Entebbe Takeaway

In August 1972, as consequence of a dream of the Ugandan President Idi Amin , we, as a white middle class British family met our first Asians.

I was 9 years old at the time and having lived in small sleepy towns in the south of England and rural Lincolnshire I would have found it very difficult to recall ever having come across or seen a non-white face.

World events, to an under 10, are not really a matter of interest and so I was understandably oblivious to what President Amin was intent on doing to his citizens whose only differing factor was that they had originated from the Indian sub Continent. The Indophobic attitude had really been initiated in 1969 with a clamp down on the ability of the Ugandan Asian population to work and earn a living. They were an easy target, a scapecoat for the wider problems in an African economy.

As with other racial and ethnic minority groups in history any perception of disproportionate wealth or success was seen to be an act of hoarding, greed and sabotage, somehow unpatriotic. In fact the success of the Ugandan Asians was simply through their own diligence and work ethic which was a primary reason why their services had been so prized and sought after in the outposts of the British Empire. The natural aptitude for clerical work, in all aspects of Imperial duties and also in labouring and general grafting was easily absorbed into the emergence of Uganda as its own Nation.

Idi Amin perpetuated a stereotype of the ethnic group as bankers and tailors very much along the lines of the demonising of the Jews over previous centuries throughout Europe. An order was issued in 1972 giving a period of 90 days for the Ugandan Asians, around 60,000 persons, to leave the country. This was a green light for the Ugandan Army to harass and intimidate, thieve and attack those relegated from citizen to refugee overnight.

Business interests from firms to farms and possessions from homes to cars were confiscated by being what was termed as re-allocation to the indigenous Ugandan Africans. Within 3 years what had been a high profile economy, in the good and conscientious stewardship of those now having to flee with what they could carry, had collapsed with disastrous and lingering consequences.

Almost half of those ejected were eligible for emigration to the United Kingdom. Other former colonies of the British Empire took in  their dutiful allocation. Almost 20,000 were reported as being unaccounted for.

I seem to remember watching the BBC News of the arrival of the first Ugandan Asian families in England but did not really appreciate the significance. This may have been down to the fact that we only had a black and white television on which everyone tended to look the same.

The Vicar at our local church, in which my Mother and two sisters made up 50% of the choir, made an appeal for compassion from his anglo saxon congregation towards refugees who had been accommodated at an old RAF base, some 20 or so miles from our town.

In what would today be regarded as a racial slur the Vicar, upon first encountering a disappointing response to his plea remarked that we should not worry because the Africans will have been asked to leave their spears at the door. Irrationally this comment eased many fears and the initial reluctance soon became a wave of enthusiasm. St John's would apply itself to this world crisis with the same commitment as organising the annual Carol Concert, a Bring and Buy Sale or amassing tins and packets for the Harvest Festival.

The main priority was to supply second hand and warm clothes as those expelled had not been able to gather up anything at all sufficient for a Northern European late summer. A quick sort out of little used or outgrown jumpers and coats in our bedroom wardrobes yielded a few items.

We all piled into the VW Estate car and headed for RAF Hemswell. On a first come first serve basis we were seconded to an Asian family. After our Vicar had placed some scary thoughts in my mind with his comment about sharpened weapons I was not at all sure about what we would meet after a long walk down a hospital type corridor in a semi derelict aircrew dormitory building.

Hubert Franks, his wife Tina and their three very young children welcomed us into their small cramped single room as though it was us who had been to hell in a hand cart. Quietly spoken and in perfect English we were ushered in and immediately felt a connection. The youngest child, Errol peeked out from behind an RAF issue blanket which divided the room into a living area and sleeping quarters. I think we found mutual mirth in sticking out our tongues at each other.

It was our enquiring minds, and not out of any complaint or bitterness ,that persuaded Hubert to talk about what the family had  faced  in the whole traumatic circumstances of eviction from their homesn and country. Childrens soft toys, travel companions had been ripped open by officials at Entebbe Airport in search of any concealed items. They had been in constant fear of their lives from heavily armed and trigger happy troops. The clampdown had not been unexpected because of the gradual and creeping campaign of victimisation over a number of years. In anticipation of threats and potential sanctions  Hubert had been able to stock up a shipping container with possessions and export it to a neighbouring country. Unfortunately, in a humid African climate the contents had corroded, rotted away or were spoiled beyond salvage.

It really was a case of starting out from scratch in a completely new country. The donation of clothes was gracefully and humbly received and in return we were given hot spiced corn based snacks. I do not know to this day how these could have been prepared and cooked in such a cramped space. They were a revelation to a 9 year old who thought that Twiglets and Cheesy Quavers were the pinnacle of sophistication in savoury snacks.. Even now ,at the age of 49 , I still seek out, with relish those packets of nibbles and treats of a curry and exotic hot spice flavour in the ethnic food aisle of Tesco's.

It was a matter of great amusement to all assembled when the clothes were tried . Tina briefly disappeared inside a chunky knitwear sweater. The small children were also swamped by cardigans and T-shirts.

This was the first of many visits to the transit camp and we also hosted the family at our house as they became acclimatised to life in deepest Lincolnshire.. Hubert had been a refridgeration engineer in Uganda and it had been a good living in a large house and with their own servants. It was sad to share in their loss of liberty and livelihood as they remembered their own home and treasured possessions.

I find it hard to believe that this year is the fortieth anniversary of our friendship with the Franks family. They were able through their own endeavours and determination to launch themselves into a new life in the UK and every Christmas we receive a card with snippets of news and it is all good.

I often have a warm feeling at such times although it may, in a large part, be due to excessive consumption of Bombay Mix for which I have developed a special affinity.