Some episodes while I was in Nyeri and of school age (Standards 1 to 6) stand out and you might find them interesting.
--A dog that seemed to belong to no one was running around, trying to make friends. He sauntered the main street, ending up at Winter's Garage. Someone for fun, threw some petrol on his bottom. The dog was in agony, and ran around all day barking and crying all day. No sympathy from everyone.
--Once a large black dog returned home to the owner, Trikam Keshav. Trikambhai with wife Maniben and brother Motiram lived in the same compound as us. His face was all swollen and he was slobbering. He died, looking back, he had rabies. His dad also lived there, the name was Keshav. Trikambhai was a shoemaker. Somehow, they loved beed and onions, and always had a strong smell about these people. If they passed wind, the area would become unbearable!
--A man was having fit. Covered in dust and ashes. Police were called. Not knowing what to dao, they tied him up backwards so he could not fit anymore. Hands were tied first at the back, then neck to torso and legs. What a treatment!
--When in practice, I saw a dog in the street. Brought him home and gave him a home. Thousands of fleas left as he was being washed. Nice looking dog, but uncontrollable. One evening, he disappeared, and went to Kartar Singh's yard. When he straggled back, all the bones in his body were broken to bits. Needed a large dose of morphine. Was still breathing when we buried him. Kartar Singh with family lived in a very wooded area, and sought protection by keeping several dogs These dogs were vicious, as they were all kept in a metal cage all day. The cages sometimes got very hot but no one cared. Seemed like a very cruel punishment. The dogs were released for the evening. As almost all the Asians were vegetarians, the poor dogs were given chapattis, and occasionally meat by the servants.
--Then we had a beautiful white dog. Very obedient. We were visiting Meru, to see a Dr. Dinker Bhatt. His wife, who used to be a model in Bombay was very lonely. ?Name of Sarita. I gave her my dog for company. There was also a nice Dr. Patel, thin, tall, bearded, pleasant family doctor in Meru. I was told he died of a heart attack some years later.
On the East side in Nyeri,, going down, the first shop was that of Trikam Keshav.
Trikambhai's wife was called Maniben. He was in business with Motirambhai. They were in the shoes business. Trikambhai had his brother married, and the ceremony was elaborate. However, within a year, she returned to her parents. The story was that 'eee manasma nathi' (his behavior is not that of a MAN!). As a young boy, I had no idea what that meant.
Anyway, during the war years the shoe business was flourishing. The shoes were simply made, by the hundreds if not thousands. He would load up his car, which was like a hatch back, and take it to Kiganjo, where the barracks for the army were, as well as the Italian p.o.w. were. He did well with selling the shoes.
The other thing was that the family was smelling heavily of onions. They used it to cook everything with onions and garlic. At mealtimes, a good dose of whiskey was also involved.
Next to that one was Ladies Tailoring House, owned by Mr. Nanji Meghji Bhadresa. A big family, well to do. More about it later.
Next to that one was a small smart barber's shop. Yusufbhai was the barber. Smartly dressed, blue pants and a white long sleeved shirt. Good conversationalist, could talk about anything. While cutting hair, he held the head firmly and manipulated it the way he wanted it. some of his cutters were blunt and would nick your skin. You would say ouch mentally and hope it does not happen again, but unfortunately, it did recur.
Once I paid a visit to his house, and wow, he had a small library from which he lent out books. I had the pleasure of reading many books from there, like Tarzan and his adventures, which were enthralling, and other Gujarati books like'Kadavna Kunku' (a flower from mud) and many others which are still memorable. I believe his family is in London, and keep in touch with Jyotsna who may supply further history. (Jyotsna Rydlewski, my darling niece).
Yusufbhai's shop was taken over by Omerbhai.
The shop next door was 'Gordhandas Jhinnabhai; (Jhinna- thin). Almost like a general store, cloths by the yard, sacks of flour piles up everywhere. Later son Jamnadas joined the shop. Also Vinoo, Batook, ?Sashi etc. His wife was Santokben, rather large but a charming woman. Their eldest two daughters were Lalita and Kanchan. Bright girls. When Diwali came, they sewed a long zig zag cloth saying ' Diwali mata bhale padharya' (Welcome Diwali mom') At one time she lost a baby through a miscarriage, when she was driven to Tumutumu, about ten miles away. When she was brought back, people were piled up in th lorry. Everyone was crying. You wondered why, but even if you did not know, you felt like crying!!
Behind, there was a courtyard with high walls and large chips of glass applied with cement. on top. This was to discourage would be thieves.
Inside the courtyard was a large open area where all the women gossiped as they went about the day's activities.
There were several rooms around occupied by the families that owned the shops.
The owner of this conglomerate was Mr. Osman Allu. Said to be of Wagher community in India. A fairly well built man with a suit and a shirt done upto the top but no tie. Always looked worried as he had a wast empire to run. His shop was across and also a large sprawling building. As there was no room inside, many sacks of sugar and flour was kept outside the building, along with a large weigh scale. The sign at the shop's entrance said 'Osman Allu and Company. It was in black with background yellow, about 9`inches by 3feet and written in black Gujarati script.
Now, in Gujarati, it is weird how they write `company` running a business.
A K`` is taken, and by an addition, it is turned into a `Koo`. Then another addition makes it a Kaa`. Another addition makes at a `Kaan`, kind of nasal, and just one letter mangled together and one is supposed to read that as `company`.
He had a large staff and employees. There was Abdulbai (wife Hajramasi and family). Mohamedbhai who was the accountant married probably to Fatima, d.o. the boss, another Mohamedbhai, a rather burly man was eventually transferred to Nanyuki, the the other workers at one time or other were Shambhubhai, Amu, and many others.
In the courtyard, the women would dance in a circle in typical Gujarati fashion, as they clapped their hand, do a twirl and the move on. One of the songs was:
Àa duniyama chori chare kor, koi dhan chore, koi mann chore, koi chithareno chor`. Then they would all laugh at the hilarity of it!
Memorable Characters:
Narshi Pancha was one but about him later.
Kapoorchand shah- I wonder if anyone recalls him. A small man, smart, always in a light blue suit. Maybe trutle like facies. His distinctive mark was that he had an extra useless finger attached to his right hand. His shop was next to Mohamdali Rattansi, who was never seen in Nyeri, but that business was run by Badru, a small man who was also smart, thick glasses, a little hunched and a marked limp, probably congenital dislocation of the hip. The shop door was always closed (that of M.R.), but sugar bags were piled up in the front of the shop, so it must be that the business was sugar.
Osmanbhai's son was Abdulbhai. A nice character who had a peculiar tick, he seemed to have an irrtation in his throat, and he gave small coughs intermittently. At one time, there was a snake in the back, about 2 ft long. He shot it through the head. Story goes that he had killed a giant ajgar.
His son was Walimohamed, who was my friend. Quite often we went to school together, loved the ride in their brand new, large, green Oldsmobile car. Its engine just purred. I believe Wali is in Brighton, England. Son is in NZ- seems to be a christian evangelist.
Kapoorbhai was in the transport business, and had several lorries movind around. He made a lot of money from this kind of trade.
Narshi Pancha was the opposite. Cotton suit, light, and a black cap, and a pencil stuck on the side under the hat.. He owned a lorry and went along with his driver everywhere, wherever the stuff had to go. Happy, always smiling. Eventually had a heart attack treated by Dr. Madhok, but did not survive it.
Good friend of Nanji Meghji.
His daughter had a limp, hence always came out last in school races, but you had to admire her for taking part in it.
KARATINA was a small town, about 18 miles from Nyeri. One came across it as one went from Nairobi to Nyeri and beyond to Kiganjo, NaroMoru, Nanyuki, onto Meru, Isiolo (Near ' Archer's Post) and tot he border with Ethiopia.
It was a market town that over swelled with people when the market was on, which seemed to be about twice a week. Facing the market, and further down were the shops that belonged to Indians. Enterprising people. One of them was Mohanbhai Mavji gohil. A bright man, prominent eyes, with white pants and a white shirt that went over the pants. Maybe 5 feet and a little more. When he went to Nyeri on some business or other (D.C.'s Office, Bank etc), he would just put on a smart jacket and a black hat pointed front and back. There was always a welcome at his tailoring shop with a cup of tea. He had a daughter and 2 sons- Manjibhai and Bhikhbhai. Toilets in those days were big buckets that were changed every day, and a platform made over it. to get on the platform, there was a step made on one side. It was quite tricky to get onto the platform and squat. There was also the fear that the 'chuda' would come at night, and open the flap at the back to change the bucket. Scaaaaryyy! In fact, my Valifai (dad's sister) at one time was visiting Nyeri, at night she had to go to the toilet. I had to go along, holding the lamp, embarrassing for both of us.
Another Indian family I knew were the Lohanas. I forget the name, but their progeny is now in Sydney, Australia. If they offered you tea, watch out, as it is heavily, heavily laced with sugar!
Anyway, in the early 60s when I had an office in Nyeri, I opened a branch in Karatina. It was like an open shop. Most of the Africans were distrusting of western medicine, or maybe they could not afford the big prices. Dr. Madhok also had an office further branch. Maybe smarter office, and a busy person as he was thought to be a smart person, which he was.
Now, Mrs. Festus was my nurse. When there was nothing to do, she showed us the art of catching flies. A quick flash, and the fly is in the fist, which is not made very tight. A heavy shake, and the fly is smashed towards the ground. It made quite a sight.
Mohanbhai's (Mawji gohil) wife died. He went to India and found a new wife for himself. A quiet woman. He had a constant worry that she might get pregnant, and wanted medicine so it does not happen. This is the time of before contraceptive pills were available.
Manjibhai (Mohanbhai's oldest son) loved a smoke, and always asserted that a smoke in those toilets was nothing but heaven. Unfortunately, he had a heart attack, and now resides in the world beyond. His wife, Diwaliben has also left this world.
Bhikhubhai, a very nice person had come to England, where he also retired. He had a massive heart attack just recently and could not survive it, despite the excellent (!) British National Health Service. Long may it stay in Britain, and may it NOT spread its tentacles anywhere else.
Mohanbhai cried every time a girl was born in the family. what unfortunate thinking!! I was the one who looked after Bhikhubhai's wife's delivery, Neela. A fine lady who has married Mukesh, my nephew.
I shall continue the story of Nyeri in the 30 and 40s. The Nyeri tower glares down south, and what does it see in all the activities, layout, the colorful people and the occasionally muddy road going straight down from it, almost inviting it to slide down, but he is a grandfather and would never agree to such frivolities?
Right in the corner was the fallow land, on which they built a large Post Office. An imposing building, yellowish, but fading in years and poor maintenance. In the daytime there are people going in and out- it is a beehive of activity. Next to it is Lenana Grocers. (Lenana being one of the peaks of Mount Kenya where the Kikuyu think their Mungu or God resides. In fact their son, Jomo Kenyatta has written a book called facing Mt. Kenya, which describes Kikuyu culture etc.). A Mr. Desai runs the shop and he is the owner of the shop also. Rather stern face, hollow cheeks, always smart looking in a blazer, running his grocery business. Next to it was a medical clinic owned and operated by myself. At that time in the 60s, it was a beehive of activity rivalling the post office. Many diseases of poverty, uncleanliness as well as a poor life style which brought on diseases like Gonorrhoea and Syphilis were seen. Heartful thanks to the staff and the workers- Mrs. Festus, Mrs. James, Mrs. Dudson, although small but a dynamite, all happy but ou often wondered why, as their monthly salaries would be a day's work, a fact that cries out to the inequities of the world. Their goes Papdo (= a big chip in the Indian Language- I have no idea why he was called that), real name being Kababura wa Kanja. He had 2 wives. Although a man who was supposed to clean the place, but he thought he owned the place. Out hunting in the market at times for customers, telling them what good care they would receive, but later strutting in the place as though he owned the place and all others worked in fact for him. A volume can be said about the clinic, and will be done separately.
Next to that was Laljibhai (?Limbani), the barber. He loved to talk, and in the evening on occasions he had stories that were astounding. In fact a piece of a corridor was taken to build the shop. Behind the shop were many rooms that form the residences of families. Next was Ladies Tailoring House, another place that was also a beehive of activity. A lot can be said about it but I shall try to put it in a nutshell. In a Peaugot wagon parked outside, one saw Nanjibhai snoring away at the steering wheel, oblivious of all activity around him. This is in his later years, of course. Jamnadas, his son is the boss. Handsome man, thick mop of black hair, long sleeved white shirt, with arm bands on the shirt just above the elbows, and smart pants. Pen in hand when not resting on his ears, making or showing to be making calculations on anything asked, convincing the customer that he would give him the best price. Some customers he would take home as there may be a precious article there. He leads, but crossing the road, he gives a large burp and throws a large spit on the poor flowers that are trying to grow on the dividers of the road. By the way, spitting is common, the harder you spit, the smarter you felt and looked!
Before I forget, I am dying to tell you of an amusing and recurring occurrence with many Asians. The white Settlers would unload large containers called 'dubba's' with the help of their servants who did most of the work, from their vehicles. Each container was rather heavy, and was about 2.5 foot high and a foot square. These Dubbas contained fresh butter made in the farms. They were not cheap. Now Asians do not eat butter. A quick phone call from the buyer to his household confirms that they need to buy more butter. Generally it involves the old man calling home by the old fashioned phone, the kind that has a crank handle on the side, which goes 'ghrree gherre ' as you crank it. Generally his sweet daughter in law answers it. Now here is the dilemma, as they are not allowed to talk to each other, and if they do and must, then she has to cover her head and even part of the face with her sari. so the reply is swift and curt as she is so agitated and shy. After all, what would societ or even her husband say if they knew that she actualy talked with her father-in-law. He drops the phone, but it does not matter what the answer was, as he has already made up his mind. This even applies to him even buying sacks of potatoes, or other vegetables. What the heck is he going to do with all that butter? Well, it is taken home, and put on some burning charcoal or wood, and melted. The supernatant is taken off, and the melted stuff is ghee. Now ghee is used in many items, such as their 'garam, garam rotli' (Hot chapattis, an insult if you call it Indian Bread, as it is much more delicious, is rounded and is eaten hot with different curries.) Thus the mystery of them buying so much butter was thus solved!
They say in old age sight deteriorates, which is true in my case. Maybe I becomes more shortsighted as I do not seem to see too far, whch maybe dfom the neglect I have faced for many years. The facade has gone all dirty and the waterspout has stopped working. The clock is still ticking but I do not know for how long. Counter the poorer vision is the fact that memory sharpens as you get older, and maybe makes up for poorer vision. Anyway, let us proceed-
Next to Ladies T. H. is the bookshop of Khimji Devshi, now taken over by his progeny. It is a rather large bookshop that seems to be selling everything. His family now run the business.
Before I go further, I have to tell you about the Banias or 'Vania' caste in India and elsewhere. They are generally tradespeople, mostly delving in flour, sugar, spices and other groceries. Please forgive me if it would appear drerogatory, as it is not. Even our greatest teacher, and leader, Mahatma Gandhi was of that caste.
Dress generally is typical. Black cap, a coat over a white shirt, often done up to the top button to prvent anything get under the shirt. Beyond the jacket below, the body is ignored. Thick white pants, over which the shirt hangs. Black shoes but no socks. Shoes in utter neglect. Some of them follow Swaminarayan, or Mahavir. Very astute businessmen, and great savers of wealth. Will not spend even a single penny unnecessarily. In that department, they can beat the Jews, or Sindhis, or Dutch or whoever.
There is also another thing that is curious. In the rainy season in Kenya and even elsewhere, sometimes the area is flooded by insects that come flying in. Soon they loose their wings, and appear helpless as they are floundering and looking for a corner. It is the light that attracts them in large numbers. Guess what they are called, yes, 'Vanias'. I do not know why, but someone will enlighten me. Maybe it is drerogatory, as their acumen and collection of wealth makes others jealous. By the way, the name of the people end up in 'shah' as many have discarded the black caps! In the olden days, often one can tell by a telltale sign of smelling garlic in their breath.
One other phenomenon that is embedded in Indian (Gujarati) culture is that of 'Pechoti'. Have you heard of it? it is a hot topic of conversation specially if there is an unbeliever present. There is no satisfactory explanation of it, just like acupuncture, but there are very strong adherents to it. It is believed that it resides in the abdomen, and if it droops, then all forms of ailments are attendant to it. Some think it is the liver that is fallling, some think it is the intestine, or something like that. It can only be fixed or elevated by someone who was a breech delivery him or herself- so the others need not apply! Apparently they order some oil, and massage the stomach, and the patient is as good as new within half an hour! Miracle of Medicine that even moderns cannot beat. But to make sure that it stays that way, a string is tied around the big toe, not to be taken off for about a week. Disaster if it is taken off too early. What are you to do if the toe looks gangrenous? Well, the charlatan has disappeared and does not wish to know if he is located. Take the string off at your own risk and peril!!
Anyway, we are getting away from the main anatomy of Nyeri as seen by the tower looking down towards the south. Let us listen to him.
'Just behind and to my right is the Std. Bank of S.A. Ltd. Early in the morning, many Asians are seen to be going towards it. Some have even queued outside before it opens. All of them have a deposit book in their hands, and wads of money in their pockets. So much so that the pockets are bulging. Eventually the bank opens. The casher is a man called Mr. D'Costa. A smart man, balding. Rather intense, appears rather sore, as all these illiterate Asians come with so much money, which he has to count day in and day out, and have to approve of the same. On one of his fingers is a rubber cap which he dips in a watery sponge so he does not have to lick it. From years of counting, it has bent backwards in a rather peculiar manner. Just who are these astute business men. Raichand Rajpar stands out, as he is the richest although one would not think so. Then there Meghji rupshi, Raichand Mepa, the one with one bad eye, Ladies T. Hse, their envoy being yours truly(Govind), and some white settlers. Later on the addendum of 'south Africa' was removed, so it was the Standard Bank'. South Africa at that time was not very popualr because of their racial policies and no one really wanted to lose all that business from Asians.
Anyway, at the far corner was the shop of Bhoja Jivraj. Once again, tailoring and what not. He had stationed one of his African tailors in the doorway. Unseen at the back was the 'Nyeri Garage'- where Nemchand and Ratilal worked. It was a branch of Outspan Garage, owned by Captain winter, but run by Peter, his son. For some time Kartar Singh lived at the back. Also located was Raichand Mepa, Dr. Madhok. later taken over by an Indian lady who was a Dentist. Gordhandas Jhinabhai had moved into the area. the shop was run by Bhagvandas, later Vinoo- a nice, soft spoken man with ?rimless glasses.
Coming further up at the back was a new building, called 'Bhadresa Building'. Mostly apartments upstairs. KANU offices were located in the building- they never paid any rent. There was a low set building where Dr. Smith was located. An unhappy loking Doctor, who dolled out all kinds of liniments etc at a very low charge, thus affecting the business of other Doctors, but he did not really care. It is not surprising that he later left for South Africa as he could stad the agitation from the Africans who did not deserve freedom from his point of view. Facing the Doctor's office was of course, the White Rhino Hotel. It was at one time owned by Mr. Mwai Kibaki, none other than the present President of Kenya.
Next to LTH and the bookshop was the business of Nyeri Chemists. They did not seem to do much business there, though the window for Africans was at the back, away from the public view.
At this juncture, perhaps we should branch out to note a very interesting observation. The phenomenon occurs around 8 p.m. and lasts through ut the night, including the weekends. It is with regards to protection that various businesses are involved in. They hire a private askari that will guard the property- the premises and their contents throughout the night. Each one is shabbily dressed for the poor amounts they are paid to do the job. Right in the middle of the road they make a fire with some sticks and charcoal. They have brought a blanket and a 'rungu' along. A r'ungu 'is a wooden stick that is very swollen at one end. It is used for defence as well as offence, although one is hard pressed to know how the instrument would help the man who has it, if he is approached by someone with a panga or a gun, which is not uncommon these days. They generally curl up and have a good sleep. sometimes the time is used to get together and tell stories. Remember, in those days there was no electricity, making the night rather eery. The shops of some of the rich people are also confronted by a problem- they do not have room for everything! Generally sacks of sugar, flour etc are piled up outside, along with a weighing machine. One was not even averse to see the owner doing a round at night and wake up their watchmen if they are asleep. These businesses also have another line of attack- they have ferocious dogs tied up with a chain. God help an unwary person that may try to pass one of these dogs. They are indeed wild, but to an invader, a piece of poisoned meat would pacify even the most ferocious dog! Morning come and they make their way home only to appear in the evening again. One of them was called Machario.
Some of these brave watchmen have sacrificed their lives in an effort to protect the property and/or their owners..
Also, as a sideline, and I am sure you have seen the same. Mankind loves festivals, and will think up an excuse or another for celebrations. It gives the people an opportunity to wear nice clothes, eat good food, and for a change be nice to everyone, and the best of all, it is not to have to go to work, and be slovenly for the day!
Thus Muslims have Eid, Ramadan, etc, while Christians have Christmas to celebrate the birth of Christ, Easter- his departure and ascension to heaven etc. Exact date does not seem to matter, by the way!!. Then they will celebrate family day, independance day, the Queen's birthaday and it goes on and on. It is odd that in Canada we have Victoria day the one the Brits have no idea what it is all about! Not to be outdone , Hindus have Diwali- when Lord Rama returns to claim his kingdom (Festival of lights), Holi- throw a lot of colors around, drawing the ire os some people, Rakshabandhan- a colored thread given by a sister to a brother, a gift in return is expected, and it goes on and on. You wonder if anyone likes work,or hates it so much that keeps on conjuring different events to celebrate.
The most curious one among the Hindus is what is called 'Chatthi' meaning 'sixth day'. When a baby is born, and I am not kidding you, the baby maybe wrapped in swaddling clothes but no item to wear! This is done on the sixth day, when with great fanfare, and a party, proceeds the activities for the day. It is the job for the aunt on father's side to put clothes on the child, as well as put the child on a cradle and make the child happy. Not only that, the child is not to be named at all till the sixth day when it is an honor for the aunt once again! She does not just use any ordinary name, but the local priest or 'Punditji' is consulted. He is given the date and child was born, and in a very august manner, he consults his books, and studies segns of the Zodiac, and then pronounces as to what initials the child's name can begin with. From that, and only that, the aunt called faiba will name the child.
Needless to say the custom is eroding.
By the way, when a child is born, then its anatomy is noted- a boy and everyone is happy. A girl, and everyone has a long face, as though a disaster had befallen the family. It is worse in a Patel family, where a dowry when the daughter has grown into a young woman and marriage is contemplated. Little is it realized that it is a daughter that is more caring, loving, upright, guardian of the family- present one or the one they inherit n the future. Bless their souls!!
Just to digress, have you heard the following saying:
He who knows not and knows not that he knows not is a fool, shun him
He who knows not and knows that he knows not, is ignorant. teach him
He who knows but knows not that he knows, is asleep, wake him
He who knows and knows that he knows is wise, follow him.
The shop at the end was of Bhoja Jivraj, and in front of that was that of Ramji Samji. A thin man, slightly kyphotic, always grinning. If you see him, he will offer you Whiskey anytime as he always has it ready, right under the sewing machine where he sews clothes for customers. He was the driver of the car on return of a wedding party. The wedding was of Maganlal, a bright lawyer, who had married to Chandrika, d.o. Bhanjibhai. Anyway, speed, poor roads from Mombasa to Nairobi, and, as it was inevitable, disaster struck. The car overturned. There was chaos. In fact some of the injured were flown by helicopter to Nairobi, Kenyata Hospital. Nanjibhai had a broken jaw, while Zaverben, Maganlal's son came out mostly unscathed, apart from some cuts and bruises.
Actually Ramjibhai used to work with his brother Jeram Samji. A well dressed thin man, face scarred by old smallpox, and always had a cigarette in his mouth. He was a clever man. He had devised a plan whereby everyone would come to see him in the shop over weekends. He would close the front doors, and everyone would play cards for money. He would not, but he had one condition- the winner at each game had to give him a shilling. In this way, he never lost, and had become quite rich. No wonder he never showed any interest in his customers, and was always happy to see the visitors.
This in fact is a continuation of 'Ancestry' which I had started in NyeriYahoogroups, but I did not want to bore a lot of people, specially those who do not have a Nyeri connection. There is too much to read, some of it boring, but I am enjoying writing it, and will continue to do so. I would also welcome your comments in any of my E Mails.
Knowing the story of any particular town can give anyone nostalgia as one cannot but imagine a deja vu- feeling, as we are all connected by an invisible thread that makes us the Homo Sapiens Sapiens and all that it implies that we are!
Thank you. Govind.
(By the way, DEJAVODOO- A FEELING THAT YOU HAVE BEEN CURSED BEFORE!!).
Across from the Post Office were a few shops, a photographer, a ?Niranjan singh who did excellent photography. Next to it was Rughani Bookshop. Next to it was Krishna Stores. Further down was a gas station, and even further was a huge taxi stand. The church is gone.
The owner of Krishna Stores, Mr. Mahan was an interesting man. Husband of a good and sincere teacher, Mrs Mahan whom everyone admired in the town. A somewhat large man, thick glasses in later years as he had his cataracts done, was a very interesting man. He had a tailoring store, fairly busy, but his heart was not in it. He should have been a lawyer. After all, he was the brother in law of Mr. Kapila, the famous lawyer in Nairobi, and none better in the whole of East Africa.
Now Nanjibhai, owner of Ladies Tailoring House was a frequent visitor at the shop. Generally to talk, have some tea and have a conversation with this well read man. Mostly he wanted to know his legal ides, loopholes and general nuances. He himself was like an open book and quite wealthy. One of the money lenders was a Mr. Marshall, very like a Jewish gentleman who was very rich and was happy to lend money to men he trusted. He was a frequent visitor to Nanjibhai's shop.
A piece of land came to the market. Unfortunately it was in the White Highlands, and person of any color need not bother to try to acquire it. It was west of the Chemist Shop. There were many high Eucalyptus trees surrounding a small house, the resident of which was a man called Mr. McKenzie, but had recently passed away. Hence the piece of land was to come on the auction block. Nanjibhai, being an open book, epressed his hidden desire to everyone, and approached Mr. Mahan about the legality of buying it. Mr. Mahan thought that the market was opening out, and he would have no problems. However, he thought it best if some prominent businessmen had a share in it. So, a syndicate was formed, and the leader was to be, of course, Mr. Mahan. There were about 8 prominent men of the town. Mr. Mahan was also chosen to do the bidding, the limit Mr. Nanjibhai was thought as 60 Thousand Shillings. On a bright clear morning, a crowd gathered near the clear area which was near the old post office. There were only a few bidders, prominent of course was Mr. Mahan, and a small insignificant man who came on a bicycle. However, he carried on bidding, even when Mr. Mahan stopped at 60. In his excitement he bid against himself!! He stopped at 68! All were aghast. He went up to sign, and the signature was 'KESHAVJI MEGHJI BHADRESA'. None other than Nanjibhai's brother. He just hopped on his bike and twiddles off. That is how Nanjibhai acquired the land and outsmarted all, including the syndicate!
'Bhadresa Building' was built on this site. Soon Nanjibhai realised that it was not a good place for business, and in fact, Ladies T. H. never went there. However, it had lovely appartments, and the shops below, hosed the offices of KANU, or Kenya African National Union. They never paid rent and nobody dare ask, because that would be unpatriotic. There was a restaurant run by Amirali Kassam Premji. However, it was not a great success. He later came to Canada, met his 2 brothers in Edmonton, and eventually settled in Vancouver where he had his son.
In fact LTH moved to net to the new Post Office, the property once again was bought by him. That was from Mr. Mwai Kibaki, none other than the present President of Kenya.
The stories of Nanji Meghji BHADRESA are legend. Only one of them is presented here.
He was instrumental in sponsoring and paying for the tickets to emigrate to Kenya - Keshavji Meghji Bhadresa, Hirji Makan Waghela, maybe Purshottam Anand, Vallabh Murji etc.
One of the regular visitors to the shops was a pauper called Mti Kenya. Raggedy clothes, a hat that was useless as it had a large hole on the top, dirty shorts, no shoes etc. His arm was always outstretched for alms. He also had Parkinson's Disease. His hand shook like crazy. One could not but feel sorry for the man. He looked pathetic. He was averbal. Day in and day out, cold or hot day, he would be there doing his rounds. Many shopkeepers were ashamed of him so they would give him something to get him out of the way.
Well, one day he took a way out of this world. Early one morning somebody saw something hanging from a tree. Closer inspection showed it to be Mti Kenya. I am sure it was a relief for the poor man, and maybe others were happy that he was gone. Nobody gave it a second thought, which only makes you realize the uncaring humanity we could be facing from day to day. Shame on all of us.
Once again I shall mention a few names to jog the memories of older people of Nyeri. I shall add the descriptions further on as we go along.
Dhanani Bakery, Koko and kaka Mahan, Hassanali Khimji and Shirimasi, (masi was a sign of respect; so called to address her as mother's sister), (now owners of Ranger Motel in Calgary, Alberta, Canada). Husein Suleman, Gordhan Lalji, Shankerbhai Hathibhai Patel and so forth.
Hassanali Khimji was an interesting man. The shop was in the corner next to a bicycle shop owned by the indigenous people.
Smartly dressed in Khaki pants, a clean shirt, he was seen every working day walking up towards the Bank. He had his deposit book in his hand, and his pockets were bulging with wads of money. He looked serious as he went to the Bank, but on his way back, he like to socialize and talk to people. In the evening, his wife Shiriben (everyone called Shirimassi, meaning my mom's sister) would come to the LTH shop or any other. She wore a typical Ismaili dress- long one that was plain or pale, the pattern gone from frquent washing, with a 'Pachedi', worn like a muffler, around the neck but either end going back over the shoulders. Always a pleasant smile, and you could see that she like people. She was famous for saying 'oochu kari diyo, kainktoo karoj', meanig 'please reduce the price, at least a little'. Often she felt that the price was not reduced enough so she would trot off to another shop. The family has now moved to Calgary, in Alberta, Canada. They have bought a motel on 16th Avenue. It is called Ranger Motel. They are very happy there. They do not seem to spend too much money in its maintenance. I believe there was a murder in one of the rooms. He is very happy as seniors get a lot of discounts, and even travel to different places at a reduced price. At one time the two went on a coach tour to California for six weeks. They thoroughly enjoyed it.
The other gentleman that you saw now and then but was memorable one was a Mr. Hussein Suleman.
Every Friday, the bus came from Mombasa. That one actually stank of fish. because it was bringing a lot of fish from the coast The odd thing was that a crowd collected as soon as the bus arrived. It appeared odd to us Gujaratis who were vegetarians. The smell was pervasive. Many managed to buy it, and take it home and cook it or fry it for supper. (A word later about the stinking fish).
Now Husseinbhai had a facial palsy. A well built man with somewhat protrusive lips, always wanting to talk with people. Unfortunately because of the facial weakness, he could not quite control his speech, hence he would spit as he talked. You had to pity anyone who was on the line of fire as he talked! It would cover him with spit and mucus.
About the fish and people who went out to buy it- along with the Ismailis, were the Goans. Wonderful people. They made excellent teachers, and even better tailors. Now they would buy the fish and take it home also. In the evening one could feel an assault on many a nose from the frying fish. The Guajratis thought that it was odd that these people preferred to bathe at night! In those days, there was no electricity. A wood fire was burnt outside, on which there was a large container 'Dubba' filled with water. When the water was near boiling point, the lantern and later the container were taken to the bathroom. One had to be careful as the bathroom often had a slippery floor. A smaller container was put in the dubba, and with some soap, the person, or the 'victim' enjoyed the bath/ wash.
Now Shankerbhai Hathibhai Patel (Hathi=elephant) could be looking at disaster in the face. (Shankerbhai was mentioned before). He was another shop owner. Amongst the Patels, was a system of dowry. the girl's parents gave a lot material goods including money to the family of the bridegroom. soon after his first daughter's marriage he was devastated. Unfortunately, at each of his wife's delivery, he was very apprehensive. She gave him two more daughters! He could not afford this. It is in fact known that some parents would even strangle the newborn if it was a female. Even at marriages, the bridegroom would suddenly stand up, and if his demand and renewed greed is not fulfilled, then the marriage is immediately annulled and not carried out. In fact, the bridegroom is known to have asked for a new sports car, or whatever takes his fancy, or the fancy of the parents.
(Shankerbhai was a thin businessman, who did not say much. In later years cardiac problems- very slow pulse- and has departed this world. I had the pleasure to attend to a wedding of one of the members of the family in London. It was when I was a visitor, and my cousin, Hansa, said, come on, there is a wedding, where you will meet many Nyeri people. It sure did, and fulfilled a dream of mine.
The other gentleman that jogs the memory was Omarbhai. He was a barber, and took over from Yusufbhai, who went with his family to London. A tall man, over 6 Feet, sharp features, a prominent jaw, and sharp intelligent eyes. He had also been on his pilgrimage to Saudi Arabia on 'Haj', hence he could be called a 'Haji', and probably gives him a right to become an ? Imam.
Here I interrupt, as to why I am so prejudiced about Nyeri. I lived there, which could be a reason, but it is a minor reason. The real reason was the involvement of personalities of the world that have an association with this little town. So, what were they. Here they are:
1. Lord Baden Powell of Gilwell retired there, and in fact died there. He was the founder of the Boy Scouts movement that is now world wide.
2. Jim Corbett, the great hunter, mainly tigers. who did his hunting in India and even wrote many books, the main one being 'Maneaters of Kumaon', lived and died there.
3. Queen Elizabeth the Second was in Treetops Hotel, Nyeri, when she learnt that her father had died in Britain. Up into Treetops a princess, came down a queen the next day! Nothing, nothing more romantic in the world than this. (Some claim that she was at the :sagana Lodge' which is also near Nyeri.)
An interesting episode comes to mind- somewhat hilarious.
I was a student at Govt. Indian High School in Nairobi in the 40s. My accommodations were rather poorly. Lived in Ngara at my uncle's house. My uncle was called Laxmidas. He owned the building. He had his wife Parvatikaki (his dad, Khimji Ramji had died of a heart attack). his mom and his younger brother Bhikhu. There were renters, one of them was Ramjibhai. His wife was called Shanta.
We were given a tiny room, about 6 feet by 6 feet to stay overnight. In the room was his mom, myself and Bhikhu. It would have been OK but all night the old lady kept thinking of her Gods and say 'Hey Raam, mara vhala, amaru dhyan rakhje. Hey Krishna, hey Shanker, hey Parvati etc.', and on and on it went. sleep was impossible. Probably even God could not sleep listening to a devotee.' If she had an argument with her daughter in law, she would beat her chest till it was raw and red, then show it to her and showed her how bad it was and she did not care at all!).
Among us, Gujaratis, lots of ladies go into a trance. called Dhunee, when they go dishevelled, dance around and do all sorts of crazy things. It is said that their kuldevi, a protector Godess of that clan, would come into them. At times they beat their body with a heavy chain, say odd things but nobody dares to say anything in case misfortune befalls them! Anyway, the lady, Shantaben, Ramjibhai's wife used to go in a trance. She would stare into outer space and was oblivious to goings on around. It was hard to wake her, so Ramjibhai would get a hold of her hair on the head and give her a few hard slaps. Then he asks, 'who are you and what do you want?' She gives her reply, and as to what she wants, she wants it 'bhajias', (Pakoras). This is about ten or eleven at night! So Ramjibhai gives us some money, and Bhikhu and I go all over town at night to buy Pakoras. It was frightening but somewhat hilarious, you must agree.
I think it is best I choose stories from memory randomly, as who wants the dull stuff, eh!
From 1959 to 63 I was in General Practice, in Nyeri, Kenya. I have a lot of stories from that time, but this was a personal one.
Soon after starting practice my better half wanted to go back to Britain to finish her studies in nursing, and obtain an SRN. Anyway, she was coming for a visit. So I went to Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to collect her, and see the most beautiful girl I ever knew. The cafeteria at the airport was playing Helen Shapiro, and her popular song- Say goodbye to loneliness, huppa ho yeye say hello to happiness, huppa---
What a nice song from a beautiful lady. Anyway, she arrived and we drove home. After a day or so, she wishes that we drive to Mombasa, about 400 miles away to see her family, Damji Lila, Kashiben and others.
To tell you more, we have to go back. Kanchan, a lovely lady and Premchandbhai Shah's sister, lived next door. She often came to see me as she regarded me as her brother. Gossiper gossip that no one can fathom. Anyway, that very weekend she was etting married. I could not attend the wedding as we were going to Mombasa. She was hurt and never forgave me. Not only that, but she was in a car accident when the whole family died. So, wherever you are, Kanchan, forgive me.
The road to Mombasa is no fun. I had a Mercedes 190 S. Very comfortable car, but its lights were like candle light. Dangerous to drive at night. On the road from Nairobi, it is not uncommon to see some elephants eating away, and an approaching car would not bother the said fella even if he was on the road. And to take a corner and suddenly see a mighty beast can make one shudder.
Anyway we took off after attending the car's need for its own kind of food. Nairobi came and the road going via the airport to Mombasa was embarked upon. A slight drizzle was present, but nothing of concern. Mtito Andei, Tetu Hills, Tsavo and many towns were passed. (Have you read about the story of 'The Maneaters of Tsavo?' This is when the immigant Asians were the main fare for the Lions. They loved it, yum yum.) We passed the halfway mark and the slight rain became a torrent. As we proceeded, we came across a brook that was threatening to be a fast flowing river. Just then the fan belt must have lost its function and the water in the engine boiled away. No problem, I just went to the brook and fetched some water. The engine started, we crossed the river, and then the engine quit, leaving us stranded. The sun had disappeared and the evening was looming. In that part of Africa, it is either light or it is dark. No ifs and buts. In the distance two lights were seen approaching us. Out came 4 boys. they told us they were teachers and were on their way to Nairobi for a holiday. They were told that the road was muddy now and not passable. They saw no sense in continuing their journey. They said that they would turn back, but two of their guys would stay behind and give a ride to the two ladies that were with us. (the other lady present was Rambha, my sister-in-law.)
Just before they arrived, we beset by another agony. That was mosquitoes. More inside the car than outside! The girls had their feet upto the ankles swollen from the bites.
The girls left with the two boys and reached Mombasa safely. Damjibhai was informed that the rest of the party was stuck just beyond the town of Voi. Well, not to worry, he said. The main party is here, so we will go tomorrow in good time.
The two boys that stayed behind were just great. They passed away the time by lighting a fire, gathering everyone around, and telling stories that are fresh even to this day in my mind. I will relate them in the future.
Luckily, no elephants were sighted. It was amazing that these young men could t3ell stories one after another that went throughout the night!
Morning came. The sun's rays started beating down onto dry earth. After a while, the cicadas also went quiet. They have an annoying screeching, which I believe is due to them rubbing their legs one against the other.
Eventually a truck appeared, and the driver told us that he was sent to tow us along with our car. Actually he was towing another truck as well, so we were tied to it. So the train started. Disaster once again. As soon as our car was pulled, it started to go into a ditch. In a Mercedes, without the key in the ignition, even the steering is locked. It could not be turned on in time. After a lot of screaming and hooting, the driver noticed that something was amiss. He stopped, enquired, and once again straightened things out, and the 'train' proceeded. We eventually reached Mombasa. The engine was ruined, and it had to be 'rebored'. So we just had to take another train to Nairobi, while the car came a few days later n the train. A very expensive but a very memorable few days.
Here is one of the stories that these young, hilarious, full of life, giving, youngsters-teachers told us.
It happened in South Africa in the days of apartheid, but the rules were gradually being relaxed.
Two good colored friends used to pass this particular hotel everyday. They longed to go and spend a night there. Eventually one of the friends could not stand it any longer. His friend would not join him, so he went along by himself. He went to the front desk and booked a room. The management was a little conscious, so they gave him a room at the back, and moved the occupant of that room to another place. This occupant was a long resident, and his health was not very good, so about midnight a team of nurses came, and after enquiring about his health generally gave him an enema.
Anyway, our friend went to the dining room. He was asked if he wanted soup, which he declined. He had a hearty meal, and went early to bed, very satisfied with everything. About midnight, the door opens quietly and the two visitors turned him and gave him a quick enema. He was amazed but did not say a thing.
In the morning, he checked out. He met his friend afterwards, who asked him how everything was. He said that everything was wonderful, but with one caution,
'If you go for dinner, do not decline the soup offered as they will still give you, although by another route!'
* * * * * ****** ******** *****
In the 30s and 40s in East Africa, Elecricity was around the corner. Pillars were erected after digging deep holes in the ground, and inserting a cleared tree trunk in it. Later the ground was solidified. Wires were hung from these large trunks, that would carry electricity to all the households. Late, telephone wires were also strung along on the same trunks. It was also economical tplace the trnks along railway lines. Even gravel roads also went along in a parallel fashion.
Asian household were interesting. All would rise in the earl morning for the day to day activities. First of all, one by one they would attend the latrines. some characters, not very hegienic, would defaecate on the floor, making it very uncomfortable for the followers. Then the particular person would approach the sink. Get the cold water running. Wash the hands, and deep gargles. That consisted of overfilling the mouth, bend back and make a huge gurgle. The louder the better. Then the water is spit out, without regard as to where the target for all that unclean water was. It would be cleaned up, generally not the wife, but a servant who comes at about 6 in the morning. Men are generally in a shirt and pyjama pants. A fire has been lit, and 3 or 4 large stones are spaced out around the fire in a circle. A low stool is prcured, or on just finds another stone. In those days there were no brushes, so everyone did what they called 'datan'. In India, it is a branch of a nim tree, while in East Africa, it is some form of a green stick, probaly a boabab or some such, from which long thorns, sharp and about 2 inches ong have been removed. In biger cities, there were shops that just sold these sticks. One end of the stick is chewed and chewed until it forms soft bristles. With that, the teeth are rubbed over and over again, front, back, sides, at the back etc. In between, the spit that collects is thrown on the side. Heaven help anyone who may be sitting next dood! Then the stck is deftly split all the way through, holding one side while the teeth grip the other side, and split it right through the middle. The half stick was then bent into a curve, and all the fur that had gathered overnight on the tongue cleared out by vigorously rubbing, back and forth to a glorious satisfaction.
No dentist here. Many had beautiful white teeth, leading one to wonder about the good old days, and perhaps we were doing something that was right and we have gradually lost it.
The water that is heated is transported to the bathroom. The floor is slippery. One sits down on a very low stool, and with a pitcher, water is thrown over the body.
Soap is applied and rubbed all over. Then it is washed off as much as possible. Then a towel is grabbed, one that has been used and is still somewhat wet. The body is rubbed with it, and if one feels like it, it is wrapped around the lower torso, and a careful exit is made. Crispy white clothing is laid out for the master. He adorns himself with it, and proceeds to the table where breakfast is waiting- gurum gurum (Hot, hot) chai, and some Puris or Parathas and pickle. The man is in ecstacy. He tends to overeat, without realizing his chances of developing diabetes or heart disease a good possibility. But ignorance and a full stomach is bliss!
Quite often work starts for him at 8 in the morning, a short lunch break when he comes home and the missus has cooked, generally chapattis with curry, curd or yogurt etc, then back to the shop. Evening meal, and back again, guess where?!