The Goan contribution to the
development of the Kenya nation
has been immense but scant, if any,
written recognition has been given to this
fact. I hope this short article will help set the
record straight.
I am myself a Kenya-born Goan, and
as the reader may be unaware of the early
history of Goan migration into British East
Africa, I should mention that this started in
the late 19th century during the construction
of the Uganda railway.
While many of the Indians (the Goans
were regarded as a ‘separate race’ even in the
official East African census reports published
until the late 50s) were employed as labourers
on construction work on the railways, the
Goans, thanks to their Christian values,
loyalty, integrity and fluency in the English
language, were much sought after by the
British Administration. Furthermore, because
of the lack of educational facilities for the
Africans during that period, educated Goans
(who were recruited from British India or
Portuguese Goa) encountered no difficulty in
obtaining jobs within the civil service, where
job security was guaranteed. Besides, while
the other Asian communities moved into
business, the Goans, always wary of taking
risks, settled for the “safe and pensionable”
jobs the Civil Service offered.
By this, I am not suggesting that there
were no Goan businessmen; far from it!
Indeed, among the early Goan pioneers, one
can count wine merchants, general store
owners, bakery proprietors and tailors of
course. Nor must one forget those great Goan
medical practitioners—Dr Rosendo Ribeiro
(famous for his secret malaria cure, and often seen riding on a zebra in Nairobi) and Dr
ACL D’Souza. Both were greatly interested
in the education of Goans and did much for
the community. Dr Ribeiro was honoured by
having a Goan school named after him. Goans
also made their mark in other fi elds such as
the legal profession, journalism, music and
politics. Here one name that stands out is
that of independent Kenya’s first martyr, Pio
da Gama Pinto.1 One also cannot overlook
the invaluable service rendered by the many
Goan female stenographers and secretaries.
Being Roman Catholics, the Goans were regarded as pillars of the Church, and many of the Churches in Nairobi (including the Holy Family Basilica) and elsewhere in Kenya, owe their existence to the collective and financial efforts of our community.
While we Goans were much in demand and highly praised for our honesty and loyalty, being often referred to (verbally at least) as “the backbone of the Civil Service”, we were little more than a source of efficient and cheap labour. This is borne out by the fact that while many white settlers were unhappy about the predominance of Goans in the civil service, and even made representations to the then visiting Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies, Winston Churchill, a later Commission (Mayor/Wade) decided against the employment of European clerks, concluding that in their opinion, “increased economy and efficiency could not be attained in this way”. They noted being favourably impressed by the “dedication with which the majority of Goan clerks do the work required of them”, and spoke highly of their loyalty. Sadly, largely because of the racial structure of the Civil Service, salaries were paid, to put it bluntly, on a racial basis and not on ability to do the job.
This was the status quo obtaining at the time up until a few years before Kenya’s independence, when happily, merit and not race became the deciding factor. This was also a time when many Goans were appointed to senior positions, some on expatriate terms.
Since most of my service was with the Provincial Administration, I shall confine myself to talking about life and experience within that department (other Goans may now feel encouraged to record their own experiences).
Being posted to an outlying and remote part of the country was not always appealing to the younger members of the community, who preferred to work in the larger towns like Nairobi, Mombasa, Nakuru or Kisumu where there was a variety of social life. For me though, the pitiless deserts of Northern Kenya beckoned, and this is how I landed at Lodwar in the Turkana district at the early age of 19. Kenya’s first President Jomo Kenyatta referred to Lodwar as “a hell on earth where you sweat from morning to night”.
Like our European colleagues, we Goans endured the intense heat and discomforts of life in Lodwar and other frontier stations, but found that the hardship and other allowances we received were far below those paid to the Europeans. This, despite the fact that
we were mostly confined to our desks,
while European officers enjoyed the luxury
and variety of outdoor safaris with all their
attendant perks of subsistence and travelling
allowances etc.
As I’ve said earlier, we Goans were
much in demand because of our honesty
and integrity, and in speeches on various
occasions, successive Governors and senior
officials (including prominent African
leaders), were known to remark that the keys
of the Treasury were invariably held by Goans
or Scots. In this particular respect, there is one
aspect that has always concerned me. Here
were we, mere clerks, but still expected to
hold and be responsible for what in those days
were large sums of money; the amounts being
held in the safe often considerably exceeded
our monthly salaries. Not infrequently,
because of the DC’s absence on safari, and
the need to pay traders’ and other bills, the Goan cashier would be left with a number
of blank signed cheques (the cashier being
the second signatory on cheques). Such
was the trust placed in the Goans; but the
salaries were hardly compatible with the
responsibilities! It is no exaggeration to
state that the Provincial Administration was
predominantly a Goan preserve, since much
to the annoyance of other Asians, the British
administrators preferred Goan staff. This
also applied “unofficially” at least to other
departments such as the Government Coast
Agency and Customs & Excise at Mombasa.
In the smaller stations, and particularly in the
Northern Frontier, Goan district clerks were
more like personal secretaries to the DC. In
later years, and especially during and after
the Mau Mau Emergency, it became almost
fashionable for most DCs (with the exception
of Frontier stations) to have their own
female European secretaries. This is no way
diminished the workload of the district clerk since many of the secretaries were employ-ed on a part-time basis.
It is sad to have to record that the blinkered colour bar policy which operated at the time worked so much against us, hindering our job prospects and general advancement within the service. Furthermore, the segregated educational, medical and housing facilities added greatly to our frustration and disappointment during those early years.
All said and done though, I must confess that my days with the Provincial Administration were the best of my service career, and I feel truly proud to have worked in such an elite department, proud too in the certain knowledge that my Goan colleagues and I made some contribution, however insignificant, to the development of the Kenya nation.
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When I first arrived in Marsabit in the
1950s, there was no European
District Officer. Consequently, I found
myself handling tasks which were, rightly
speaking, within the DO’s portfolio.
On one occasion I had to commit a
known Somali crook to prison for house
breaking and stealing a bottle of gin in
the bargain (this by an alcohol-prohibited
Muslim!). The initial uproar among
policemen of his tribe soon subsided
when I got a Sudanese Kenya Police Sgt.
Major to arrest and escort the man to the
nearby prison. A scuffle broke out in the
prison compound during which I narrowly
escaped being assaulted (saved only by
the able-bodied Kikuyu Prison Corporal’s
quick action in locking the man up for the
night).
On arrival home, I was surprised to be
confronted by a delegation of local Somali
worthies, who produced a letter from a
European departmental officer asking me
to release the prisoner. I politely told him to mind his own business since, in the DC’s
absence, I took full responsibility for my
action.
Later, while this individual was released
on bail, a plot to murder me was hatched,
an attempt to attack me even being made
during one of my daily walks through the
township. Fortunately, some of my loyal
Somali friends (including the Govt Chief)
‘leaked’ the plot to me. This resulted in the
accused being brought before the District
Commissioner’s court, sentenced to a term
of hard labour and transferred to Nairobi
prison. His threat of “having me done” on
his release never materialised since I had
been transferred on promotion to South
Nyanza in the interim. The prisoner’s father
was so grateful that I had put his “black
sheep of the family” away, that he even
brought me a zawadi of a dozen eggs!
Scary though the whole episode was, it
has not diminished my love for the people of
Marsabit for whom I have great admiration
and with whom I keep in touch to this day.
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