Nairobi Days

Mummy’s two youngest brothers Adnan and Rashid, who had worked in the family’s restaurant and coffee farm, finally phoned us weeks later. There were a few other unmarried Indian men in the same situation. For safety, they boarded together in my grandmother’s house. By day they would try and sell whatever assets their families had. No one was interested. “We can take everything for free when you muhindi leave,” was the unkind response from non-Indians.

Rashid told Mum, “That is when I lost my hair; from the tension of those months in Kampala.” As the deadline grew closer, the Indians were warned that anyone who stayed would be rounded up and put into a camp that had been built in the countryside. It looked like a prison and was surrounded by barbed wire. Idi Amin didn’t say what would happen to the Indians in the camp.

Finally, just a few days before the deadline, Adnan and Rashid left Kampala, not even bothering to lock the doors behind them.

They gave Ochieng some Ugandan money.

“Please feed Sher, and stay in the house,” Rashid said. “It’s your house now,” and he handed Ochieng the keys.

“Oh, Bwana, What will we do without you? Let Mungu look after you,” Ochieng said, shaking hands with Rashid and Adnan. He had tears in his eyes; he had been with the family for decades.

Sher came after Adnan and whimpered; the dog knew something was wrong. “Let’s take Sher with us. He was Suleyman’s dog. How can we leave him behind?” Adnan said.

“He might bark at the border guards. Then they’ll shoot him, we have to leave him behind.” They were in the car at the gate when Rashid said, “Wait, wait,” he ran back in and grabbed a Makonde carving of a wizened old man, a last memento of Uganda. The boot had just two suitcases of clothes, to avoid attracting the border guards’ curiosity. They drove through the night in a convoy of three other cars, all Indian males going to Nairobi. At five in the morning, they honked at our gate until the askari let them in. We all woke up and came out to see them.

“Thank God you made it; I was so worried about you. You should have come sooner; the deadline is in just a few days,” Mum said, hugging them both and crying.

“I kept the room ready for you for weeks. Go and wash up and we will eat breakfast,” she said, moving into the kitchen. Over fried eggs and toast, they slowly told us about the crossing.

“We crossed the Kenya-Uganda border at Busia and stopped the car at the border post. The cars traveling with us also stopped,” Adnan said. ‘Get out of the car,’ the soldier told us. Three other soldiers with machine guns over their shoulders stood next to him.”

“‘Papers,’ the guard shouted. I handed over our British passports. I had put some Uganda shillings and fifty British pounds in the passports. The soldier thumbed through the passports, slowly looking at the various stamps. He saw the cash and nodded to his companions. Then he asked us to open the boot and to open our suitcases. He rifled through all the clothes and took out a couple of sweaters throwing them to his friends. He asked us, ‘So where are you going?’ I told him, ‘Nairobi, my sister lives there.’ He said, ‘Okay, go. Just don’t ever come back to Uganda. Amin is locking you muhindi in the camps in five days,’” Adnan said.

“You were lucky! I heard that they have beaten up Indians at the border post,” Mum exclaimed.

“After Busia, we drove through Kisumu on the shores of Lake Victoria and we kept going through Nakuru and Naivasha until we reached Nairobi. We only stopped to get petrol,” Adnan finished yawning.

“Get some sleep now,” Mum told him.