REFLECTIONS ON THE UGANDA
By John Nazareth
We had just returned from a driving holiday,
my friends and I. We had been in neighbouring Kenya taking in Nairobi and
Mombasa. We were still in a holiday spirit returning from Jinja from a Ken
Antao's 21st Birthday Party in Jinja when we caught a snippet on the radio
"President Amin has a dream ... Asians are to be expelled from
Uganda". We don't think much of it - must be some joke.
Cynthia, my girlfriend (future wife) had a
few days earlier left on a holiday to the UK.
And as the days passed it slowly sank in.
I was working for the Ministry of Finance and
Planning as a Statistician. At a young age I was in charge of collecting and
publishing Uganda's trade statistics, preparing background to the national
Budget; it was a great job and times were good. I was contributing to my
country in a way I did not think possible. I was a first class citizen with no
complaints.
Socially, life was also good. I was the
Sports Secretary and Hockey Captain of the Entebbe [formerly "Goan"]
Institute. Everything centred around the Club. We were still primarily involved
with Goans, but Uganda was integrating. I had studied at an African Highschool
(St Mary's College) run by Canadian missionaries, and attended Makerere
University there with African colleagues. Africans members constituted 30% of
the Entebbe Institute - primarily Civil Servants as Entebbe was the centre of
the government. In addition to Goans, we had every kind of members: every tribe
of Uganda (Baganda, Basoga, Luo, etc), all types of other Indians (Ismailis,
Boras, Patels, etc.), and others (British, Israelis, ...) Friendship was quickly becoming raceless.
Indeed, the newly elected President of the club, Dr Peter Tukei, would have
been elected regardless of the Expulsion; he was a very popular person and had
previously been Vice-President.
Life during the Expulsion turned upside down.
Times were tough; we laughed we cried, but in a strange way it was a happy
period, an intense period. We truly lived like there was no tomorrow. Most of
my family members were Uganda citizens; we thought we would be staying. But my
mother, my Aunt Lily and many other would be leaving. (My mum and [late] dad
had always thought that they were "too old" to be taking on a new
citizenship, not fully realizing then the implications.) And for citizens, we
still had to go through the process of verifying our citizenship. And the
Uganda government took every excuse to take away our citizenship on some
pretext.
I remember queuing outside the Immigration
department, sleeping on the streets for 36 hours with my two brothers and
sister, brother-in-law and friends. My brother Peter was subdued. His
Renunciation of British Citizenship had been mishandled by the Uganda Government
several years ago as he had been one of the first to become Ugandan. He
expected trouble, and was right; his citizenship was withdrawn. My sister Ruth
lost her citizenship because she didn’t have some document that I later
realized didn’t apply to her. I almost lost mine because I only had a photocopy
of my citizenship, and the officer almost tore it up. I pleaded for time to
find the original, noticing from the corner of my eye an old classmate from St.
Mary’s College as immigration officer two booths down. I rushed over to him:
"Hey Katabula, are you there". "Hey Nazareth, throw it
over." Stamp! Stamp! My brother David and I were verified. Peter was subsequently
exempted from the Expulsion as he held a senior government post, also in the
Ministry of Finance. Ruth could stay as her husband Cyril had his citizenship
verified, but she had to resign from her job. Given that I had thrown in my lot
with Africans, this was a heartbreak.
And so it went with everyone. And the
deadline approached.
If it were not so serious the Expulsion could
be funny. President Amin would one day be expelling more and more categories of
people, and the next day his ministers would be exempting more and more
subcategories, being horrified at the loss to the country. One day it was British
Asians, another day all Asians - citizens included. Then the university guild
president implored President Amin not to expel citizens (and promptly had to
flee for his life); Prof Ali Mazrui also pleaded with him, saying that Asian
citizens had consciously chosen to bond with Uganda and were thus stronger
citizens than natives who never had to choose. President Nyerere of Tanzania
offered to take in any Ugandan citizen who was expelled. President Amin
relented and we were allowed to stay. Although he changed his mind, it was now
clear to all what his intentions were
With so many losing their citizenship, what
to do? The Goans met at the Kampala [Goan] Institute to discuss strategy. The
Goan Association used its saved funds to pay for fares out of Uganda for the
poor. My brother Peter and I formed the centre of those who wanted to stay. We
thought that we should form a group to fight back for the citizenships lost. It
ended with us fully expecting a core of us to remain behind.
Then came the UN to take stateless people,
and Canada to take anybody (ie regardless of citizenship) who wanted to leave
and who qualified. Until then most of the 24,000 Asian Uganda citizens had
intended to stay behind. All of a sudden there was a new game in town.
Everybody was going to leave now. Well almost everybody. My family stubbornly
decided to stay put. A few of my good friends, Ralph Cordeiro, Pio Gomes who
were leaving for Canada in one of the early airplanes twisted my arm and made
me promise to apply to come to Canada. "When you are called for an
interview you choose". I relented and promised to apply (but with no
intention of leaving).
Meanwhile my Permanent Secretary (Deputy
Minister) I.K. Kabanda called me and said "John, I want you to know that
not all Africans hate you. We hope and pray that this will soon be all over so
that you can lead a normal life. You can come in to work when you wish, and
leave when you wish." I will never forget his graciousness (and made it a
point to seek him out when I returned to Uganda 21 years later). Joje Waddimba
would say to Peter when he was leaving several months later "I wish my
mother were dead. Because of her I remain here. If it were not for her I would
leave this cursed country."
And the d[r]eadline approached.
Trevor Remedios was going to stay. He was a
citizen. Then one day he was stopped at gunpoint by a Kondo (robber) and had
his car stolen - with his Red Card (ID Card) in it. To the UN queue. He would
spend 3 months in a UN camp in Rome and then head for Norway. (Eighteen years
in Norway, then he too would come to in Canada after hearing of the greatness
of this country from his friends and kinfolk.)
Young as I was (25 years) I ended up being
the Club volunteer barman, together with Claude De Souza. The bar - the centre
of stories. Chris Ssengendo was there one night with his cousin visiting from
Kampala. His cousin's eyes were red. I inquire with Chris. "Don't ask. He
works at the dreaded Makinde Prison. He had orders to spend all of last night
executing [political] prisoners with a hammer to the head." We Asians were
being expelled, but black Ugandans were being slaughtered.
Joe Mendes was in a state of panic because
his daughter was terrible ill and the deadline was in 3 days. He has already
sold his car. I lend him mine. (Friends leaving keep cars with me to sell. My
friend Dominic Miranda had left his car with me as he proceeded to Nairobi – on
his way to leave the country. I have three.) Drinks to drown our sorrows. Next
day ecstacy; he has been allowed to stay till his daughter is well. Drinks all
round on Joe.
Gasper is sitting quietly in one corner of
The Bar. John Sequeira (the President of the Club) plonks himself on the next
stool and slaps Gasper on the back. "So how's everything". Gasper
turns and sobs on John's shoulder. He had just put his beloved dog down.
Life started becoming more dangerous, but one
got used to it. One day I am stopped by an army roadblock at Kisubi. An army
private asks for Shs. 10 to let me through. I have no skill in bribing people
and fork out the note nervously - to the wrong officer. "Sir, do you
realize what you have done! It's time for Makinde [a dreaded prison from which
few left alive]." Just then at the opposite window I notice an old
schoolmate from St. Mary’s among the armyfolk and wave to him. He comes round
to me and says "John, I will call him to one side to talk. You just drive
off and don't look back." Phew!
The tension in Uganda is so thick, one could
cut it with a knife. One day in September I am near Neeta Cinema and notice
people running. Others saw them and they started running. Within half an hour
most of the people in the centre of Kampala were running in different
directions. I hear rumours that Entebbe was being bombed as external forces
wanted to attack Amin. I phone my mother in Entebbe and she says everything is
normal. The following day I realize that the running started when people
witness the kidnapping of the Chief Justice Benedicto Kiwanuka from the High
Court by soldiers, who stuff him into the trunk of their car and drive off to
murder him. Kiwanuka had incurred the wrath of Amin because he refused to
convict two American reporters whom Amin wanted disposed of.
Everyone is leaving, the deadline approaches.
Cousin Joan and Tom Francis are getting married, rush to Christ the King
Church. Later, on the way back to Entebbe from Kampala, hear that Flora and
Ludger Gomes are getting married. Rush to Sacred Heart Church in Entebbe. Make
it in time - and Flora asks me to be Ludger's Bestman.
And finally the November 5, 1972 deadline
arrives. So many friends have left. I already tearfully bade my mother goodbye.
She left for Kuala Lumpur Malaysia (where she has many siblings) and my Aunt
Lily, for Goa. We register at the Entebbe Club Cricket Pavilion, as all “exempted”
Asians have to, and then find out that Pam Da Costa's mother was accidentally
exempted, and has to leave the country in 24 hours. I rush her to Kampala to
get her papers in order. The next day she is gone.
Past the Deadline, a strange calm has descended.
There are still around 5000 Asians left who are citizens or who have been
exempted. The Africans have a quiet admiration for those who stay behind in
spite of all the harassment. But now is when the killing of Black Ugandans
starts in earnest. One gets used to seeing bodies by the roadside every day. A
friend, Godfrey Kiggala is killed because President Amin likes his girlfriend.
Now begins my education of Canada. Up to this
point I had only heard of Montreal and Winnipeg and wheat through my geography
classes. My friends Ralph, Pio and Clarence write to me from Canada and fill me
in: Toronto, Hamilton, Vancouver. Sounds like a great country and great people.
In May 1973 I travel to Goa for the first
time. Cynthia and I get civilly married in Goa where her parents are resident
(having retired and left Uganda just 6 months before the Expulsion). I hope to
take her back to Uganda later to marry in Church. I return to Uganda to work
out everything.
Everyone is happy at my marriage. Mr Kabanda,
the Deputy Minister, Mr Geria, the Minister, give me letters of recommendation
to support my application for Cynthia's return. The Permanent Secretary for
Immigration tells me to come on Monday for the papers. On Monday on the way to
Kampala I hear this newscast "The Minister of Immigration has been removed
by President Idi Amin because he dresses very poorly." There go my papers.
Nobody in the ministry wanted to make any decision without a minister.
A few days later I get called by Henry
Kyemba, a minister in President Amin’s government. I am told that Amin would
like me to accompany him to the Non-Aligned Nations Conference in Algiers.
(Apparently Amin wanted to show the world that he was not discriminating
against Asians. As a Uganda citizen working in the Ministry of Finance I seemed
an ideal candidate to take on such a conference.) Kyemba tries to persuade me
saying: “President Amin could make things happen: I hear that your brother is
having difficulty with his citizenship. When you are back it will be restored.
I hear you are having trouble getting your wife here. Don’t worry – when you
are back she will be here.” My head was spinning. I pleaded for time to think
about it. I go back to Entebbe and talk to Joje Waddimba – a friend of
Kyemba’s. “I do not want to take favours from Amin - a man whose hands are
filled with blood. Who knows – if he is overthrown when we are in Algiers, I
will be identified as Amin’s man.” Joje passes on an excuse to Kyemba.
In the meantime, more Goans leave and soon
there are now just three Goans left in Entebbe: Arthur De Mello, my
brother-in-law Cyril Fernandes and I - and we were all staying in the same
house. My brother Peter left to take up a Fellowship at Yale, brother David
left to marry his girlfriend Lydia in Canada, sister Ruth left to join my
mother (now in London) ahead of Cyril. All of a sudden I realize what Goans
mean to me. I had always taken them for granted as I had various friends of all
races, and had come to accept myself as an African. I still have a lot of friends
in the Institute. But all of a sudden the Goans are gone, and it feels like the
death of a parent; the friends cannot fully compensate. (This experience makes
me play a leadership role in the Goan community several years later in
Toronto.)
In September 1973 I left Uganda, taking two years
of Unpaid Leave to do postgraduate studies. I went through Goa, getting married
to Cynthia at St. Jerome’s Church in Mapusa. We then proceeded to the UK where
I studied for a year at the London School of Economics and obtained a
Post-graduate Diploma in Statistics. The situation in Uganda had now taught me
to hedge. I was hoping that President Amin would be overthrown while I was
studying. But just in case, I decided to apply for Canada from the UK as most
of my family and wife’s family had gravitated there. We were accepted. But I
had heard a lot of the need for "Canadian experience", so I completed
my Masters in Mathematical Statistics from the University of Toronto instead of
the LSE.
It is June 1975 and as my studies at the U of
T are at an end I realize that President Amin is there to stay. With a heavy
heart I finally send in my letter of resignation to the Ministry of Finance,
thanking them for giving me an opportunity to serve my country. A tear rolls
down my cheek.
John Nazareth
Toronto
1994
Postscript: I obtained my first permanent job in Canada with De
Havilland Aircraft on June 3, 1975 – on the feast-day of the Martyrs of Uganda.
The Martyrs make sure that Uganda will remain in my heart.
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