In the 30’s 40’s and 50’s it was very
possible to hire servants in Zanzibar to make life easier for families who
could afford them.
Since my mother was the only earning member in
our family, she was obliged to keep a cleaner and a cook and a nanny who we
called ayahs. Our cleaner, who did most
of the sweeping, dusting, mopping and cleaning of the many toilets on three
floors was named Seifu. Our cook’s name
was Ali who rubbed in the fact that he understood and spoke English. He spoke the language three octaves higher
than one would expect in a man. I guess
he must have given Seifu a complex and multiple headaches because he was so
assertive. Somehow both Ali and Seifu
were always treated as though they were part of the family. When he was first hired, Ali had to be
taught how to cook spicy Indian food, and it was not long before he mastered
the art and we all looked forward to the meals that he served. Seifu always felt that it was his
responsibility to chastise us boys whenever we got out of hand, but he did it
with kid gloves and so we walked all over him.
In the absence of a father who was no more, Seifu often assumed the role
of advisor and confidant.
Our nanny, on the other hand, was as strict
as they come. She was also endowed with
the patience of Job. She was exactly
what the Pereira boys needed. Yet one
could never sublimate the behaviour of real boys. My memory goes back to the days when she
would bathe us, giving us a quick slap on the behind to stop us from moving as
she applied the soap. If any attempt was
made to move she would rub some soap into our eyes and made no apology for
it. She would then dress us in our short
pants and cotton shirts. Then started
the saga. She had to carry each of us in
turn down two steep and long steps to the waiting carriage parked out on the
street. As soon as one of us reached his
destination she would walk up to get the other guy.
Before she knew it, the guy who was taken
down was at her side on the top floor waiting to be carried down again. She would go ballistic. Finally, the three of us were placed in the
pram which had two seats opposite each other where my brothers sat, and I was
deposited in the recess were feet were supposed to be with my brothers
comfortably placing their feet on my head much to my many objections. We were taken to Victoria Gardens and if we
were good our nanny bought us baked, salty “Jugus”(peanuts) from a vendor just
as you enter the garden. They cost her
five cents a packet, and I’m sure that the money came out of her own pocket.
Bless Her!! Our nanny looked forward to
the outing because she had struck up friendships with other nannies and I can
still remember them gossiping away and laughing their heads off. It was not for our ears, for as soon as we
came within hearing distance, the conversation acquired a more serious cadence.
At five o’clock every evening, the Sultan
of Zanzibar Sir Syed Kalifa Bin Harub, would drive past the garden in his long
red car on his usual evening outing. The
kids headed by the Pereira boys would line up at the side of the road and
salute the Sultan as he passed by. The
Sultan would get up from his seat and wave frantically back at the kids. It gave us such happiness when he did that. We liked his genuine friendliness so much that
during our drawing lessons in School most of us would try and draw him from
memory. If the Sultan had to see those
drawings it is just possible that he would have passed a law forbidding kids
from drawing Royalty.
The highlight of this story is years later
when I got married and brought my bride home to Zanzibar from Daressalaam. By this time, our nanny, had moved away to do
what she knew best which was to look after little children in the employ of
another family in the Shangani area. Ali
suddenly disappeared from the scene and we never saw him again. We suspected
that he probably took up a more lucrative job guiding tourists around town
though we never saw him do this. Our
suspicion was that the current guide who had a distinct limp and walked with
the aid of a walking stick would not allow him to break into the ranks of his
domain. But Seifu continued to do the
only work that he knew best. My mom made
sure, however, that he was given a breakfast and a lunch so that he survived
the many tasks that he was required to perform around the house.
At this time, my wife got pregnant with our
first baby. Like most pregnant mothers,
she decided to take all the necessary precautions so that the baby would
benefit from the discipline that she imposed upon herself with regard to her
diet. She was also advised by the family
doctor to take “Pregnavite” tablets which basically were vitamin tablets for
pregnant mothers. These tablets came in
one bottle but in two different colours.
She was to take one of each
colour every day. When she reached the
end of the first bottle, she noticed that there were several tablets of only
one colour left. This simply did not
seem right. She went to C.P.Jani, the
pharmacy on the main road and reported this discrepancy. He assured her that
there was nothing wrong with the distribution of these tablets but that if it
happened again she should report the matter to him. Well, you have guessed. It did happen again. There is only one twist to the story. Our neighbour’s daughter, who was our
constant visitor, told my wife that she had seen Seifu swallowing her tablets. Mystery solved.
My wife called Seifu and asked him if he
had taken any tablets from the bottle.
He honestly explained to her that when he had an awful headache (no
thanks to Ali) he swallowed a tablet. He
obviously thought that they were Aspirin tablets. Just for laughs, Margaret explained to him
that she was taking those tablets because she was pregnant and that Seifu was
now running the risk of getting pregnant too.
Seifu’s face dropped. He started
visibly shaking. He left the room in a
hurry; ran down the stairs and never came back to work again.
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