Servants - 2

By the time we left Mombasa in 1961 we had four household servants. They were, from left to right, Mlalo the garden boy, Saidi the head boy, Ouma the cook, and Kitetu the dhobi boy - there is a post about them here. The picture was taken on the day my brother and I left Mombasa, I think in 1960, to return to school in England, knowing we would not see them again for ten months.

I'm not sure how apparent it is from the picture that I am very upset. Although it was sad to say goodbye to my parents, I was almost more upset about saying my farewells to these four - after all, my parents were responsible for sending me away to school in a cold, wet, grey, far-away country.

I have great difficulty in describing my feelings for these men who took some pride in serving us, feelings which had evolved ever since Fatuma was my ayah, except to say that they were those one would have for very special friends. These men served me - in that they cooked my food, washed my clothes, made my bed and much, much more - but they did far more that was nothing to do with the master-servant contract. I liked their company. I respected their views. I learned their language, I ate their food with them. I had difficulty not crying when I said goodbye.

I liked to think that they liked me but I really have no idea what they thought of me. They had to be careful because I was, in a way, part of their employment package, so they didn't want to upset my parents as jobs locally were difficult to find. Yet they had to serve me, and sometimes my demands were probably quite unreasonable.

Read any book about a white child growing up in Africa, and it will probably include description of the relationship he/she had with their domestic servants - Peter Godwin's autobiography Mukiwa, is a good example. It is a relationship forged by thousands of children across the tropical lands of the then British Empire. I know that I benefitted hugely from it.