'The Boys'

'The Boys' weren't boys at all, they were grown men, the servants who worked for us around the house. They cleaned the place, they did the laundry, they polished shoes, brass and silver-work, they tended the garden, they cooked and served the meals, they woke us in the morning with the tea tray, they babysat Richard and I when our parents went out in the evening.

When we first came to Mombasa we employed two, a cook and Ouma, the houseboy, who later became our cook and stayed with us until we left. By the time we moved to the third house in Cliff Avenue, our last house in Mombasa, we were cared for by four - from left to right, Mlalo, Ouma, Saidi - who always wore a red fez - and Kitetu. This picture was taken in 1959.

Ouma was a Jaluo from the Lakes. He lived on the premises and was joined at times by his wife and several children who normally stayed at their little farm, or shamba. The oldest was Barasa, and we came to know him well. Ouma was a bit of a dandy but a very intelligent man who, given different circumstances, would have gone far in life. He had a fine sense of humour and was incredibly good to Richard and I, for at times we teased him.

His dishes were legendary. He had been taught to cook by my mother but he picked up recipes from all over the place. While he could produce a classic English meal like roast lamb and mint sauce, he was at his best with fish. I will never forget his fish with cheese sauce, nor the way he would cycle down to the fish market on my mother's black Raleigh bicycle and come back with a live lobster or two in the front basket, to plunge them into boiling water.

Saidi (left) was a coast Swahili, a reserved man who waited at table, served drinks on the veranda or in the sitting room, cleaned the principle rooms, and brought tea to the upstairs veranda just before six and gently roused us so we could drink it and watch the sun rise over the sea.

Kitetu (right) was the dhobi boy who did our washing, and ironed it with a large iron filled with glowing charcoal. A quiet, unassuming man, Kitetu was also responsible for cleaning the brass ornaments, including the big Arab tray, using half a lemon and dirt. Saidi and Kitetu polished the downstairs floor which was red-painted concrete. They each had two coconut husks which they stood on and slid around the floor, singing as they worked.

Saidi and Kitetu served at meals, and served drinks on the veranda. At such times they wore a khanzu, and red cummerbund and fez.

Mlalo was the garden boy. He may have been the most lowly of the four but I spent hours with him, squatting next to him as he manicured the pathetic grass of the lawn or as he tended his eternally-burning bonfire. I was attracted by his simplicity, by the slow process of conversation with him, and by his sudden laughter. I teased him: if I found a chameleon I would bring it to him, knowing full well that he was terrified of them. It was Mlalo who made our catapults, a new one for each holiday, which we used to kill small birds.

Saidi and Ouma both spoke good English but all conversation with the boys was in KiSwahili.

My mother was responsible for the staff and it is a credit to her management that we had a minimal turnover. We trusted them implicitly, even through the times of Mau Mau when many worried about their servants. As far as I was concerned, they always seemed to be part of the family.