in-for security reasons. The envelopes were reused after sticking a white piece of paper on for a new address.

After the war, my father came to fetch us. We did not get the excitement of welcoming him at Murmugoa despite of making three trips there. He arrived home one night at midnight. I was brutally awakened by turmoil and excitement outside. I dressed up quickly, got my jacked on wrong, and ran out. There were lots of people, someone grabbed me by my hand and dragged me to a big man in uniform and that man took me up with his strong hands and gave me a long hug. My father had come home!

On his return, my father was posted to Nanyuki, at the foot of Mount Kenya, where you got a thin layer of ice floating above the water in a pail left outside the previous night. It was that cold some nights. Here I learned more Kikuyu than Swahili. We were soon packed off to Mangu Convent School, which was run by French Sisters. We knew not a word of English. Back in Goa, we had studied in my maternal grandfather’s school in Portuguese and spoke Konkani. For the first few weeks the nuns spoke to us in French and we replied in Portuguese and somehow we understood each other.

My mother never got used to life in East Africa, being used to a more comfortable life in Goa. After a few years we moved to Nairobi and Dr. Ribeiro Goan School. The rest you know!

After Dr Ribeiro, I worked a year in the Kenya police, the last few months at the police law courts. Here, I knocked back a training position including a two years at the UK.

I then travelled to India to study at St Xavier’s but changed to St Joseph’s, Bangalore. Here I met students from all over India and also from overseas. I met Tamil students, from then Ceylon, who complained bitterly about the discrimination back home and the formation of a resistance movement. They were some of the grassroots of the Tamil Tigers. At St. Joseph’s I was an active member of the Student Union. St Joseph’s was in the forefront in Bangalore in the student revolution of the 60’s. There were a few undesirable acts by militant students which warranted police action. The police overreacted at times and several campuses and hostels were stormed by the police. St. Joseph’s college and hostel were heavily guarded by police to prevent militant destructive elements from other colleges. We were privileged after all the Director Inspector General of Police for Mysore was an ex-Josephite.

During my sojourn in Bangalore, I spent my holidays in Goa, although it was a nightmare of a journey. I attended the annual Festival of the Umbrellas in Cuncolim where my family originate from. It was here the Portuguese got their stiffest resistance and after the conquest, our land was confiscated and together with half the annual produce. The historical Hindu Temple in Cuncolim was burned down, however, not before the twelve umbrellas kept there, were spirited away to the Fatorpa Temple, beyond the reach of the Portuguese. These huge and heavy umbrellas are taken in procession from Fatorpa annually back to Cuncolim. My family’s Hindu name is Naik and the Naik family is the custodian of the number 3 umbrella. (Further reading: Of Umbrellas, Goddesses and Dreams by Robert S. Newman-USA researcher)

On completion of my B.Sc. majoring in Mathematics, Physics with Chemistry minor, I returned to Nairobi and took up a teaching position with a newly established Jain school: Visha Oswald Secondary School in Parkland.

In the middle of January 1964, in the thick of winter with crystal white and clear snow covering the countryside as far as the eyes could see, I landed in Scandinavia to study on a Swedish International Scholarship in Engineering at Chalmers University of Technology, Gothenburg, Sweden. This is a prestigious research centre with four thousand students and five thousand staff. I was the only non Nordic student in my mechanical engineering class. The studies were challenging with the added language factor. I had to cope with the challenge remembering that I passed up an opportunity to study engineering in an English speaking country. On completion of my Masters in Production Engineering, I continued as research engineer and tutor for two years at the same University. During that period I did get a research opportunity call from the U.S.

The circuit was complete when I married Brita, a linguist and teacher, my fiancée of six years. The girl, I first saw after mass at Gothenburg’s only Catholic Church, while standing at the entrance vigorously talking about her Spanish holiday. However, I only met Brita formally soon after when she attended one Saturday evening, Chalmers dance. We have one girl and two boys: Catarina is teaching in Sweden, Mathias is in his final year engineering degree in Melbourne and Sven, after a break, is continuing his studies in Sweden. My years in Sweden were not without excitement. The society is close knit and centered on the family unit. The people are polite, reserved and conservative with words and action.

Returning to Kenya with my family was indeed a new experience. I expected something of the old but everything appeared new. I was appointed Project Manager for Emco Steel Works, one of the Madhvani Group companies. At this plant the manufacturing process involved melting iron scrap in a gigantic arc furnace. This is a dangerous industry if proper safety measures are not adhered to. The high voltage arcs between the electrodes producing temperatures to 1800 degrees Celsius melting the iron which were cast into ingots which in turn were rolled into iron rods by the attached rolling mill. The CEO was an ex- British army colonel, running the place as if it was a barrack. After installing the Asea-Brown Boveri plant, commissioning it, running production for eight months, I left for Cadbury Schweppes because funds were not forthcoming for my safety recommendations. Cadbury Schweppes had two modern factories headed by a South African and the chief engineer was British who had come up the hard apprentice path. He used foul methods to retain his job. I was scheduled to take over from him in a year or so. During that era I hade a lucrative opportunity to join Del Monte who hade build a plant in Thika and they spiced the offer by a position for Brita in their international school together with an assurance to fly the family out in case of political turmoil. Such an assurance was becoming increasingly important. When at Cadbury Schweppes on one occasion I had to visit Nairobi University to consult engineering manuals because I was in the process of constructing a commercial ice making machine.(It was days after Kariuki, the popular opposition politician disappeared, rumoured to be murdered by all creditable sources by the people in government. Disguised and unrecognized, Kariuki’s wife went to the mortuary and recognized the body that was found in the Ngong forest by a passer by, as her husband. Not even the hyenas would touch the body that was full of chemicals.) As I entered the campus, I noticed small notes on paper stuck between the flowers and plants which read: “Kariuki man of our time.” “We will avenge your death”and such. On entering the library I paused, looked at the road circling the Uni, through the big windows. What I saw was not comforting to say the least: The GSU in full riot gear made their presence felt in large numbers. My sixth sense took over; I turned round got into my car and drove home. Fifteen minutes after I left, the paramilitary unit charged into the campus injuring many students some seriously. Expecting trouble, special emergency powers were invoked, schools were ordered to close and in our area, soldiers patrolled in full battle gear. No wanainchi went unchallenged. It was during the time Brita was teaching at the Aga Khan Academy, Parklands.

We lived in Westland on Lower Kabete Road, in an old colonial style villa with over 2000 metre squares garden and lawn surrounded by a thick ka-apple hedge, with a big gate I had made, guarded by two dogs- one very ferocious. Nearly all dogs were racist, they only barked at the wanainchi. Our neighbours on our left, a Swiss family came home one night after a visit to the theatre to find their house cleaned off all their belongings. The Greek family opposite across the road had to move out in great hurry after the father held up three burglars at gunpoint trying to enter their house at the rear. The Englishman on our right was also burgled. The rear neighbours a Sikh family with young children had a 24 hour guard that thwarted several attempts of break-ins. We were expecting them to target our place at any time. We normally bought our vegetable from an elderly man that carried the boga in his kikabus. At times we had long conversations with him about old times and new times with Kenyatta as the chieftain who grabbed all the wealth even the aid money. He was an ex-Mau Mau and was very bitter because he and the other freedom fighters went empty handed in spite of promises. Sometimes, we wondered what he really sold because he always had a lot of time to talk to us. One day towards the end of our five year stay, Brita told him that some young man had entered our place asking to buy things. On hearing that, he jerked up, got serious, and uttered “Did they enter this house? They have no permission to enter here”. From that time onwards we felt somewhat secure. On another occasion, I entered a bicycle shop to purchase a tricycle for Mathias. There were cycles all over even hanging from the ceiling. As I maneuvered inside closely followed by the owner with matted long hair, I noticed, a faded newspaper cutting with the picture of a man with long matted hair relaxing on the grass, pinned on the back wall. I uttered “Dedan Kimathi”. in a loud enough whisper heard by the owner. He looked straight at me with fiery eyes and pointed to the picture and said “The person who can recognise this hero is kwa kweli wanainchi”. I bought a tricycle for Mathias.

On our return to Gothenburg, that tough looking tricycle became very popular with Mathias’ new friends. Back in Sweden, I took an appointment with Volvo Truck at their Corporate Headquarters, Gothenburg. Life here of course was very different from Kenya, nothing very unusual, every thing well planned and quite predictable.

After five years, we emigrated to Australia. The greater part of the anglo/celtic and anglo/saxon population then, still harboured the White Australia Policy views. It has taken them a long time to re-educate themselves and face reality. The younger population have somewhat fallen in line but some oldies still have some ground to catch up. The economic climate was not too robust then, and after completing my Graduate Diploma of Education at Melbourne University, I went into teaching. I lectured at a Tertiary Institute in engineering and was coordinator for two campuses in the Department of Environmental Engineering, when I eventually retired. During that period I was commissioned and wrote the book: ‘Solar Hot Water Systems’. A recommended text book at Tertiary level. Australia has undergone a drastic change since our arrival, particularly in the attitude of the people. It is now more cosmopolitan and less discrimination occurs in the work places mainly because there is an acute shortage of skilled workers to the extent that workers are brought in for short term contracts from overseas. The first emigrants of African origin came in the portals of Australia only a few years ago and only when the UN took over the selection process of the refugees.

The weather! Well, I’ll say that Melbourne is notorious for exhibiting four seasons in a day. There has been a case in summer when the temperature has dropped from 43degrees C to 25degrees C in a matter of 20 minutes. Today 17th July 2007: it is cold , windy with hail and rain with snow in the outskirts of Melbourne and heavy snow in the higher regions of Victoria. You didn’t think that, did you? Ok, it unusual even for our winter! I suppose La Nina is showing her muscles after El Nino shown his. We live at the coast only a few minutes walk to the beach.

Well that’s it!