In Memoirs of a Muhindi, Mansoor Ladha bears witness to what happens when nations turn against entire religious and ethnic groups.
When, in 1972, Ugandan president Idi Amin expelled Africans of Indian descent from the country, he unleashed an intolerance that set off an exodus from the entire region. In Tanzania and Kenya, businesses were nationalized, properties taken, people harassed, and livelihoods upended.
Mansoor Ladha, who was living in Nairobi at the time, had to decide whether to stay or leave. Canada became his new home—where he found considerable success, as did the rest of the Ismaili community—while East Africa never recovered from its fit of bigotry.
In Memoirs of a Muhindi, Mansoor Ladha bears witness to what happens when nations turn against entire religious and ethnic groups.
When, in 1972, Ugandan president Idi Amin expelled Africans of Indian descent from the country, he unleashed an intolerance that set off an exodus from the entire region. In Tanzania and Kenya, businesses were nationalized, properties taken, people harassed, and livelihoods upended.
Mansoor Ladha, who was living in Nairobi at the time, had to decide whether to stay or leave. Canada became his new home—where he found considerable success, as did the rest of the Ismaili community—while East Africa never recovered from its fit of bigotry.
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Overview
In Memoirs of a Muhindi, Mansoor Ladha bears witness to what happens when nations turn against entire religious and ethnic groups.
When, in 1972, Ugandan president Idi Amin expelled Africans of Indian descent from the country, he unleashed an intolerance that set off an exodus from the entire region. In Tanzania and Kenya, businesses were nationalized, properties taken, people harassed, and livelihoods upended.
Mansoor Ladha, who was living in Nairobi at the time, had to decide whether to stay or leave. Canada became his new home—where he found considerable success, as did the rest of the Ismaili community—while East Africa never recovered from its fit of bigotry.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780889774742 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of Regina Press |
| Publication date: | 04/08/2017 |
| Series: | Regina Collection Series |
| Pages: | 288 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.60(w) x 6.60(h) x 1.10(d) |
About the Author
A newspaper columnist and award-winning journalist, Mansoor Ladha is the author of A Portrait in Pluralism: Aga Khan’s Shia Ismaili Muslims.
Read an Excerpt
Memoirs of a Muhindi
Fleeing East Africa for the West
By Mansoor Ladha
University of Regina Press
Copyright © 2017 Mansoor LadhaAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-88977-476-6
CHAPTER 1
Colonial Africa
The phone rang in the middle of the night, disturbing the silence in the three-storey building in the Malindi area of Zanzibar. Who could it be at this time of the night? It could be bad news.
Nervously, he picked up the receiver from his bedside table: "Hello."
"Count Sahib, mubaraki [Count Sir, congratulations]. You have a grandson," the matron of Jessa Bhaloo Maternity Home in Zanzibar said, congratulating my grandfather, Count Ebrahim Ladha. My grandfather was extremely pleased at the news. He had waited for this moment for a very long time. Any hopes and dreams he'd had of an heir for his little kingdom had been unfulfilled due to the lack of a male offspring. Several years after my parents' marriage, I was later told, the matter was so crucial that my grandmother had even suggested that Dad divorce my mom and remarry in order to produce an heir.
However, as it turned out, a grandson was born — six years after the marriage of Hassanali, his oldest son and my father, to beautiful Zera, my mother. And that grandson, born on March 3, 1943, was me. Grandfather was so pleased that, in his excitement, he woke up everyone in the household to give them the news.
"Sorry to wake you up, but I couldn't wait till morning," he announced as he went from room to room, floor to floor, to give the good tidings to each member of the family personally. There was music and jubilation in the Ladha household.
Grandfather was a remarkable man. Born in 1884 in Kutch, India, he decided at the age of twenty to escape the poverty of the Indian village where he grew up — Bhadreshwar, in Gujarat — and immigrated to Zanzibar, East Africa, to seek his fortune. The voyage in those days was not easy. Travellers had to sail in Arab dhows for almost a month before they reached the shores of Africa from India. Some died en route, but most made it and persevered in their quest for a better life. Grandpa started out working for someone else, but eventually he set up his own business, exporting cloves overseas.
My dad ended up working in the thriving and successful family business, while my mom was a housewife, bringing up the kids. It appeared as if I broke the spell on Mom and Dad because there were four more additions to the family after me: two sisters and two brothers.
Grandfather held a shambo (communal feast) to celebrate my birth, inviting the Ismaili community for a free lunch. Ismailis — for those who do not know — are a branch of Shia Muslims and followers of the Aga Khan. Today, they number approximately fifteen million and reside primarily in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Europe, North America, and Africa.
My grandfather was a leading and highly regarded member of our community. Many people came to him for advice and guidance on personal and business matters. The whole community attended the shambo and were fed biryani (rice with spicy meat) and Indian sweets such as ladoos, jalabi, and khathyas. After the meal, everyone enjoyed performing dandiya raas and garba (traditional Indian dances originating in Gujarat), and the evening ended with a concert by local singers. Everyone had so much fun that they left hoping the count's daughter-in-law would have a second child soon so that he would host another feast!
There was discussion among family members about the name of the new baby, but no agreement was reached. When grandfather heard about it, he called a family meeting. "You people have been wasting time searching for the baby's name. I have a good solution that, I hope, will be acceptable to everyone," he said, amid complete silence in the room. "Prince Aly Khan will be visiting Zanzibar soon. Why don't we ask him to name the baby?"
Everyone looked at him in utter amazement. "What a splendid idea," someone said. "Why didn't we think of that?" Everyone was relieved, as if a huge burden was off their shoulders, and they agreed that they should ask the prince, the father of the present Aga Khan, to name the baby — me — during his forthcoming visit.
Ours was a happy household with a lot of joy, but as the family grew, Dad was forced to seek bigger quarters. We moved four houses down the road from my grandfather's house. Being the oldest child in the family, I remember when my younger siblings cried in the middle of the night. At times it was a chaotic household for my poor mother, who, despite having a helper, had to cope with rearing four children. She was worn out from nursing, feeding, and changing, but somehow she managed without any complaint. Our house was a three-storey building that contained several rooms and dark, long stairs leading to each floor. As children we were often scared that ghosts might be lurking under those dark stairs — the belief in ghosts was prevalent in Zanzibar — however, it was a perfect location for hide and seek.
Zanzibar, an exotic island in the Indian Ocean, became the hub of the first Nizari Ismaili immigrants, who had come mainly from the Bhadreshwar, Kutch, Kathiawar, Surat, and Mumbai areas of India beginning in the 1880s. It became a favourite place for Indian settlers because Zanzibar's Sultan Said, realizing the great potential of Indian immigrants, had adopted a favourable immigration policy.
The majority of the Asian settlers came to East Africa on their own, motivated primarily by their ambitions of seeking better lives for themselves and driven by the spirit of free enterprise. Their main purpose was to trade, and from Zanzibar they moved into the most remote areas of central East Africa, opening up small general stores known as dukas — a term derived from the Indian word dukan, meaning "a shop." This army of Asian merchants, who came to be known as dukawallas, was largely responsible for the opening of the eastern interior of the continent and for creating a demand for imported goods and helping to spread the use of money. As soon as a lone Asian shopkeeper arrived in the middle of nowhere and opened his store, more families arrived, goods were demanded, and business activity flourished.
Life in colonial Africa was comfortable and peaceful. However, the education system, social clubs, and recreational areas all functioned along racial lines — with the best going to the whites. There was little intermingling of the three races except at the employer-employee level. No one questioned the system, as it was the accepted way of life. Every Asian growing up in colonial Africa went about his or her business, reasonably satisfied with the arrangement.
In Tanganyika, where my family eventually settled, the whites had their exclusive, upscale residential areas. In Dar es Salaam, the capital, this area was called Oyster Bay. Each house there was a mansion overlooking the Indian Ocean. The whites enjoyed the sea breeze while sitting in their beautiful gardens, or beside their swimming pools, while at the iron gates at the entrances to their homes there was an askari — a watchman — to prevent prowlers from entering. They created a virtual tropical paradise for themselves, and almost all had several servants. The whites and the upper-class Asians never made their own beds, washed dishes, or weeded gardens. Some butchers even carried "boy's meat" — bones and gristle, meant for the servants — while the masters bought sirloins for themselves.
The racial hierarchy also prevailed in workplaces. In a bank, for example, the boss was usually a white man, while his subordinates — clerks, tellers, and accountants — were Asians, and the cleaners and messengers were Africans. While the Asians could play tennis in European clubs, they were not allowed to enter the club premises for a drink after their games.
In Dar es Salaam, many Asians lived in downtown apartments, close to their businesses, while others lived in suburban areas such as Upanga or Changombe. Asians preferred to live in apartments — or "flats," as we called them. This was especially the case with the Ismailis, who built communal cooperative housing. Ismailis were completely self-sufficient: they were born in an Ismaili maternity home or hospital, were educated in the Aga Khan Ismaili schools, spent their evenings playing sports in Aga Khan clubs, and were buried in their own Ismaili communal cemetery. The Ismailis were a nation in themselves. From the time they were born until they died, they were well served by their communal institutions.
The Africans, or the blacks, lived in Third World conditions in mud or thatched houses with poor sanitation and hardly any plumbing. The area behind Kariakoo, the city's central market district, was allocated for African settlement during colonial times. The Africans stayed in their shantytowns, drinking pombe — cheap African liquor — and would often gather around a fire in the centre of the compound in the evenings while someone played drums for entertainment. There was no official colour bar as such, but throughout East Africa areas were zoned by race. It was an accepted way of life. In Nairobi, Kenya, to give one example, Africans lived in Pumwani, Asians in Parkland and Nairobi West, and whites in the suburbs of Muthaiga, Lavington, Karen, and Kitisuru. In pre-independence time, there were even signs on public toilets stating explicitly that certain facilities were reserved for "Europeans Only," "Asians Only," and "Africans Only." Needless to say, the Africans had the worst type.
In Dar es Salaam, the whites enjoyed their evenings at the Gymkhana Club, playing golf, drinking gin and tonic, smoking cigars, reading British newspapers flown in especially for them, discussing British politics or sports, oblivious of — or at least turning a blind eye towards — the realities of Tanganyika's downtrodden masses.
The Asians also had their own communal clubs, such as the Patel Brotherhood, Lohana, and Aga Khan clubs, where they would pass their time playing volleyball or cricket or would enjoy drinking a beer or two, also ignoring African sensitivities. Asian families patronized the Naaz or Purnima restaurants in downtown Dar es Salaam most evenings, usually concluding with a visit to the Indian paan house.
The paan shop, which often doubled as a tobacconist and place to exchange gossip, was one of the most distinctive features of Dar es Salaam's Asian area. Paan is essentially a dessert consisting of chopped nuts, syrup, and white lime, which are then wrapped in mtambuu, or betel leaf. Paan is chewed and sucked but not swallowed. One would pop the triangular parcel into the mouth, munch it, and then spit out the pith when finished.
Every Sunday, carloads of Asian families would head out on picnics, attend drive-in cinemas, or simply go for a drive in Dar es Salaam for pleasure. During such outings with my family in the early 1960s, I would take the wheel. Dad would sit beside me in front, and Mom and my two sisters would sit in the back seat listening to Bollywood songs. We would cruise the seashore, pass through affluent Oyster Bay, and then head back into town for kabobs and tea at the Naaz, where we didn't even have to get out of the car as service was provided on a tray hung from the vehicle's window. These outings were a part of most Asian families' weekly rituals.
Asians were generally considered bad employers in East Africa, said to overwork their employees, underpay them, and give them no overtime wages. There were no strict labour standards, and servants — who were often fed a family's leftover food — washed clothes, did the dishes and the beds, cleaned toilets, polished shoes, dusted, and vacuumed, along with anything else that needed to be done. Some of these domestic workers started early in the morning and worked till six or seven o'clock in the evening; they sometimes had to work weekends and holidays. This system continued for years, and it was practised especially among the older generation of Asian employers. It was a colonial system, functioning with neither labour laws nor a minimum-wage structure.
The life of an African domestic servant was terrible. Most of them would come from rural areas, travelling into the city by bus or on foot to work. The ayahs (nannies) were hired to look after babies, while male servants were hired to do household chores. In some households, loyal servants would work their whole life for a particular family, looking after the same master, his children, and his grandchildren. When a servant got old, he would recommend his son or a close relative as his replacement.
As I've said, the three races — Africans, Asians, and Europeans — lived in separate worlds, though things were not as bad in East Africa as in apartheid South Africa. We had separate schools, hospitals, and residential areas, and this was accepted. We were born with it. This institutionalized prejudice was the law under the colonial system, and we Asians never felt anything was wrong with the arrangement. Until after independence. It was only when the tables were turned, and we were discriminated against by the black population, that we Asians began to realize that we hadn't treated the Africans fairly or as equals. This awakening came especially among the younger, progressive, and educated Asians, who tried to improve the situation in their own little ways.
* * *
Tanganyika, colonized by Germans in the mid-1880s, and a part of German East Africa after 1891, became a British territory after the First World War. It attained independence from British rule in 1961 and merged with the island of Zanzibar in 1964 to become Tanzania.
When uhuru (independence) was on the horizon, it meant different things to different people. Uhuru to the white and brown citizens meant an end to their racial superiority. It meant a threat to their property, to their privileged way of life, and an end to their concept of themselves as masters of the oppressed black race. To the Africans, it meant power — power to manage, or mismanage, the way they wanted to rule their country and to make decisions affecting their fate and their future. African animosity towards Asians brewed as independence drew nearer, and the Asians became increasingly wary of the repercussions.
"We are going to be in charge," the Africans would say, and servants were openly defiant to their employers. "We are going to be bwana kubas (big bosses) whether you like it or not. Wait till we take control. Now you guys will be our servants. We will take over your homes, businesses, motor cars, and even your beautiful daughters."
As the oldest child in our family, I was frightened to hear this kind of talk. I had two younger sisters who would need to be protected, so, unknown to the rest of the family, I kept my brother's hockey stick close to my bed. I vowed to protect the family's honour if need be. In those days, Asians were not allowed to keep guns; that was a privilege accorded to Europeans only. But I was too young to own a gun anyway.
Rashida and Rukhsana, two pretty Asian girls in our neighbourhood, even received marriage proposals from African suitors who openly told them that they would marry them after independence, whether the girls liked it or not. The men started bidding on them as if they were some kind of chattel.
Juma, our faithful servant, reported people in the market saying that all the goods from the Asians' dukas would be divided and distributed among the Africans and, likewise, the white farmers' sheep and cattle would also be taken and distributed. "Those Asians and white people who did not want to stay under black rule will either be killed or driven into the sea," Juma reported dutifully — adding, "and there will be plenty of pombe (alcohol) for everybody to enjoy."
Whenever Juma was in a good mood, he would tell me that he fantasized about a vivacious and pretty Goan girl, Mary, who lived next door. Mary was in the habit of sunbathing on the deck in her bikini and occasionally would take off her top. Whenever Juma got an erection while seeing her topless, he would find a convenient and quiet corner to masturbate. He declared that he desired to have Mary as his proud possession come Independence Day.
There were some hard-core Asians who just couldn't accept the country's impending independence. Habib Gangji, a prominent Asian merchant and owner of several properties, was sitting in his air-conditioned building in Dar es Salaam's Mnazi Mmoja area when he heard the news on the radio. He couldn't digest the fact that these "primitive" Africans — whom he had been calling "boy" and gollas or karias (derogatory terms Asians used to call Africans) all his life — would be rulers and masters.
"My ancestors have moulded and nurtured the commerce of this country," he explained. "Am I going to give the keys of my thriving business and properties to an African who until yesterday was climbing trees picking coconuts? Is my granddaughter Shamim going to marry one of these African boys because they have had British education? No way. Gollas will be gollas!"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Memoirs of a Muhindi by Mansoor Ladha. Copyright © 2017 Mansoor Ladha. Excerpted by permission of University of Regina Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Preface,Acknowledgements,
Colonial Africa,
Lindi,
Feud and Revolution,
A Student in Dar,
Changing Times,
Independence,
National Service or National Servitude?,
Life as a Journalist,
All in the Family,
Aftermath of Amin's Order,
"Canadian Experience",
India,
Fifty Years after Nyerere,
Return to Africa,
Diaspora Lament,
Postscript,