Running Away from Dad - 1
How to use visitors as a human shield!
For many former East African Asians, their lives in the 'sakati' system provide endless nostalgia. The sakati was an orderly cluster of flats facing a common rectangular compound not different in layout from today's 'designer' courtyards in Central London's gated properties. They are shared spaces and are bordered by buildings. All sakatis had families living at the perimeter, with the front doors of their flats or houses facing the common area. Each sakati was a community, consisting of households which mostly got on well with each other but there were some which did not get on too well at all. Sakatis bred healthy and open minded people in most cases. There were sakatis which bred vendettas, encouraged the firing of emotional Hisbullah rockets in the form of insults and taunts. Brinkmanship between families was rife. It prevailed across the compound in abundance.
There was very little privacy in the sakati especially where a family chose to have a literally open door policy. Any one could call at any time, bring a dish and take away a dish if they got the smell of what you were cooking. Sakatis were like a community of ants or bees. If you stood at a vantage point, you could see families at work and play almost like a children's activity book which has small windows that open out into various activities. I am thinking of 'advent calendars'.
Anyway, one day a group of boys decided to have a football match inside the sakati. The evening was approaching fast and we had to produce a result. The boys were totally oblivious to the red hot charcoal fires that were cooking the evening meals of many families. They had lost track of the time. The African sunset would soon plunge the sakati into darkness. The lighting was poor. Some years ago there had been a serious incidence when the neighbour's newly married daughter-in-law had bumped into someone's grandfather. Anyway, a high ball came towards me and in the semi-darkness I decided to head it but could not control the direction into which the ball was going to go.
The ball landed in a large saucepan of a neighbour, Mrs Chana, who had just finished cooking a rather oily chicken curry on the coalfire. Her cooking was actually not very good. I remember that she always overspiced her food and added tons of chillies to her curries. Both of their older sons came home seriously drunk after their evening hockey games. They wanted the hottest curry you could find on Ngara Road. The ball hit Mrs Chana's dinner with a rather low, heavy and muffled thud. That was very bad news. From the sound I guessed that the ball had landed right in the middle of the saucepan. I knew that the damage had been done. Mrs Chana started screaming and I decided to run out of the sakati and pretended to have nothing to do with the ball in the chicken curry ....
On reaching the sakati's main door, I realised that we were about to receive visitors; a meanish uncle and his family were approaching the sakati entrance. As I have said before, unnannounced visitors were quite common. It did not matter that they timed their visit to include a meal. They asked me why was I running away at such a speed. Was my father at home? "Stop and talk to us!" shouted my aunt. As I was turning at the corner at top speed I ran into another neighbour who was returning home from work. " Yes, dad is at home. Go right in" I yelled as I ran out. All was quiet for about twenty minutes as I stood under street light and got my breath back. Then I realised that I had to go back.
On reaching the front door, I looked towards Mrs Chana's house and found that their door was shut. Had they picked out the ball from their their meal and were they eating the curry? I decided that it wasn't important at all to find out at that stage... the more urgent issue was how to survive once I got home.
Then I heard dad say with remarkable calm," Dont worry. He is going to come back sooner or later. He sleeps in the bed in the verandah and I will be able to see him". Our visitors were my insurance policy. I decided to enter the house and go straight to the visitors, be very sociable and cheerful and sit very close to them for protection. Dad could lose his temper without any warning. There was every prospect of stopping a missile in the form of a shoe. Dinner followed and soon the visitors left. An eerie silence followed and I knew that dad would spring into action at any time.
" How was school today?" he asked. That was not a good start. Any question about school at that time of the night was a prescription for disaster. Dad was slowly preparing his ground but it put me on the defensive. Any confirmation about lack of progress at school would be badly timed. His anger about the loss of Mrs Chana's cooking was apparent. In addition it had given dad control of the situation. I realised then that I should not have run....I was in deep trouble and dad knew it.
For many former East African Asians, their lives in the 'sakati' system provide endless nostalgia. The sakati was an orderly cluster of flats facing a common rectangular compound not different in layout from today's 'designer' courtyards in Central London's gated properties. They are shared spaces and are bordered by buildings. All sakatis had families living at the perimeter, with the front doors of their flats or houses facing the common area. Each sakati was a community, consisting of households which mostly got on well with each other but there were some which did not get on too well at all. Sakatis bred healthy and open minded people in most cases. There were sakatis which bred vendettas, encouraged the firing of emotional Hisbullah rockets in the form of insults and taunts. Brinkmanship between families was rife. It prevailed across the compound in abundance.
There was very little privacy in the sakati especially where a family chose to have a literally open door policy. Any one could call at any time, bring a dish and take away a dish if they got the smell of what you were cooking. Sakatis were like a community of ants or bees. If you stood at a vantage point, you could see families at work and play almost like a children's activity book which has small windows that open out into various activities. I am thinking of 'advent calendars'.
Anyway, one day a group of boys decided to have a football match inside the sakati. The evening was approaching fast and we had to produce a result. The boys were totally oblivious to the red hot charcoal fires that were cooking the evening meals of many families. They had lost track of the time. The African sunset would soon plunge the sakati into darkness. The lighting was poor. Some years ago there had been a serious incidence when the neighbour's newly married daughter-in-law had bumped into someone's grandfather. Anyway, a high ball came towards me and in the semi-darkness I decided to head it but could not control the direction into which the ball was going to go.
The ball landed in a large saucepan of a neighbour, Mrs Chana, who had just finished cooking a rather oily chicken curry on the coalfire. Her cooking was actually not very good. I remember that she always overspiced her food and added tons of chillies to her curries. Both of their older sons came home seriously drunk after their evening hockey games. They wanted the hottest curry you could find on Ngara Road. The ball hit Mrs Chana's dinner with a rather low, heavy and muffled thud. That was very bad news. From the sound I guessed that the ball had landed right in the middle of the saucepan. I knew that the damage had been done. Mrs Chana started screaming and I decided to run out of the sakati and pretended to have nothing to do with the ball in the chicken curry ....
On reaching the sakati's main door, I realised that we were about to receive visitors; a meanish uncle and his family were approaching the sakati entrance. As I have said before, unnannounced visitors were quite common. It did not matter that they timed their visit to include a meal. They asked me why was I running away at such a speed. Was my father at home? "Stop and talk to us!" shouted my aunt. As I was turning at the corner at top speed I ran into another neighbour who was returning home from work. " Yes, dad is at home. Go right in" I yelled as I ran out. All was quiet for about twenty minutes as I stood under street light and got my breath back. Then I realised that I had to go back.
On reaching the front door, I looked towards Mrs Chana's house and found that their door was shut. Had they picked out the ball from their their meal and were they eating the curry? I decided that it wasn't important at all to find out at that stage... the more urgent issue was how to survive once I got home.
Then I heard dad say with remarkable calm," Dont worry. He is going to come back sooner or later. He sleeps in the bed in the verandah and I will be able to see him". Our visitors were my insurance policy. I decided to enter the house and go straight to the visitors, be very sociable and cheerful and sit very close to them for protection. Dad could lose his temper without any warning. There was every prospect of stopping a missile in the form of a shoe. Dinner followed and soon the visitors left. An eerie silence followed and I knew that dad would spring into action at any time.
" How was school today?" he asked. That was not a good start. Any question about school at that time of the night was a prescription for disaster. Dad was slowly preparing his ground but it put me on the defensive. Any confirmation about lack of progress at school would be badly timed. His anger about the loss of Mrs Chana's cooking was apparent. In addition it had given dad control of the situation. I realised then that I should not have run....I was in deep trouble and dad knew it.
To be continued. Some facts and names have been changed to protect identities. I have also taken some artistic licence and added a bit of fiction.
posted by K Singh Ajimal at
2:13 am
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