Buds of Matata in Kenya - AMONG THE JACARANDA
My Alice in Wonderland Beginnings
Nairobi, October 29, 1967.
The baby’s estimated arrival date has passed.
“I’m sure it will be a boy!”
“Everything points to a girl!”
“It will be a big baby!”
“Definitely a small baby!”
“It will be late!”
“No doubt, it will be early!”
The multitudes of predictions by our Goan and non-Goan friends alike, in the final two weeks of Eleanor’s pregnancy, are contradictory at best. The most accurate forecast could possibly be from my friend Braz Rodrigues, a virtuoso cello player at the Conservatoire of Music, an engineer and colleague… and amateur clairvoyant.
“If you would both agree to come over for a bowl of Jeanette’s hot and sour soup, I can promise, the baby will arrive tonight!” So declared my friend who is on the other end of the phone which is snuggly cradled between my ear and my wife’s. Braz’s French wife Jeanette is a fine cook and Eleanor’s eyes are signaling that we should accept the invitation.
I watch, as Eleanor gets ready for our dinner out. Her enormous Marimeko-clad belly seems to dwarf the room of our tiny two-bedroom house.
Much to my family’s chagrin, we are rather sparse and unorthodox in our choice of furniture. Our bedroom has our now legendary bed and chest of drawers, and a clothes-horse by the closet. The dining room has six mahogany chairs upholstered in camel leather. Each chair back has a carved wooden shield engraved with the previous owner’s family monogram. The Indian hand-craftsmanship is exquisite. The labels on the underside of the seats confirm their pedigree from McRae’s, one of Nairobi’s best-known wood furniture shops, catering to the wealthier class. The matching circular mahogany dining table with light-wood inlays was bought at the same time at Muter and Oswald auction house.
A deep red, purple and magenta rug radiates warmth and provides elegance. It was bought directly from an Arab dhow in the Old Port Mombasa for a princely sum in Kenya shillings, equivalent to about ten British pounds. We also purchased a traditional wing chair upholstered in a coarsely textured imported fabric. Instead of a sofa, we have the rear bench from our recently acquired Kombi van. A large earthen pot filled with freshly harvested papyrus fronds plucked from the stream at the bottom of the garden, sits nobly to one side of the bench. I have strung some lights to give the room a contemporary ‘Habitat’ look. The Marimeko cotton fabric purchased from that chic London furnishing store was intended for drapes, but when Eleanor could not find suitable fabric or a design she liked in the Indian Bazaar, the drapery material was quickly fashioned into two very attractive maternity dresses, by my mum.
The newly decorated baby’s room has a cot, a nappy-changing table and a chair and is painted in porcelain white making it quickly adaptable for a girl or boy.
We step outside onto a carpet of Jacaranda petals to say goodbye to Cloto, our Rhodesian ridgeback, and drive away to our dinner date on a street behind the Fairview Hotel on the Hill.
After a scrumptious dinner that includes an overly generous portion of hot and sour soup, we leave our hosts apartment and are barely out of the gate when Eleanor signals that her contractions have begun.
What to do? Eleanor has had her kit-bag of basics ready in the trunk (boot) for the past fortnight. Last week we drove into town centre, for the second time, the baby was ready to pop out, but by the time we were at the Museum Hill roundabout by the Casino, Eleanor realized it was another false alarm and we returned home.
So, should I turn the car around and head up to the Princess Margaret Hospital, or drive home via a long, winding, badly lit and notorious road and wait at home until we’re absolutely sure this time?
“I’m sorry Lando darling… I’m just a bit nervous after hearing from your mum about the night you were born. She said, it was a short distance from Plums Lane past the Goan Gymkhana to the Lady Grigg Indian Maternity Home in Ngara, but she had to be driven there, lying on the cold steel floor, in the back of Mrs. Singh’s delivery van while someone went to grab up your dad from his card game at the club. She said I should not underestimate how fast babies can make their entrance, when they’ve had enough of the view from inside.”
I reach out and squeeze her hand. My instinct or maybe my anxiety tells me, today may be her day. “You know what, luv? Let’s go to the maternity hospital just in case.”
The Admission procedures at the reception desk takes about twenty minutes. “I’m not expecting you to come in. I’ll be fine,” Eleanor says. “I’m sorry darling but we both know it could be another false alarm.” I squeeze her hand and kiss her cheek to reassure her I’m okay whatever happens.
An Indian nurse escorts Eleanor into the labour room. About twenty minutes later, an African nurse walks toward me. “We think it may be a false alarm, Mr. Menezes, but we’re waiting for the Chief Midwife to make the final decision.
Twenty-five minutes later the English midwife appears to deliver her verdict. “Mrs. Menezes is almost asleep, which is good for her, so we’ll keep her here till the morning. I understand you have a long way to go and your wife has asked me to persuade you to go home. So, please do so and call us in the morning. I don’t expect anything will happen tonight, but I’ll be on duty through to the 9:00 A.M. shift and to be honest, I could do with a quiet night myself. You go get some rest. Parents never have a proper night’s sleep after their first born arrives.”
* *
As I make my way through the whispering echoes of the hospital corridors, past echoes fill my head with the memories of an already adventurous life story. I smile and pick up the pace as I race through my journey from student en-route to university in the UK, to husband and soon-to-be father.
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