THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS, I HOPE OTHER PEOPLE WILL CONTRIBUTE WITH THEIR MEMORIES OR EXPERIENCES
This
is not a criticism. I have the greatest respect for Goans of many echelons of
life in East Africa. I count many, many from all walks of life as my very
dearest of friends. This is how I saw things first hand, from stories I was
told, and some of the written material I was able to get hold of during my
young years. I ate with my hands at home, especially if it was rice and curry.
My friends used cutlery. But outside of the home, I used cutlery except if it was fish head ambot tik. Not a problem. Tell me I am wrong, or how you saw it
and I will happily record it, if only for the sake of balance.
The Goan
Clubs and Goan culture
Goan Clubs in East Africa did not always foster Goan culture or the Konkani
language. They couldn’t. There was a directive from the colonial Minister for
Education that all Asians, especially the parents, should stop speaking to their
children in their vernaculars. The reason: translating these vernaculars into
English was producing a horror kind of pidgin, the butt of jokes and satire
(some of which still stands to this day) and it was all quite ridiculous. The
Asian children and their parents ignored this (some students lied about it in
school) and the ridicule continued.
Goans had no
such problem. The sons and daughters of civil servants, doctors, engineers,
nurses and other professions all spoke English at home because most parents
recognised the need for their children to speak English, even that hoity-toity
version called Queen’s English.
There were
others, sons and daughters of tailors, carpenters, shoemakers and like, who
continued to speak to their parents in Konkani because Mum and Dad could not
speak English. However, as the years went by that too diminished. Yet, these
children had no problem reading and writing really good English. Even Goan
children who had been educated in Goa, Bombay and Belgaum never really spoke
Konkani.
Talking about
Queen’s English, a friend of ours flew over the UK en route to somewhere or the
other and came back speaking pukka HM’s English. That could be an urban myth,
but I know the name of the guy involved.
I remember
with considerable affection that my late wife Rufina held a conversation with
my mother mixing English, Swahili and Konkani. Somehow, they managed to
understand each other. One or two of my siblings, the youngest, spoke very
little Konkani.
There was a proportion of Goans who spoke very bad, broken English and they made themselves understood with an insertion of some Konkani into their conversations. Sadly they were butt of jokes and hilarity. Some folks took to English as a matter of class as did the Goans in Goa with Portuguese I am told.
There was a proportion of Goans who spoke very bad, broken English and they made themselves understood with an insertion of some Konkani into their conversations. Sadly they were butt of jokes and hilarity. Some folks took to English as a matter of class as did the Goans in Goa with Portuguese I am told.
Most of the teachers
in Goan schools and parish schools spoke pretty good English. Even those with a
decisive Subcontinental twang made themselves understood pretty well even those
they were mercilessly the butt of jokes: one of our science teachers, a
delightful bloke actually, was called “Boonnsen bearner” something to that
effect.
For those
households where everyone spoke English, parents spoke to each other in Konkani
when they made their childfree secret talks. When these same children migrated
to overseas and wanted to make secret talk, they spoke in Swahili.
Parents of my
friends who were themselves more 10 years older than me used to regale me
stories of the dances and concerts they used to host in their various clubs. I
am not sure if this was a conscious decision, or if it was the initiative of
the dedicated. Not many youngsters of my generation went to these tiatrs even
though quite a few my age friends were quietly mastering the skills. (Must get a
few names from Greg Carvalho. The one man who could have written the history of
the tiatr in Kenya, Jack Fernandes (producer, director, writer, actor,
musician), is no longer with us. In a variety (music, song and dance) extravaganza
produced to music a milestone at the Railway Goan Institute, a tiatra featured
in three parts as part of the show. One line in Konkani I will never forget (I
think it was written by Santan), reading a letter from his mother in Goa:
“Baba, that Sancristao died without telling anybody!”
From a 1962
production of Tor Zait Con here are the players: Flavia Andrade, Olive Tavares,
Brigitte Dias, Lily Collaco, Bertha Zuzarte, Daisy D’Costa, Carmen Fernandes,
Ruth Fernandes, Alzira Zuzarte Vaz, Max Fernandes, Charlie Vaz, Jack Fernandes,
M. Rod, Zig-Zag D’Mello, S.V. Barros, J.P. Leitao, Juliao Noronha, L.
Santimano, Bonnie D’Souza, Joe Fernandes, Wolfgang Collaco, Tolley Baretto,
Jose Fernandes, Cajie Fernandes.
The educated
Goan community did not only value a well-spoken English accent, they valued
high English education and as early as the 1940s (or could be even before that)
were packing their children into the only known final frontier of their
education. They were clever enough to know that that is where their children’s future
lay. God Bless them for their foresight.
I must
confess I was never devotee or Goa or things Goan other than the fact that when
all is done, no matter how far I roam, not matter how many rockets I fly in,
when I am dust unto dust, part of me will be Goan dust. That is perhaps a great
sin. If the expatriate Goan had invested as much as other fellow Indians have
done, their mother country would be a much more prosperous one today. Or would
it have turned out to be worst investment ever, with greedy Indian Centre
government eyes grabbing it all. Goans in Goa must take the blame for the
non-existent expatriate investment dollar. To many expatriate Goans have been
fleeced by their country cousins, friends and even members of their own
families. The common credo has been “you can’t trust anyone in Goa”. I have not
invested a cent either and because I hold no stake, I find myself a somewhat
reluctant Goan.
These days it is no longer the Goa I remember. Like everything
else, Goa has taken on new traits, new normalities, new characteristics and new
excesses as is the want of every nation on earth. When I visit Kenya, I can
hardly recognise the place, but I love it all the same. Yet there is a
consistent regret. Kenya could have been such a great place if more people had
been given a share of the independence pie instead of a life in the shanty
towns. In a similar manner, I love Goa, but I cry for it too. Looking at videos
of policing the Coronavirus and terrible beating of common folk. Have really
come to this?
Bottom line:
Those Goans who had a stake in the country returned to it, others come as
tourists.
The diaspora
Goan, especially their children, have built a new life in a new world and that
does not include East Africa or Goa or Goans for that matter.
Many of the
educated Goans also tried to mimic the colonial British. As part of their work
they may have come to develop a taste for English food, even it is only finger food
that they like most. There were Goan chefs on the Railways, some most important
hotels, many of the exclusive whites-only clubs and they would have introduced
their friends to the English finger food had parties they held at their own
homes. Some even did part-time catering for engagements, birthdays and the
like. But it was not long before Goan women were mastering these skills and
teaching them to their daughters and the cooks they employed. Friday night was
always fish curry and rice, so was Lent. Some homes always began their meals
with a bowl of soup and ended with a suitable dessert.
While the Goan cuisine
was dominant in most homes, others chose to serve marinated roast beef or pork
with roast potatoes in jacket, vegetables and a chutney for the main course.
This was not the norm but the exception. For most Goans, however, it was just
curry and rice and a vegetable dish if you were lucky. If you wanted a dessert,
you whipped up avocado, sprinkled sugar and thought you were heaven. If avocados
were not in season than its dark brown sugar or jaggery sprinkled on a chapati)
or thick Whitehouse bread) and rolled up, or banana fritters for dessert, or
there was plenty of fruit not too far away, even if it was other peoples.
In
our teen years, we began venturing into Indian restaurants and later into the
“white” restaurants like the New Stanley Hotel’s Thorn tree and a whole new
world opened up to us. It was the same time Kentucky Fried Chicken and its derivatives
and of course fish and chips were always available. I got to love the rare
roast beef (still do more than 65 years later) sandwich at Brunner’s or Queens
Hotel which also served the best potato chips and unadulterated Heinze tomato
sauce (most other places it was watered down).
Oh, by the way, there was always the best authentic food available at
the Goan Tailor’s Society at the weekend, special feast days (such as December
3) or on days when loud, noisy, boisterous trouk tournaments were held. Not much English, though.
Oh, there was
a bit of culture at the Goan clubs at Christmas, Easter and New Years …
traditional dances and community singing.
As far as
cooking classes, I think the best most people came up with was Elsie Maciel’s
Cookbook, nothing wrong with that. At the RGI, there was something else: Salim's Seekh Kebabs and Ismailia Hotel made the best lamb samosas and potato bhajia.
Anyway, by the time the 1960s came along, turned up noses, class consciousness, prejudice, airs and graces, and all of that human rubbish had disappeared. In fact, much of it has been erased by nature of need long before that. People stopped treating their fellow Goans as some folks in the UK treat the folk from Swindon and Wembley with their Goan Wild West ways. They too will learn in time.
Anyway, by the time the 1960s came along, turned up noses, class consciousness, prejudice, airs and graces, and all of that human rubbish had disappeared. In fact, much of it has been erased by nature of need long before that. People stopped treating their fellow Goans as some folks in the UK treat the folk from Swindon and Wembley with their Goan Wild West ways. They too will learn in time.
Tell me your thoughts.
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