By Rama Bhikhabhai
1.1 Background
My parents
had migrated from British India to Tanganyika Territory in 1947. I was born in
Dar-es-salaam. Then it was a cultural norm among the Indian society to educate
their girls till primary education for 8 years only. As I was very much
interested in studying further, I was allowed to go to Indian girls’ secondary
school for additional four years to achieve Cambridge School certificate.
Tanganyika became
independent from British rule on 9 December 1961. By 1964, main land Tanganyika
united with the People's Republic of Zanzibar to form the United Republic of
Tanzania. As in 1962, less than 2% of 11-16 year old children were in
secondary education and about 85% of population was illiterate. To overcome the
problem, free primary education was offered to all children. Talented students were
selected for high schools and at universities free of charge.
In 1964, an act of compulsory National Service
was introduced for all, boys or girls, who had graduated free of charge from
high schools and University. According to the act, one should do two years national training service
which included both military as well as nation building activities. Out of these
two years, six months should be spent on the military camps and during the rest
of 18 months one should practise the normal profession with reduction of the
salary by 40%.
The aim of staying in a camp for
six months was to provide standard military training as well as training on
human rights, civics, and the history of the union of Tanganyika and Zanzibar,
and also aimed to impart students with a sense of unity and patriotism.
Many of my class
mates went to India or UK for further education with the aim of settling
overseas due to the political instability. My father could not afford to send
me abroad. I was one of the two Indian
girls who were selected from our school to go for high school education
(A-level) in 1965. It was a
dilemma whether I should accept the offer of going to A-level or not, because if
I accept, I had to go for six months of national service after I finished my
studies. My parents were not keen on this idea as this was a new concept for
them. They were fearful for my safety and what the society would say for
sending a young girl away to unknown challenges. Obviously my parents were
protective, worried and anxious, as I had never lived away from them. But I managed
to convince them after weighing the pros and cons. They were very proud of my
academic achievement so far and wanted me to fulfil my dream. We decided to tackle
the problem when it came.
After two years of A-level, I
was selected to join University of East Africa in Dar-es-salaam for my Bachelor
degree in Science. So going for national service was prolonged for another
three years until 1969. All girls and boys who got a degree from the college
were asked to report for national service. It was inevitable to refuse and the
only way to evade the service was to get married. My parents were worried and we
found out more about the life in the camp from our Asian neighbours, whose
daughters were a year or two ahead of me at the college. It sounded safe and
full of experiences, except the standard of living in these camps was very
primitive compared to our comfortable lifestyle at home. After lots of
discussions, I was brave enough to accept the challenge of being there for six
months.
On the way to National Service camp
I came to know that we were
asked to join the national service camp in a remote location called Makutopora,
which was situated in the middle of vast dry and arid part of Tanzania just few
miles away from Dodoma, the National Capital city of Tanzania. Some of Asian
female students from the University were also coming there. To avoid hardship,
some candidates had already prearranged light duty certificates from doctors. My
friend, Nurun and I had decided to do full duty.
We were late by 10 days to
report at the camp. The reason being, we were granted special permission to
attend our graduation ceremony at University.
It was a long arduous bus
journey of 436 kilometres from Dar to the main town Dodoma. We had to sleep
overnight at one of our community member’s residence. From there we had to take
a local bus to the camping site in Makutopora. For both of us, it was the first
time ever to venture on such gruelling travel without the protection of any adult
male family escort. The military camp was right in the bushes and buses did not
pass nearby. The bus driver dropped us near the main road and showed us the
direction towards the camp, which was nowhere in sight. There were no proper paths
or road signs except thorny bushes.
As this camp was newly
started, we had heard that standard of living was not very high. We were advised
to take a little wooden trunk or suitcase, as it would be used as a dining
table and an ironing table. My wooden trunk had very few necessary items just
to last me for five months, but it weighed a ton whilst carrying through the
bushes and forest. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side, as the handle of the
trunk came off and it was impossible to carry it to the camp. I hid it under
bushes and marked the place, as not to misplace my precious treasure.
1.2
The
first night at camp
It was about four in the
evening when we entered the camp. We were exhausted. On arrival, I immediately
noticed that we were the first two Indian girls in this camp. All the eyes
turned towards us. I saw all kinds of activities going on, but the most
eye-catching was a group of African youths marching with rifles in hands and
singing in that solid heat of the day.
We were given military khaki skirt
and trouser, green T-shirts and a beret. When they saw that we were exhausted,
they helped me to bring back my wooden trunk from the bushes.
A lady afande (leader) guided
us to the north part of the camp, where women’s tents were situated. She showed
us the tent, which had holes everywhere along the wall and in the ceiling. One
could gaze at the clear sky and count the stars through the holes. The tent had
two rows of simple spring beds on sandy floor. One row was full with ten beds, whereas
the other had only five beds and ours was the last in the row with some empty
space for more beds for late arrivals. The leader informed us that there was
only one bed available and we had to share the bed at least one night. Behind each
bed, along the wall there was a shelf or a stand made of wooden sticks. I could
put my wooden trunk on that and that was my only furniture for the next six
months beside the bed. I also noticed that the lower part of the tent was torn
off in many places and I could see that the space was big enough for any wild animal
to creep into the tent at night. It was a scary feeling.
Being dead tired, we retired
a bit early. It was dark everywhere as there was no electricity in the tent.
There was a little lantern hanging from the middle supporting pole, but to save
the kerosene it was supposed to be lightened only in emergencies. The spring bed
which I was supposed to share with my friend Nurun did not have a good mattress.
It was difficult to share the bed as we were sinking. In the middle of night I
thought I was dreaming when I saw some rays of light. I ignored that and
continued sleeping. Suddenly, I felt a hand touching over my blanket; still I
thought I was dreaming. Then I remembered the warning from the ex-national service
people, that often the night male guards on duty, came in the women’s tent to
tease and scare them. We were recommended to have a torch under the pillow. I
heeded this advice very seriously for my personal safety! I quickly took out
the torch and lighted towards the intruders and shouted “thief, thief”. The
rest of the girls were on their feet chasing the intruders. The girls from the
neighbouring tents also heard the commotion and came out to assist us. It
created a big chaos in the middle of dark shadowy night. Unluckily we did not
catch them, but since then we were conscious about such intruders, and made
sure that the lantern was on throughout the night. That was my first night in
the camp.
Next day, we hung big empty cans
and tins on the main entrance and along the lower open sides of the tent to
avoid any foreign person or animal entering the tent. The rattling sound of the
empty tins acted as our alarm.
What a relief for the rest of
the day and for the whole stay of six months?
1.3
Life in
the camp
It was not an easy life at
the camp. There was a big difference in the way one was brought up in a middle
class Indian family at home and here in the camp. There were about 1000 other
native persons in the camp. Many young girls and boys from the villages, who
had volunteered to join the national service were able to face the life without
much struggle and hardship, as the standard at the camp was better than that at
home. At times I wished I had a faked medical certificate from a doctor asking
for light duties, like rest of other Asian girls, but at the end of each day it
felt like a challenge that I could cope up with the harsh conditions and I felt
proud.
The life at camp was ruled by
the sound of the whistles. The day started with running five kilometres at
about six in the morning when it was still dark. One had to sing “Chakam chakam
chinja (chinja means kill),” all the way. All the unpopular political figures like Ian
Smith of Rhodesia, Botha of South Africa and Banda from Malawi were accused in
the song. In many other occasions we had to sing similar military cadences. I
was always scared of running in the dark, as I had heard that often some groups
had met wild hyenas on the way.
Some days instead of running
in the early morning, we had to go a bit far and dig trenches, one meter wide
and one meter deep per person. The aim was to fill the trenches with fertilized
soil for growing grapes. Dodoma has a semi-arid climate which was very suitable
for growing grapes. The grapes were produced for fresh fruit consumption and for
wine production. The ground was very dry and hard and I still remember the
first time I struck my trenching hoe. The tool made a big sound and it went
high in the air and I suffered from shoulder aches for few days. We used to get
covered by the red soil and dust and often did not have opportunity to take
shower due to the impending next activity.
One had hardly rested after
the jogging or digging, the shrill whistle blowing was heard stating that it
was time to line up for the breakfast. Hot tea was poured in a rectangular
aluminium mess tin with a metal handle, with bread and big lump of Blue Band
margarine on it. This was a hurried activity and sometimes I got my tongue
burnt due to the hot tea. Once I had duty in the kitchen and I saw that there
were no knives to spread margarine on the bread. Instinct of ‘survival for the
fittest’ came in. We picked some big bones (looking like knife), which were
thrown on the muddy ground – the remains of our last night’s stew for supper.
Since then my appetite for bread and butter faded away.
The next whistle blew and we
were all lined up in our company. The company was divided in the small sections
and each group had to perform various activities such as breaking stones, fetch
water to make bricks, build house, dig trenches, harvest grape vines, grow vegetables, clear
forests, collect wood sticks (not less than 2 cm in diameter) for fuels
and so on. Everybody wanted to join the kitchen duties as it was less hectic,
away from the hot, scorching sun.
In the evening we had to
again line up in a parade and practice marching. Never in my life had I marched
to the rhythm; left right, left right. I was always stepping on the person who
was in front of me in the parade. At home we went for long pleasant strolls
along the sea side, and never dreamt that I would march like a soldier with
left and right steps. I was always pinpointed and taken out of the parade and was
asked to train on my own for perfection. I did struggle hard to march with the rhythm.
Once a particular leader was away for few months and on his return, he shouted
to me in Kiswahili. -“you, Indian girl, come out of the parade”. I was pretty
sure that I did not make any mistake. He said, “You are doing excellent, go and
join the group”. I really felt happy, just like when I passed my academic
examination.
Besides the parades, we were taught
how to assemble and disassemble rifles. Once fully trained, we were sent for
practice to shoot at bulls eyes by lying over a sack of sands. I shot fifty
times and I still remember the pain in the shoulder for the next few weeks.
After the dinner, we had
cultural evening gatherings where we had to sing all kind of national songs in
Kiswahili. The only positive point during my stay was that my broken Kiswahili
language, which I had learnt earlier, was improving in grammar.
The sanitary systems were not
that advanced. Few meters away from the group of women’s tents, there was a
house with a shed, where there were a number of lavatories. There were no water
flushing system, it was just a hole in the ground and one had to squat over the
hole and finish very quickly before the stench of the smell penetrated the
clothes. Moreover there were no lights and no proper locks for the door. In the
day time it was all right to use, but we girls never used the toilets in the
night. We had heard the story of one girl who went to the toilet shed at night.
When she unlocked the door after finishing her business, somebody grabbed her
in the shed; in other words somebody was enjoying the sound of peeing and smell
of excreta in the darkness! Or she could have easily been raped!
If we felt like urinating in
the middle of the night, we just ran out of the tent and quickly did it on the
sandy area around the tent. We did not dare to go further in the thorny bush as
we were scared of hyenas, snakes and all other creepy crawlies lurking around.
When one urinated on sand, there was always a little hole made in the sand. If
this hole was found out by the lady leaders in the morning, the whole tent
would get some kind of punishment. The punishments could vary from some light
duties to clear some bushy area, or to some nasty ones such as carrying a big
tin of water over the head and to do frog jumps without pouring the water over
the body. The most common punishment was to go in the bush and bring all the
dry wooden twigs to be used for warming and cooking food. Luckily I never had
to do individual punishment. I knew an Indian boy who denied eating the wine
grapes while clearing around in the vine-yards, but his blue tongue revealed
that he did eat the grapes. He had to stay in a small prison cell, standing on
feet whole day and night.
We also learned to cheat when
we were on hard duty; we spent as little energy as possible when it was hard
work. I remember our group went to break the stones. Everyone had a hammer in
hand and had to break the big stones into small pebbles to be used in building
houses. It was a hard work but we worked at a slower pace, chatting and
laughing and making the most of that difficult task. When we heard the leader’s
footsteps approaching, the rhythm of 20 hammers striking the big stones became
faster. Somehow, there was a feeling of
excitement and thrill in playing truants as some work was extremely strenuous.
We were free every Saturdays
and Sundays, unless one was on duty in the kitchen. We needed the free days to
wash ourselves and relax. Every Sunday evening, we were called to line up with
our starched skirts and trousers. Most of the time was spent in preparing the
starched clothes. First we had to wash and dry the clothes. In the mean time we
had to prepare starch for ironing. We got starch powder which we boiled with
water in our mess tins. It was important to use the right amount of water.
Otherwise one ended up in either a very thick jelly or thin porridge. The slimy
mixture was then used to iron the skirts and trousers. If one was not careful
in ironing, there was a risk that one got white streaks of dry starch. If a
leader saw such a white dot or streak on the ironed clothes, he or she would
order us to remove the spots and re-iron, or if you are unlucky, the clothes could
be dipped in bucket of cold water and one had to start from the beginning and
spend Sunday evening ironing the clothes.
We had read in biology at the
University that stress often had negative effect on growth, metabolism and
reproductive system in animals. The continuous alertness stress and fear of
getting punishment at the national camp had an effect on our hormonal system.
Most of the girls did not get their menstruation for six months.
These were some of the
incidences I experienced during six months stay in the camp that made a deep
impression in my life and will never forget the hardship we faced. I cannot imagine
doing the similar type of service ever again. It was the longest time ever
being away from home in Dar-es-salaam from my family.
On my arrival at home, I
burst into tears, sobbing away when I laid my eyes on my dear mother. These
tears were of joy for reuniting with my family – safe and sound in one piece. They
had eagerly waited for my safe return and to hear my stories. It was a day for
celebration and merriment. The family was proud for my brave achievements and I
felt their love and warmth oozing out. These are the moments I cherish forever.
1.4
Acknowledgement
I am
very thankful to my father who allowed me to study as far as I wanted to. He
was a typical Indian gentleman, who had just moved from a village in India to
Tanganyika with much conserved cultural attitudes towards his way of thinking
and living. He never went to school, but he made sure that we all brothers and
sisters got chance to study. He changed his ideology according to the times and
circumstances and allowed me to stay at the University campus and do the
national service. Later on, to my
amazement he also agreed to my proposal of me moving out of the city to a small
village to carry out my profession as a teacher.
I
still remember that he was so proud on the day I had a graduation day. It was a
great occasion and honour for me to receive the personal handshake and
certificate from our President Nyerere, who was also a chancellor of
University. The self-esteem and happiness on my father’s face of that cherished
moment is still etched on my mind. He proudly distributed to family and friends
my photograph with President Nyerere with my B. Sc. Degree certificate. He was
unfortunate to attend any school for his education in India, but I can see the
self-respect and dignity in his eyes.
He
always put the happiness of his children first. He has been an inspiration and
is always in my thoughts.
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