A World Away
I am reorganizing my filing cabinet, a tin with a painted lid reading THE PEEK FREAN AND CO. BISCUIT WORKS. Founded 1866. Sometimes I am so hungry, I open it not for the letters but to sniff the sweet smell of the biscuits that once lived there briefly. It now holds letters from Mom and Dad—mainly from Mom. Dad usually only scribbles a few lines at the end of each of Mom’s letters, and occasionally Linda will add her pearls of wisdom, most of which need figuring out because she is telling me about friends of hers at school whom I don’t know at all, so I can never make head or tail of her stories. When my family wished me goodbye before sailing back to Kenya in May 1950, Mom whispered a litany of don’ts quietly in my ear as she thrust a thick stack of stamped envelopes and writing paper at me. “Babush”—she still uses my baby name in times of stress—“Do not forget your family. Please write regularly.” She was trying to hide her pain. Only then, for the very first time, did the reality strike home. I would soon be on my own, an ocean away from her. I could hardly speak, so I just nodded in agreement.
I recall the weeks passing by rapidly and a succession of letters from Mom filled with news of the family’s return to Kenya and adjustments to life without me. Even Simba it seemed was behaving differently. My replies were brief. The novelty of boarding school combined with a rigorous program did not permit time for reflection or self-pity. Now as the extreme pre-monsoon heat singes its way into our bodies, I feel anger and frustration setting in. I resolve to start telling my family frankly what it is really like in boarding school.
Arpora, 23 June 1950
Dear Mom,
First, please do not call me Babush anymore! I am old enough now, and I would like everyone to call me Lando. I’m sorry I have not written for two weeks. I feel like a prisoner in Dad’s old school. I miss you all and also Jeep, Mwangi, Ahmad, and my other friends. Does Jeep have a new friend? How’s Simba? Who walks him?
Two weeks ago, in chapel, we prayed to San Antonio for rain, and these prayers really worked. You may not believe me, but it was like a miracle. The monsoon rains started the next day, and they are terrible. They say this season of wet and sticky days and nights will be long. The fragrance of cashew, mango, and jackfruit that filled the air during your visit has gone. I smell only my wet socks and my damp clothes. Nothing dries with this rain. The rice paddy fields are flooded, but our rations at mealtimes are tiny. I am now always hungry. Please send food parcels if you can. Please share my news with Dad and Linda and the others. Please give a big hug to Fatima and Joachim.
Love to all,
Your loving son,
Lando
Within two weeks another letter arrives from Mom. It seems our letters have crossed.
Plums Lane, 27 June 1950
Dear Lando,
Everyone here misses you. Are you eating well and keeping your clothes tidy? Jeep was around here yesterday. He seems really lost without your company. Don’t be surprised if his dad sends him to Arpora too, although since he is an only son, I heard his mom say it will only be over her dead body. I know exactly how she feels, but of course I kept my mouth shut in front of Dad, who is working as hard as usual. Linda especially misses you, as she cannot go out to parties on her own. You were such good company for her. Fatima’s birthday party was a happy occasion, except Joachim fell during one of the games and bruised his arm. He is already learning that games with little girls can be dangerous. Please write with your news, as we love hearing of everything that happens in your life. It must be great fun. You have not answered my questions in my last letter. Please write soon.
Your loving mom,
Anja
Guilt haunts me. I owe Mom at least two letters, although there is not much real news of interest to anyone in Nairobi, which now seems so far away.
Arpora, 21 July 1950
Dear Mom,
Sorry for this delay in replying to your two letters. We are very busy and always hungry at school. If I had remained at Dr. Ribeiro Goan School in Nairobi with my friends, one day I would have completed my Senior Cambridge Exam and trained as a taxidermist at the museum. I would then be able to support myself, stuffing birds and beasts for the rest of my life, and I would at least be happy.
I have already written to you about Dik-dik getting me into a little trouble, but he didn’t mean to. Without him life here would be unbearable. Does Simba still have his regular weekend baths? We heard today that we will not have a holiday to celebrate India’s Independence Day on August 15 because President Antonio Salazar in Portugal won’t let us.
Dad, did you remember to write to Father Mendonça about increasing our food rations? If you did, thank you. But if you forgot, please write as soon as you can.
Love to you all,
Your loving son,
Lando
Meanwhile, for our group of friends, school life continues to be hectic, with the added burden of the special classes in Portuguese, Latin, and Hindi still being required for students from abroad, like us. There are extracurricular activities and meetings of the Matata Four, and our Musso wins a place in the school junior football team.
Mom writes back to sympathize but encourages me to be positive; she says time will fly and one day when I look back at my past, I will find that these were the most enjoyable years of my life. She thinks Dad has already sent a note to Father Mendonça about adding another poi for breakfast. As I lie awake one night, I imagine my letters are like the ghosts of wronged souls that have come back to haunt Mom and Dad. I want them to know that boarding school life is not the paradise Dad remembers from his days in Arpora, nor does it resemble Jimmy’s glowing description of his boarding school in Eldoret.
Arpora, 29 August 1950
Dear Mom and Dad,
I am enjoying classes more and learning new things, but I am not sleeping much, as the coir mattress is lumpy, and it feels as if I am lying on top of a tray of small rocks. We are issued two rough cotton sheets per week and one towel. We have bedbugs in our dormitory. Now the rains have brought hordes of mosquitoes, but we have no mosquito nets. We have eleven cases of malaria in our sickroom. The rest of us are dosed daily with bitter quinine tablets, which make some boys vomit. Mr. Dias, our science teacher, said that, all together, more people have died of malaria in these past hundred years of Portuguese rule in Goa than during all the wars put together since Vasco Da Gama first set foot in India in 1498. I asked Uncle Dominic about this when he came for a surprise visit last weekend. He said that the city of Old Goa was moved to Panjim because sanitation was so lax that garbage accumulated in and around the city. There were so many rats, it resulted in a fatal outbreak of bubonic plague. He had heard that after the move to Panjim, the government did not seal the open wells in Old Goa, and these have now become permanent breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Please tell Jeep and Ahmad about my life here, and please ask Linda to write soon. I miss everyone.
Your loving son,
Lando
For the first time, Mom, who always replies immediately to my letters, takes some time in writing back. When her letter finally arrives, she appears to be increasingly upset at my news.
Plums Lane, 30 September 1950
My dear son Lando,
I am praying that you are well. Waiting for your letters is already so difficult but reading your news, and what you are trying to say between the lines is an even bigger torment. Dona Maria is also praying that God grants you the spiritual and emotional strength to cope. We sit in the veranda and analyze each of your letters. We imagine we are like the volunteers during the Second World War in Europe, when people would go into secret rooms and decode secret messages. So you see how your letters have changed our lives. My days seem to zigzag one way or another, depending on your news and on the choice of your words. I can even read between the lines, and of course as your mother I will always worry and imagine the worst. Sometimes what you don’t say is even more painful than what you do say. Your dad may appear strict and insensitive, but he too misses you. It’s just that he’s so busy at work that he doesn’t have enough time to write back to you. He only wants you to have a better life than he had. Please don’t give up, as we love you and are praying hard for you. Linda has promised to write soon. She is studying hard for some mock exams. You won’t forget her birthday, will you?
Jeep brought Simba an imitation bone for his sixth birthday! He is so sweet to remember these things. Please be careful, dear son. I worry about you so much.
With much love from us all,
Your loving mom,
Anja
Mom’s letter takes me by surprise. Why does she have to read between the lines?
What does she mean? I resolve to write more explicitly. I am beginning to feel a renewed anger toward Dad, anger that I cannot adequately repress, as Father Mendonça has done nothing about increasing our food rations and I am still hungry all the time. I decide I must be more explicit about our conditions in school.
Arpora, 20 November 1950
Dearest Mom and Dad,
I am sorry for not writing sooner. I am happy everyone is well in Nairobi. You asked for details about our meals. At lunch and dinner, we are fed rice with part of the husk still on the grain. It is served with a watery mix of curry powder and ground fresh coconut, except on Sundays when the cook will add a large spoonful of fried onions in turmeric and cumin seeds mixed with soggy peas, okra, or spinach. I weigh less now than when I first arrived here. Mom, I remember you often begged Linda and me not to waste food and to think of the starving children in India. Finally, I know what it means. Now I am one of those starving children in Goa. Not just me; my friends are also hungry.
Last week there was an outbreak of amoebic dysentery at the school. Father Mendonça personally spoke about it at a full school assembly. He told us about the need to wash our hands every two hours. He said it’s a very contagious disease, accompanied by severe stomachache, diarrhea, fever, and blood or mucus in the stools, and we should immediately report to a staff member if we have these symptoms. I am okay, but my friend Peter is ill with continuous stomach pains. But it is not dysentery, so they will not admit him to the sickroom in case he spreads what he has to others who are already in there with other illnesses. His grandfather will come to take him home to their village doctor. I miss you all.
With much love,
Your loving son,
Lando
The feast of Saint Francis Xavier is a four-day long holiday celebration throughout Goa and initiates the month of Christmas. I imagine what my friends in Nairobi will be doing over the holidays. It seems years since my first New Year’s Eve dance. I can’t imagine wearing my funny grey wool suit with the short trousers and braces in Goa. I will look like a clown who’s arrived too early for carnival in February. I scribble a letter home for Christmas.
Arpora, 10 December 1950
Dear Mom and Dad,
I am writing early to wish you and Linda, Fatima, Joachim, Mwangi, Stephen, and Jeep, a beautiful Christmas and a very happy new year. Of course, I will miss not being there.
By the way, please do not worry about me. Just pray that I will not catch anything. If for some reason I die while in boarding school, then ask Jeep to keep my crystal radio as a remembrance of our friendship—I will not need it in Heaven. You will find it in a Bata shoebox on the bottom shelf of the large wardrobe. Jimmy hasn’t written yet as he had promised to do. I am sure he will most likely not want it back. Should I die at school, I wish to be buried in Loutolim by the chapel near Avozinha’s house so she at least can visit my grave.
Your loving son,
Lando
It is late January. I am in the dormitory tidying the area around my bunk, a regular part of our Saturday morning routine, when Musso rushes in.
“Lando, there’s a letter for you at the office,” he says and falls into his bed, exhausted. I rush down one flight of stairs and race down the corridor, and I’m in the office within ninety seconds. I recognize Linda’s writing on the envelope, and my heart beats faster. The letter is thicker than usual, and I sense it will be newsy. I want to be somewhere quiet and private so I can enjoy it all to myself. I walk through the arcade of the main school building, past the white marble bust of founder Robert Lyons, and out toward the sports field. In the filtered shade of a tamarind tree with only the ubiquitous crows for company, I open the letter. I have to smile at Linda’s doodles and sketches around the edges. I realize how close the two of us were growing up and wish we had spent more time together.
Nairobi, 3 January 1951
Dear Lando,
It appears bedbugs have got inside your brain. How could you have forgotten my birthday in November? Can you believe I am now fourteen? Had I been less busy with exams, you would have heard from me earlier. But let me tell you, this was the worst Christmas we have had, and all because of you. Mom and Dad are worried about you. They decided to return home from the New Year’s Eve dance at 2:30 a.m. instead of dancing until five in the morning. Of course, I had to come home with them. It’s your letters. Can’t you write some good news, even if the stories are all fibs? Ever since we returned to Kenya from Goa, there has been tension in our house. Mom has become more agitated, and Dad is less calm. I think your letters are the problem. Mom recently heard from Aunty Leonore. Even she knows exactly when your letter arrives and what happens, because Uncle Patrick tells her everything. Dad first asks Uncle Patrick to cover for him at the cashier’s counter, and then he sneaks off to the toilet to read your letter. When he returns, he places the letter safely inside his jacket to bring to Mom, but as always, he stops on his way home to buy her a gift. And I know this is true.
One night Dad brought home a bunch of fresh flowers, which he had not done before. Mom became suspicious and asked whether a letter from you had arrived. I remember she grabbed the letter, glanced at a few lines, and burst into tears. Within weeks another of your letters arrived. This time Dad came home with a box of imported chocolates. Mom burst into tears and left for the bedroom to read your letter. That night Dad ate a cold dinner. Fortunately, Fatima, Joachim, and I had already eaten dinner earlier. Mom knows that Dad’s gifts are intended to calm her after bad news: the costlier the gift, the worse the news. Sometimes she will burst into tears at the sight of the gift even before reading your letter, only to reappear later with puffy eyes from crying. So, what I want to ask of you, Lando, is this: please can you send only good news? We all love you and miss you, but I want you to understand that you are destroying the happiness in our home with your letters. Simba is sad, and I know if he could write, he would say so too. I may forgive you for not remembering my birthday if you do not send any more bad news. You can at least promise me that!
Your loving sister,
Linda
That is Linda’s news. I fold it and put the letter away. I am taken aback by her comments. I reach back into my pocket and reread the letter. It’s absurd that I am now treated as the culprit for their problems resulting from their decision to send me to boarding school. I will not reply immediately while I am upset. I drift down to the sports field. Musso is just finishing his training. We walk back to the dormitory.
“Why don’t you write about your trip to Bombay with your uncle? Don’t mention the school at all,” Musso says.
“I suppose so. Maybe I’ll wait till Saturday’s game. That’ll be good news.”
Our school is playing against St. Britto’s, and we are worried because they have a very strong team, but we will all be cheering for ours, which is stronger. I’m sure we will win.
Arpora, 25 January 1951
Dear Linda, Mom, and Dad,
I received Linda’s letter, and because I am loaded with homework, I am writing one letter to you all with all my good news. We won Saturday’s football game against St. Britto’s! It was two goals each at half time and then nothing until the last minute, with only seconds to go for the last whistle. Then bam! St. Joseph’s sent St. Britto’s to hell with a sharp corner kick. I was hoarse cheering our team. You probably heard me even in Nairobi.
My trip to Bombay over the Christmas holidays with Uncle Dominic was great fun, as he is so knowledgeable. Did you know that kings and queens have arranged marriages just like the Goans? Uncle told me that in 1534 the Portuguese attacked Bombay and conquered the seven islands from the Muslim rulers, and the area came under Portuguese rule. According to Uncle, about 130 years later, in 1662, the Protestant King Charles II of England was told by the advisors to the royal court to fall in love immediately with the Portuguese princess, Catarina de Braganza, who was a Catholic like us. This was so that England could trade in ports where the Portuguese had control or influence. King Charles’s father did not take part in the discussions, since he’d been beheaded earlier by Oliver Cromwell. Catarina’s father, King John IV, liked the idea.
He persuaded the princess that she should marry Charles II, and in return England would defend Portugal against Spain. In fact, King John was so happy about it that he gave all seven islands of Bombay and the city of Tangiers to the English king as a dowry. Uncle said it was rumoured that the princess wasn’t very excited about the marriage, as she already had a secret boyfriend, so she did not attend the ceremony but was represented by a proxy (like my friend Musso’s father was represented by somebody else at his mother’s wedding in Bombay). That is how Bombay fell into British hands. This knowledge will come in useful for me, as we will study British history next year. It is very late, so I must finish now. I will write again soon. Please spread my love to all.
The ever-loving Lando
It is difficult to be unhappy in Goa in February. The weather is perfect. The fragrance of cashew and other fruit blossoms is in the air. I remember the happy moments Linda and I had discovering Goa barely a year ago—it seems ages, as so much has happened since then. Meanwhile, three of our Matata Four have become camp followers wherever our fourth member, Musso, plays. This week St. Joseph’s school once again beat Loyola School in Margao at football in the junior league. That makes us champions again. Father Mendonça seems very pleased. He was especially nice to Musso and me last week; perhaps he had heard we scored high marks in scripture class. Another letter arrives from Linda. It is not as thick as the last one.
Nairobi, 25 February 1951
Dear Lando,
That story about Princess Catarina and King Charles II and the dowry is so funny. Do you remember our safari when we were looking across the Rift Valley at Mt. Kilimanjaro? Dad told us that when England and Germany were dividing up East Africa in the late nineteenth century, Queen Victoria gave Mt. Kilimanjaro to her grandson, Kaiser Wilhelm, for a birthday present. The queen had said she already had Mt. Kenya and didn’t need two mountains. Do you remember how Ahmad became angry and said, “These kaisers and queens and popes think they can replace God and do anything they like”? And then you saw those Kaburu men on horseback that you thought were cowboys?
Not much news here. Fatima has moved up to Class 3 in January and seems very happy. She’s very serious about school and guards her stuff like a lioness. You wouldn’t be able to steal her crayons as you did mine. Joachim will start in kindergarten in March. That’s all for now. Please send us more happy stories. We love you.
Your loving big sister,
Linda
I realize happy stories bring back happy letters. I reply immediately.
Arpora, 15 March 1951
Dear Linda,
That Rift Valley trip with all of us seems years ago. I feel happier now in Goa, especially after returning from my trip with Uncle. He took me to see the Colaba area of Bombay, where wealthy people live, and to the Gateway of India, where we sat on the steps and watched the movement in the harbour for some time. A notice on the wall explained that when India became independent in 1947, the last British ships left from that dock. Almost next door is the very posh Taj Palace Hotel, but we only walked into the lobby and through a corridor full of shops. Uncle said we couldn’t afford to eat or drink anything there, so we went behind to the Green Hotel and had tea and pakoras. Later we walked through the gardens of the Prince of Wales Museum. We visited the actual luggage store where Uncle Orlando bought the black tin trunk that he gave to Dad. It is near the beautiful Victoria Terminus, which Uncle said is the biggest train station in India. We travelled around the city by bus, and twice in a horse-drawn carriage. That night we went to see Marine Drive, which is called the Queen’s Necklace, for when the streetlights come on the lamps look like a string of diamonds. We saw other areas that were very dark and dirty, with narrow streets full of garbage. These areas smelt very bad because they have open drains and no latrines. Worse, some people even keep buffaloes between the houses, and poor people have to drink the milk from the buffaloes kept in these squalid conditions. After this visit to Bombay, I realize how clean Goa is by comparison. It really was a very nice holiday. Please share this news. Tell Mom I will write soon with more happy news.
Your loving brother,
Lando
I think my worst time is over. I am beginning to enjoy boarding school. We had a class outing to Calangute Beach last weekend. It was a long walk of two and a half hours, and we came back very tired. It is a beautiful beach, but in one area there were many people who came only to have sea leeches suck their blood to reduce their blood pressure. I could not bear to watch anything involving blood!
A week later Musso, Peter, Ben, and I are having supper one night when an older boy brings notes addressed only to Musso and me. Some other boys at adjacent tables also receive notes. I wonder what it can be, since it is the last week of March and soon we will break for two months. I open my handwritten note. I am invited on my return from holidays to “Tea on Sunday, 25 June, at the Residence (the Jesuit House) to explore ideas for the future. We will discuss, among other things, the subject of vocations.” This is more good news I can send home.
Arpora, 27 March 1951
Dear Mom and Dad,
First some not so good news. You remember about the bedbug infestation? During the Christmas holidays, the school tried to clean up the dormitories. Now only two months later, the bugs have returned and brought their friends. They live between the planks and in the joints of the bed frame. At night these bugs will crawl out and suck the blood that is left in our skinny bodies. I can hear them burst, as their bellies are full of blood, and they get squished when we roll over in our sleep. In the morning there are intricate patterns in dried blood on the sheets. Maybe the school will do something about the bugs again during the coming holidays.
I also have some really good news. Musso and I have been chosen to attend the Fathers’ residence in the first week after our return from Easter holidays to discuss vacations. I will tell you about it later when it happens. Do you know Dik-dik will be a year old in two months? I have saved some nuts for him, although I have been tempted to eat them myself, as I think my body is growing faster these days and I am always hungry. Did you know Dr. Salazar does not like the Goans who have moved to Bombay? We hear some of them have been meeting secretly and are talking of independence for Goa. The Indian government says it will close the borders with Goa. If the borders are shut, some boys are afraid they will not be able to return to their parents. Next week I will go to Avozinha’s for our two-month-long summer holidays. We were together last year at this time. It seems such a long time ago. Please send me news of Mwangi and Simba, and please ask Linda to write again. I love you all.
Your loving son,
Lando
After dropping the letter in the postbox by the office, I return to the dormitory and organize my Peak Frean filing cabinet. It has filled up somewhat this year.
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