White Skin: Black Skin

By Angelika Friedemann

This is the fictional life story of three generations of white settlers in Kenya, told against a background of true historical events.
William Shrimes arrives in the crown colony of Kenya in 1939, as a fifteen-year-old boy. His head is full of illusions and plans. He painstakingly builds up a farm, battles plagues of locusts, drought, epidemics, wildlife, the racial barriers on both sides. His closest friends, two Kikuyu, think the white man is crazy at first, until they realise that he is not only standing up for his interests, but for them and their village community. A deep friendship develops.
With the onset of the Mau Mau threat, William becomes sceptical about whether he has done all the hard work for nothing, and doubts about the integrity of his friends.
In further books, his life and that of his family in the African state are described up to the present.
An exciting family saga set against the breathtaking backdrop of Kenya.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelika Friedemann
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215519561

Angelika Friedemann

Die Autorin: Wenn die Menschen nur über das sprächen, was sie begreifen, dann würde es sehr still auf der Welt sein. Albert Einstein Ich versuche, die Aufmerksamkeit der Leser zu fesseln, sie zu unterhalten und zu erfreuen, möglicherweise zu erregen oder tief zu bewegen.

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K1WeisseHautGB

Angelika Friedemann

White skin -

Black skin

Published by Kevin Friedemann at Smashwords.

Copyright 2023

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author, Angelika Friedemann...

Picture-Source: piqs.de, Sonnenuntergang Photographer: Rudi Stangl

Kimwa kemuiyot konegit kome kole maame

chito ne kabara ago aame chito ne kaing'

eta eng ole kaung'ekei.

I do not condemn the one

who killed me,

but the one who betrayed my hiding place.

Chapter *

Fog, dark grey haze, damp and cold lay over the city of Southampton. It was still quiet, tranquil on this very early morning. No rolling of rubber tyres, no sound of engines, no noise of dock workers could be heard. Everything seemed to be still asleep, as had been the sun for days. Even the wind was idle at this leaden start to the day. At least at this hour of the morning there was not such a strong smell of rubbish, fish, only a slight smell of the salt water in the air. That would soon change. There was actually a constant fresh breeze, especially here at the dock.

The boy sat huddled between the boxes and peered at the grey in front of him. Only dimly did he make out the outline of the large cargo ship. He knew what the ship looked like, though. It belonged to the Blue Star Line. A British shipping company with its headquarters in London. The company operated liner services as far as Cape Town, South America, Australia, New Zealand. The route of this freighter was from London, Southampton to East Asia. The ships were recognisable by a blue star on a white background. The funnels were red with a central white circle in the middle of which the star was emblazoned, the canopy was black with a narrow white band in the lower part. It was the Afric Star with 11 884 gross tons. It was a beautiful, large ship measuring 475 x 67 x 45 feet. Many Blue Star Line ships were named after countries or cities and always ended up with Star. This was the case with the Australia Star, Viking Star or Empire Star. He knew some of these ships by sight.

Yesterday he had asked a sailor and learned that it would be leaving today, in a few hours. The ship took the English Channel course on the Atlantic to Tangier, following the route through the Strait of Gibraltar, the Suez Canal, to dock later in the protectorate of British Somaliland. They then continued on to the Crown Colony of British East Africa, Mombasa, before sailing to Madagascar and subsequently crossing the Indian Pacific.

As he waited, his thoughts drifted to his family. What had his uncle said to his father the night before last? Things are only going downhill here. British Prime Minister Chamberlain of the Conservative and Unionist Party calls this policy active appeasement. His intention is to satisfy Hitler's territorial ambitions peacefully by concessions and thereby avoid war. His appeasement policy and this Munich Agreement with the peace in our time, are just stalling tactics. We'll get caught. Listen to Churchill. He urgently demands the rearmament of the army against the threat of these National Socialists. There will be war. Believe me, Edward.

His father didn't believe it, dismissed it as spin. Everywhere you heard there was a war coming, and he didn't want to be a soldier. He never did. No, he didn't want to join the army. He didn't want to work in the factory either, and he wouldn't be asked, he would be called up at the start of the war. His parents, his older brothers, saw things differently.

You can be proud if they take you, Sean, his second oldest brother, had said to him only a few days ago. We will fight for our fatherland.

Yes, and die, he had replied.

You're not going to chicken out, are you? Are you a man or a sissy? eldest brother Edward had shouted at him with the corners of his mouth down.

Even his mother talked like that. You can be proud when you lay down your life for your homeland. God willed it then.

He, on the other hand, did not want to die proudly, he wanted to live. Not only did he want to live, but he wanted to see something different from what he knew. Here his life would persistently go on dully as it had for the last three years, and until he died. Work in the factory, eat in the evening, sleep, and in the morning it would start all over again. The little money was just enough to keep from starving or freezing. Surely there had to be something more, something different, than this monotony? There had to be more than grey, dreary rows of houses and the smell of coal hanging like a bell over everything. No, he did not want to spend his life in this monotony. This unbearable idea had matured the plan in him.

Some seagulls flew very low, screaming loudly, disappearing into the misty haze. In a few hours he would be on the ship, if he was very lucky. The damp cold crept slowly up his body. He pulled his dark blue jacket of coarse woollen material tighter around him, rummaged in his trouser pocket, made sure for the hundredth time that his money was still there. Seven pounds. His entire fortune, besides a small bundle with some clothes. So he sat waiting.

The harbour, the ship dock gradually came to life. Men pulled handcarts behind them so that it echoed loudly in the silence. Footsteps sounded, the first voices were heard, shouting, more distant something squeaked and followed by a rumbling, in between the loud cries of the seagulls. It was still dark, but now he would soon know if another life was beginning for him.

He looked towards the horizon, but the morning was not yet visible. A loud, dull plop made him wince. A man cursed loudly and another roared. The noise grew louder, the men moved more frantically. The working day began. The moored ships had to be loaded and unloaded.

He stood up when he caught a glimpse of some sailors on the deck of the Afric Star. He patted down his trousers, pulled down his jacket neatly, grabbed his bundle, walked closer to the ship, stopped right at the edge of the water and looked up. Two men were hauling a large crate upwards, behind him other workers were unloading more containers.

The pot must be full soon, right? he heard one man say.

Jack, there's still loads going in, at least with the barge we'll be done soon. It's about time we got more day labourers. There's more and more ships coming in, it's hard to manage, and my bones don't want to go on like this.

Where's your boy? He ain't been around for days.

He's got a job with Keether. There he doesn't have to slave so hard and only work fourteen hours. He'll earn a few pence more straight away. Especially now that Beth is pregnant, it's good for the boy. The men pulled the cart away, leaving the boxes by the side.

William looked up. He heard his heart hammering loudly, took another deep breath and gathered all his courage.

Hello! I would like to speak to the captain, please, he shouted loudly over to two men, one of whom was now stepping closer to the railing. What do you want with the captain?

Work and passage to British East Africa.

The two men turned away and he thought that was probably it. Still, he waited for what seemed like an eternity.

Disappointed, he was about to leave.

Come aboard! he heard a deep voice bellow.

He hurriedly climbed up the wooden gangplank. His heart beat even faster. Once at the top, he looked around furtively, quickly pulled off his woollen cap, stroked his hair briefly as he caught sight of the man eyeing him.

Come along and don't root, the older man grumbled and he followed him to the front where two men in immaculate blue uniforms stood talking. They turned, What's up?

The boy is asking for work.

The two men eyed, appraised him from top to bottom, looked at each other, communicated with glances.

What's your name and how old are you?

William Shrimes, I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen in a few weeks, sir, he lied. He was very tall for his age, already had broad shoulders. His dark brown hair cut short. His brown eyes looked directly and openly at the men.

Have you ever been on a ship?

No, sir. I've only worked in the factory at Johnson, now I want to join my uncle in Mombasa.

So to the Crown Colony. We have two sailors out, and if you want to work you'll get a free passage, plus food and six shilings a day.

Yes, sir, I'll be glad to. He would have liked to cheer.

That means being on deck at five in the morning and working until evening. You make trouble, don't do your day's work right, there'll be nothing and we'll put you ashore at the next port. Understand?

Yes, sir! Again he bowed slightly.

John, show him around. He'll take over Scott's work and his berth. Welcome aboard, William, the captain turned away and he followed the older man down.

You've been lucky. If you work properly you'll have a good life and good food to go with it.

You won't have to complain, sir. I can and will work, he replied confidently, putting on his cap. The sinking feeling in his stomach had disappeared and his heart was now beating calmly. He had never imagined it would be this easy.

All right, you start in the kitchen. You can help out there. I'm John and you can say you.

Thanks, John!

He put his little bundle on the bed, pulled his cap off his head, his jacket off, folded it neatly and added it, followed John across the ship. He explained the rooms they passed, pointed to a staircase. That's the way to the passengers' cabins and we must never enter them. Never! You always take the back stairs. It is forbidden to talk to, harass, stare at or be near the passengers. If they are on deck, you stay out of their way. Understood?

Yes. Understood.

In the morning you get breakfast in the kitchen. There's a room next to it for us, there's something for lunch at one, and the last thing at seven in the evening. Always as much as you want. You can get drinks there, but no alcohol. On Sunday there's a service, you can have two beers at lunchtime and in the afternoon there's extra bread with syrup or cake. Every fortnight you have an afternoon and evening off. Downstairs you are not allowed to smoke or light a fire. You have to wash every day or you'll be in trouble with the captain. No fighting, no brawling. If there's a problem, you go to Mr. Kanther. That's the man who stood next to the captain, or you come to me. If you don't know something, ask. Just ask! It's better than getting it wrong. How old are you really, William?

For a moment he looked at the man, puzzled, smiling. Fifteen!

"Do your parents know? e

Not yet. Only tonight my friend will give them a letter from me.

And the uncle?

Doesn't exist, yet I'll make my fortune there. I know it. I read that you can buy land there. You see, I want to have a farm.

You can read, write?

Yes, I went to school. I can read, write, do arithmetic. I liked reading very much and Mister Dudley, that was my teacher, used to lend me books.

Why do you want to leave?

My dad says I should join the army, but there's no way I want to be shot to death.

Very sensible! So, here we are. This is Marvin and Colin. This is William. He'll be helping you out and working in place of Scott.

Hello! William, get started. You've got potatoes to peel, and that's the hill back there. It's quieter today as we don't have to prepare breakfast for our passengers. Have you eaten anything?

No, sir.

Go ahead and tell Colin. Have a pot of coffee and there's bread and syrup. Sit down and eat. Where are you from?

I've been living here.

So now you want to go to sea?

No, just a passage as far as Mombasa.

You want to stay there?

Yes. I want to have a farm there.

The two men grinned, turned back to their work. William looked around. He didn't know how he had imagined such a kitchen, but everything seemed cramped, small and warm it was. There were boxes and sacks in one corner. A long table was bolted down, and all kinds of utensils hung above it. He recognised some of it, as his mother only had smaller ones. But many things were unknown to him. There was a large cooker with what he thought were huge pots on it. It was still out of order. Man, it must have been hot when the fire was burning, he thought.

After eating hastily, drinking his first coffee in life, he began to work. It was difficult for him, as he had never peeled potatoes before. Colin showed him and in time he got practice at it. He thus missed when the few passengers came on board.

The potatoes were followed by a mountain of carrots. He was lost in thought and only startled when the ship began to vibrate as the engines had been started. Startled, he looked up from his work. Are we casting off?

Yes, sounds like it.

May I please go upstairs for a moment? The time had come for him to say goodbye. Tears came to his eyes as he thought of his mother, father, sisters and brothers, friends. He was leaving behind so many dear people, his entire life so far.

Just a few minutes and get out of the way of the passengers.

Thank you, Colin! Already he was running out the door, down the corridor and up the stairs. Outside he climbed over some ropes, squeezed past large crates and peered towards the harbour buildings. The ropes were being untied. Shouts echoed back and forth. People stood below waving, shouting something over to the ship. Some dabbed tears from their faces with their handkerchiefs, only to wave them away the next moment.

William asked himself: When will I see all this again? When would he meet his parents, his brothers and sisters again? Would he make it? Was he making a mistake? This was no walk in the park, this was so much more. He suddenly felt lonely. He had never been alone before, never been separated from his parents. He wiped the tears from his face. A hand came to rest on his shoulders and he looked up, looked at John.

You have decided to take a great step. Now keep the picture in your memory. It will forever remind you of everything: your childhood, your parents, your home. Never forget it!

He didn't reply because he had a frog in his throat. He didn't want to cry, but the tears rolled and somehow he felt a big, heavy stone in his chest.

Say goodbye and only look forward. He patted him on the back, sauntered away.

William said goodbye quietly. He saw them all before him, especially his mother and how she would cry tonight when she found out he was gone. His dad? How would he react? His brothers and sisters?

The ship set off slowly, past a sleek British Navy frigate where he registered a bustle of activity, passed a destroyer where there was silence and he took it all in once more. The grey, partly warped houses, the smoking chimneys, the strange smell of salt, fish, smoke and dirt, the screaming seagulls circling the ship. It was as if he suspected he would never see it again. Only after a while did he climb inside the ship and continue his work. His daily routine for the next three months began.

Chapter *

At half past four in the morning, his day began with a meagre breakfast. He then scrubbed the deck, cleaned the cages where chickens clucked noisily, gave them something to eat, cleaned the passengers' toilets. When all the other men were up, he cleaned there, put the blankets down neatly. Afterwards he helped in the kitchen, had to wash dishes, peel potatoes or clean vegetables, dispose of the waste.

In the afternoon, the captain's and Mister Kanther's cabins were cleaned, the toilets were emptied. Now and then he had to help out in the engine room and otherwise fill in where he was needed. When the dishes were washed and the kitchen was clean after a sumptuous dinner, he was allowed to lie down, which was usually around nine, rarely not until eleven.

William got on very well with all the men, talked very little and asked questions if he didn't know something. On his afternoon off, he sat on deck, looking out over the sea. He had a place far away from the others where he could be alone. His thoughts wandered to his family, friends. He loved to watch the slick sea, occasionally the slightly choppy waves. Every now and then, seagulls or other birds flew over the ship. In the distance he spied other ships, freighters.

In the evening, a starry sky shone that he had never seen before. He drew the star images on a piece of paper. At some point he wanted to know what stars he had seen. He watched as the moon became a disc, then a narrow crescent, finally invisible. He loved these clear nights, with the fresh air, the unique light, the sky covered as if with diamonds. He loved the black, seemingly endless surface of the water, shining like oil, in which the moon was reflected silvery at times. At times, the ocean looked like the skin of a herring. Slightly wavy, shimmering silvery. He loved the time when morning was approaching. The sky was almost the colour of plums. The stars faded and the horizon became blue-grey, bluer, sometimes reddish, shining golden.

His thoughts often wandered to his uncertain future, his forthcoming unknown life. He never doubted, always knew he had made the right decision, even if he had no idea of what lay ahead. He only knew the colony through Mister Dudley's stories and that had always sounded very good.

Chapter *

So far the journey had been very smooth as the weather had been kind to them and there had been no storms, no rough, raging seas, just heavy rain now and then. He enjoyed the fresh sea air after the hours below deck, where he found it very warm and stuffy. They had already sailed over 1300 nautical miles across the Atlantic. In a few days they would see the African continent and he wondered: What will await me there? What was it really like there?

The wind slid more stormily over the water today. White whitecaps formed. He breathed in deeply, pumping his belly full of the fresh, cool sea air. The big ship swayed slightly up and down. In the kitchen they had everything lashed down and safely stowed away. The sun had just passed its zenith, but today it was not so hot thanks to the clouds. He would have liked to take off his much too thick woollen jumper, but he didn't dare. The captain would surely scold him. His gaze slid to the sky, where the columns of smoke from the freighter were rapidly dissipating in the wind. It was quiet behind, only the monotonous hum of the ship's propeller could be heard. A sound, however, that he did not perceive.

Young man, may I join you?

Startled, he jumped up, bowing slightly. Sir, it is forbidden for me to speak to you. You may sit anywhere. Have a good day, sir. He bowed again, just wanting to leave quickly.

Wait, stay here quietly. I don't want to drive you away at all, just have a little chat with you.

I can't, sir, or I'll get into trouble.

That's too bad, but sit down. I'll sit somewhere else. The man of about 30 turned away and took a seat some distance away.

Do you like being a sailor?

I'm not a sailor, I'm paying my passage to British East Africa with my work, sir.

My name is Doug Masters and I don't always say sir.

Sir, I'm not allowed to. I've got to go. Have a good day, sir. William quickly disappeared downstairs, though annoyed that this stranger was spoiling his afternoon off. Except in the early morning when he scrubbed the deck, or in the late evening, he rarely came out. He lay down on his bed, folded his hands under his head and thought of his parents, his siblings. He was the second youngest, of the five Shrimes children. He had suffered especially from his two older brothers. They always acted like they knew everything and ...

William, you're supposed to come to the captain, John's voice snapped him out of his daydreams. He quickly jumped down and pondered what this meant. He had only seen the man a few times from a distance, never spoken a word to him. Was he in trouble for talking to this passenger? John had said, The captain doesn't miss anything that happens on the ship. He has his eyes and ears everywhere, but he's a good captain as long as you follow his orders and do your job properly.

Feeling queasy, he hurriedly crossed the corridors of the ship, stroking his hair with sweat-damp hands, knocking on the door.

Yes, he heard its voice and stepped inside.

I was told to report, sir.

William, Mister Masters was just with me. He wanted to speak to you.

Yes, sir, I told him that was not allowed and left. I didn't want to disturb the master, sir.

Smiling, the captain looked at the boy, eyed him. Like the other members of the crew, he liked him. He didn't shy away from any work, he was hard-working, always in a good mood, polite, reserved and he seemed very intelligent. By now he knew how old he really was, that the uncle did not exist, and therefore had a certain respect for the youngster.

Mister Masters lives in Embu. A place in the middle of the Crown Colony. He wanted to talk to you and for once I'm allowing you. I think he can help you when you are on land. But perhaps you would like to stay on the ship? We still have work for you.

That is very kind of you, sir. I don't want to go to sea. I want a farm of my own, sir.

That's why you should talk to Mister Masters. Go out quietly, William.

Thank you, sir. He turned, bowed again and quickly closed the door behind him. He had been lucky, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his heart pounding fiercely and loudly. Why did this Mister Masters want to talk to him, though? No matter, he told himself. Maybe he can tell me more about the country? So he quickly climbed the stairs and saw the man sitting in the same place where he was smoking a cigarette.

William sat down a little further away on a pile of ropes and looked out over the sea.

So you want to live in our colony and try your luck there?

Yes, sir. I want to have a farm of my own.

Big plans for such a young man. The captain said you were fifteen.

Yes, sir. I'll be sixteen soon.

You can read, write, do sums?

Yes sir and my teacher said I was good at that, he grinned a little sheepishly. He had permanently been the best in the class and he was proud of that and it showed in his face, though he had no idea.

Don't say sir. We're not that formal and you can get used to that. My name is Doug. A lot of things are different in the colonies than you know back home.

Thank you sir eh ... Doug.

The two looked at each other, had to grin.

Tell me what you know about the country you want to live in?

After the First World War, British veterans were allocated areas of the Highlands that had been set aside for white settlement since 1904. In order to be able to resist the land theft, the African Thuku founded the first political organisation: The East African Association, which was, however, immediately banned by the colonial rulers. In 1920, British East Africa was officially declared a British Crown Colony and many Europeans lived there. Indians were brought into the country to build the railways, and they soon took on an important economic and social mediating function between the European colonial masters and the Africans. In the Highlands, which are higher than a thousand metres, there are rainy periods from April to May and from October to November. Rainfall is mostly in the afternoons, evenings and at night. The nights are relatively cool. The coldest period in this region is in July and August with about 12° degrees. The warm period is in January and February with about 30° degrees. The humidity is said to be very high. It is warmer on the coast. I want to go to the Highlands. The Mount Kenya massif is about ninety miles northeast of Nairobi. West and north it goes to the Highlands, south is more dry savannah, he rattled off what he had read. Due to the humid and cooler highland climate, a rich flora and fauna has developed everywhere there. Plants are said to thrive very well. Many wild animals are said to live there. Some of them even eat people, like lions or wild dogs. There are fertile fields and fields. You can grow beans, maize, potatoes, cotton, coffee and tea. In the relatively dry climate of the west side, livestock is raised. I will start with a few cows, plus some chickens and sheep. Later I will start a garden for fruits and vegetables and I will grow maize, sisal, coffee, tea. There are many black peoples there. What are they like? My teacher said they are dangerous at times?

The man looked at him for some time, also a little astonished. The boy's cheeks were slightly flushed, with such enthusiasm he had told this and it was strange, Doug Masters believed him, that he would realise his dreams. It was such a feeling.

Dangerous in that sense they're not at all, at least if you treat them fairly. I guess the days are gone when they were colonised very thoroughly. Due to the spread of the wazungu, that is - whites, especially in the most fertile parts of the country, the blacks were permanently pushed back more and more to so-called reserves. The Kikuyu, one of the many tribes there and the largest, migrated to their present settlement area between the 17th and 19th centuries. Many of the Kikuyu practise hoe farming and cattle breeding. Traditionally, they grow millet, sorghum, beans, peas and sweet potatoes. They live in villages with their livestock, goats, sheep, some cattle. These communities are called mbari, with between a few dozen and several hundred members. Traditionally, they formed polygamous family groups. Each woman inhabited her own hut with her children.

What is sorghum?

Sorghum, a kind of sweet grass that is like grain. They cook ugali, a porridge from it, which they eat almost every day. It's a terribly thick stuff. Tastes awful.

William nodded. Porridge he hated.

The big say in this community is the village elder. The most important man is the Mondomogo, some kind of wizard. These men have a considerable influence on everyone, because every man, every woman is afraid of a thahu, that is, an evil curse. Deep-rooted old superstition or not. No one knows for sure. But they believe in it, live by it. They call Mount Kenya Kirinyaga or Kinyaa, which means shining mountain. The massif is considered the throne of Ngai wa Kirinyaga, the god of Kirinyaga. In Kikuyu mythology, Kirinyaga is the Mountain of Brightness, where Ngai, the creator god, created the basis for their world, and where he still sits today, watching over everyone and everything. The progenitor of the Kikuyu received the first wife from Ngai. When problems arise, they sacrifice under migumo trees and raise their arms towards Kirinyaga. Supposedly this helps. The Kikuyu believe in life after death. The ancestors thus live on in the descendants. According to tradition, the Kikuyu descend from the forefather Kikuyu. Mumbi, his wife gave birth to nine daughters: Achera, Agachiku, Airimu, Ambui, Angare, Anjiru, Angui, Aithaga and Aitherandu, who in turn descended as the original mothers of the nine muhiriga, which means clan. Today, they are Christianised to a considerable extent. At least the missionaries tried, he grinned. "It didn't really work out that way, though. Most of them are pagans, worship their gods. In the beginning, the priests gave them English names and there were white people's clothes, something to eat. So they put on a good face, got baptised, then went back to their shamba and reported to Ngai. The form of address for Ngai in all ceremonies is Mwere-Nyaga. Special people, called Arathi, hear Ngai's messages and pass them on to the people. The Mondomogo is responsible for the many rituals, healings or judgments. To wish for rain, for example, only the Arathi is authorised, who, together with the elders, brings Ngai a sacrifice, such as a goat or a lamb.

Like everywhere in Africa, the Kikuyu communicate with their ancestors, cultivate an ancestor cult. The disrespected ancestors could bring suffering and misfortune to the clan members, but prosperity and happiness if they are respected. So Kikuyu spill some beer on the ground or place food to commemorate the ancestors. In times of greatest need, such as the impending death of a relative, people and ancestors turn together to Ngai and make an offering. The ancestors lived on in the descendants. That is why children are named after grandparents. As long as an ancestor is named, he does not have to leave the ancestral world, which is thought of as positive. Only when he is forgotten by the descendants does he disappear into a diffuse underworld, death. So nobody wants to kill his ancestors and he himself wants to be remembered in the same way later.

There are many rules, laws that everyone follows, very sensible ones by the way. The men have several wives, because usually one of them is pregnant. If she were to get pregnant again after giving birth, she would not be able to work as well, because she has to look after the mtoto, the child. While the women are breastfeeding, coitus is absolutely forbidden, and that lasts about two years, which is why there are several women, because the men don't want to do without anything. On the other hand, this has another positive aspect. The women don't get pregnant all the time, have time to recover from the birth, can work and breastfeed the baby for the entire period. Very healthy, by the way. But further. For example, if twins are born, that is a thahu. One has to be killed, two are too much of a burden for the woman, after all, one is concerned about her labour. To tell this in detail would lead too far. On the other hand, the mondomogo can invoke a curse if perhaps he is jealous that one has too many goats, or a begrudging neighbour pays to have a curse put on someone because he wants their wife."

That's superstition, or are you telling me I'll give you a goat and someone will make sure my neighbour dies?

Believe me, there is some truth in it. If you want to build up a farm in the Highlands, you have to rely on the work of the blacks, and if you want to be successful, you have to put up with their habits, their idiosyncrasies. Many blacks invent the most fantastic excuses to avoid work. They often show up as they feel like it. This is called shauri ya mungu, force majeure. Some of the wazungu kick their wogs' butts hard, but it generally doesn't help much. In many areas, they speak only a few English words, or they refuse to talk that way. You will have to learn Kiswahili. In some territories, in Nairobi, voices are being raised that land has just been stolen from the Kikuyu, that the wazungu should disappear. One of them is a farmer's son, a certain Jomo Kenyatta, at least that's what he calls himself; he used to be called Kamau somehow. Today he is about forty, nobody knows exactly. He took over the Kenya African Union, the KAU, in 1931. At the moment he is probably in Great Britain studying. He's just one of many.

Is it possible to buy land from the natives, these Kikuyu?

Not everywhere is Kikuyu land. It depends on where you want to go. There may be other ethnic groups there. For example, Luhya, Samburu, Luo or Maasai. Very few black people can read or write, except for some of the younger generation. Land is only sold by the Crown. It is largely land that the white settlers have now that was never cultivated before, left fallow because most wogs only cultivate as much as they need at the time. Now, with the wazungu, they see the big houses, lots of cattle, big fields and that's what they want. Somehow both sides are right. The land belongs to the blacks, at least in part; the farmers have cultivated it and made it what it is today, but together with the wogs. A lot of white people have worked as hard as them, while others have done nothing for it.

William thought for a moment as he looked across the ocean. To the east, he saw the sun slowly sinking into the horizon.

I will learn this Kiswahili and buy land from them. I don't care what tribe they belong to. I will work with them without kicking their butts. My dad said never to hit, that's only for blockheads who can't think. I will befriend them and learn from them. What do wogs mean?

A kind of taunt, a swear word: Worthy oriental gentlemen.

Doug Masters marvelled at this boy. He said it so seriously that he believed him. A white boy wanted to learn something from blacks. He had never heard that before. He had watched him over the last few weeks, at first rather by chance, scrubbing the deck in the morning. He even did not miss the corners. Although no one ever checked, the young sailor did his work carefully, quickly and extremely conscientiously. Somehow, the boy had interested him and he had therefore enquired more about him, thus learning about his plans. He did not look like a boy. He was as tall as he was, measuring 1.80 metres, broad-shouldered, seemed muscular. He already had a pronounced masculine face. He was going to be a good-looking guy.

What do you mean, good day?

In Kiswahili you usually greet with hujambo, habari gani, which translates to, are you well or, is there any news? To this you reply sijambo, which translates as I am well. Often people just say jambo. The greeting is very important because it is considered impolite to get straight to the point. First there are lengthy enquiries about how the family is doing and discussions about the weather or explanations about where you just came from and where you want to go. They often say goodbye with tuta onana, we will see each other, in the evening with lala salama, peaceful sleep, or with kwa heri, which means goodbye or see you soon.

From that day on, William spent every spare minute with the man twelve years his senior. He asked and asked, listened to his stories and asked again. He learned the first words of Kiswahili, wrote them down, kept muttering them softly to himself, something that amused the entire staff. In addition, he made a list of things he would need.

Doug Masters enjoyed talking to the boy, no, you could almost call him a man. It amused him how eagerly he absorbed everything, like a sponge absorbs water. If his knowledge of human nature did not deceive him completely, this Shrimes would achieve what he dreamed of. It shortened the ubiquitous boring drive for him.

They were entering the Strait of Gibraltar. Tangier! He took in the images of Africa for the first time as they entered the bay from the Moroccan city. Strange people in strange robes, some with a strange hat on their head, hurried around. Next to them stood some white people in uniforms. He suspected they were French. Peculiar smells, a murmur of which he understood nothing, reached him. Men, some light brown, others with a skin colour that reminded him of his mother's tea, barefoot, in white, dirty long shirts were dragging boxes and cartons onto the deck. Down on the quay or on some rickety old boats, young people loudly advertised goods: Fruit, vegetables, live chickens, cloth and other things. Some passengers left the ship and were immediately surrounded by crowds of people until French officials intervened. They were mostly Germans, as he had learned from Doug. Jews who had fled Germany, where they were increasingly at the mercy of the torment of the National Socialists. Their property had been expropriated, their licences revoked, they had been harassed, Doug told him. Some also wanted to immigrate to the Crown Colony.

After a day's stop to replenish provisions, the ship continued towards the Mediterranean and he marvelled at the great Rock of Gibraltar. However, he found the other side of the passage much more interesting. At times, the coast of North Africa could be seen looming in the distance. He could never make out very much, but he liked the little he saw, liked it a lot: The almost white buildings. For him, they embodied purity, fresh, clean air without soot or smoke. The palm trees symbolised nature, freedom. At the end of the narrow passage, which he actually found very wide, stood the Cape Trafalgar lighthouse. He was also a little disappointed because he had seen neither a whale nor a dolphin, although his teacher had always said they would cavort there.

They passed smaller, rickety boats with tan men standing on them, waving, laughing, before continuing to fish. There was no sense of the immense warmth that so clung to the continent. It was cool air, a constant, sometimes gusty wind.

On New Year's Eve he stood outside, his mind on family, friends, relatives in Southampton. The year 1939 had begun and he hoped it would be a successful year for him. To those at home he silently wished all the best for the New Year. However, he kept the rising tears under control. Now he was no longer a child and men did not cry.

Chapter *

Slowly the climate changed. The tropical nights became warmer, the days muggy. They were approaching Port Said, the entrance to the Suez Canal, which he followed closely, even though it was pouring with rain.

When the Afric Star docked, the sky had a reprieve and the sun pushed through between the clouds. Here, the people looked different. Many wore long white robes and red caps with pompons on them, the fez, the keffiye, some a turban, the burnus. Next to them you saw British officers, soldiers in their uniforms. They walked as if they had swallowed a stick, bolt upright, looking arrogant. For the first time he saw almost black men, very tall, strong, muscular. Their skin shone in the sun, as if smeared with grease. Young men dragged chickens tied to their feet onto the ship and they bought banana trees from fat, black, cloaked women, as well as citrus fruits. He had never seen those before and he ate an orange for the first time. He immediately declared oranges a delicacy. He was actually doing everything for the first time today.

The Suez Canal, 163 kilometres long, up to 4 metres wide and 20 metres deep. It can be navigated by ships of up to 150,000 tonnes, he had been told, and William watched as the ship ploughed through the Isthmus of Suez, the isthmus of Egypt, which is a maximum of 116 metres wide.

The Isthmus of Suez connects the continents of Asia and Africa and separates the Mediterranean Sea from the Red Sea. The isthmus consists of a low-lying, sandy and stony desert whose deepest depression is occupied by a lake and swamps. There is almost no fresh water in the isthmus area. Colin stood beside him, put his hand on the boy's shoulder. You've come the longest way. Do you regret it?

No. I'll be better off in the Crown Colony. Doug says there's going to be a war. I never wanted to join the army to get shot to death.

Might be better that way. War is generally nasty. Lots of dead, lots of men who never get fully recovered.

Yes, and I'm afraid for my family, friends and relatives if it comes to that.

It is possible that everyone is wrong, my boy. You must go your way, then he left him alone. Yes, he really felt alone, very alone. That was the only way he had wanted it.

To the right and left, one could see the land, sparse plantings, few people. Still, it was exhilarating, he thought.

Doug Masters sauntered closer, stood beside William and explained what he was seeing. He enjoyed quenching the young Briton's thirst for knowledge. Despite sixteen hours of work, he was never too tired to ask more questions and absorb the new knowledge. He felt, as he did today, his sadness and could understand it. A 15-year-old boy searching for his further path in life, in a foreign country, on a foreign continent. He knew his short life by now and had repeatedly told the boy about his, which William found very exciting.

Doug Masters had come to British East Africa when he was only five years old, together with his parents, an older brother and a younger sister. His father had been a farmer, barely making a living. At that time, he had sold everything to his younger brother and bought a new farm in British East Africa, which was now bigger than the old one in his home country. His children had gone to boarding schools in Great Britain. Steven, his older brother, would one day take over the farm. He, on the other hand, had bought a piece of land and built a hotel on it, which was just beginning to flourish. He had married three years ago and was now returning from a visit from Great Britain where he had not only advertised his hotel but had been to his grandfather's funeral. He had also done all sorts of shopping, not only for himself but for his family, some friends and visited his sister who lived in London. She was engaged to a soldier and they were to marry in the middle of the year. He had followed some of the developments in Europe there with horror and he suspected that war was coming. Despite all this, Ellen, his sister, wanted to stay in very old England.

They passed Port Said, a city of the nominally sovereign monarchy of Egypt.

William looked in wonder at the long rows of palm trees and the crowds of people. A few domes of buildings and minarets glimpsed as they slowly glided past. The houses shone brightly in the sunlight. You could partly see that they were conceived by the British, built probably less so. Foreign scents wafted towards him, displacing the salty smell of the sea.

Date palms rose to the sky in sparse succession. The breeze swept through the fibrous fronds. That was the name of the leaves on palm trees, he knew from one of the books.

Some Britons rode horses bolt upright in uniform. Ladies with parasols and gloves got out of horse-drawn carriages. They looked snooty even from up here. Next to them, men dressed in a caftan, a white cap on their heads, pulled oxcarts, others led packed donkeys past them. His teacher had once called them Muslim men.

Somehow he found the men with the red fez or turban on their heads and the white nightgowns funny. His mother wore a similar garment at night. He had once whispered to his brother, like a ghost from one of the castles.

Impressively, on the other hand, he eyed men in dark blue cloaks. Even their faces were covered with a blue cloth, plus their heads were covered with the same fabric in the form of a turban. Even from his point of view, they looked tall, proud and beautiful. They were leading camels or dromedaries, he didn't know for sure, behind them, loaded with boxes and baskets. He wondered if they were the dreaded Tuareg he had heard about? A year ago, he had never even thought that one day he would see real camels, let alone the notorious warriors of the desert, if they were any. Children were running around, laughing, playing. In between, dogs frolicked, barking loudly, and an elderly man pulled three goats behind him.

Men of different skin colours, often dressed only in trousers, sat in boats, shouting to sell their wares.

It was strange because few women were seen. He found it all fascinating. After all, it was a small foretaste of what awaited him. He watched the hustle and bustle for a while, then work called. The Afric Star would soon be entering the Suez Canal.

Chapter *

A day later, they had a view of the Arabian Desert. The air grew warmer, drier, the further south they sailed.

Nearby is Luxor. There are the temples of the god Amun and on the other side of the Nile are the royal tombs. A bit further south is the famous Abú Simbel temple, built in the time of Ramses.

Didn't they find a tomb like that of a pharaoh there a few years ago? Tutachmun or something like that. The man, this Lord Carnaron died shortly after, because of a supposed curse, didn't he?

Yes, Howard Carter was the archaeologist and the pharaoh's name was Tutankhamun. I wonder if it was a curse of the pharaohs? he shrugged. Now the Sudan is coming soon.

That was where the Mahdi, this Mohammed Ahmed Ibn Saijid Abd proclaimed the Holy War. He defeated the British Egyptian forces in 1883, took Khartoum in January 1885 and established the Caliphate of Omdurman. We sent an expeditionary force there at that time, which succeeded in putting down the rebellion in 1898 under the leadership of Lord Kitchener. Sudan was transferred to a British-Egyptian condominium. General Gordon was in Khartoum, wasn't he?

Yes, that's right! How do you know that?

Mister Dudley told me. At first I thought of going to Egypt. Mister Dudley said I should try my luck in British East Africa.

We're currently sailing through the Red Sea and now Italy East Africa is coming soon.

After that comes the Gulf of Aden, the colony of French Somaliland and British Somaliland and Italian Somaliland. The Horn of of Africa my teacher said.

Your teacher taught you a lot. Ras Asir, is a cape in the north-east of the country and juts out into the Indian Ocean.

So it went day after day between the two men so unlike each other. There was so much to marvel at and he now spent every free minute on deck. He wanted to notice everything, not miss anything.

The landscape changed as they sailed closer to the Horn of Africa. The light desert sand gave way to dark grey, almost black rock, rock formations. It looked desolate, especially as there was not a green plant to be seen. People certainly couldn't live there, William thought. The heat was unbearable here and the few passengers retreated into their cabins.

In the evenings, he often sat next to his new friend for a long time to talk to him. More and more he informed himself about the country he was now going to live in. Often he went down afterwards and made notes so that he wouldn't forget anything. Mister Kanther had brought him some sheets of paper and a pencil. So you can write something down, he had said with a smile. Colin and Marvin often sent him on deck to see how far they were, they explained with a wink, or to see if the ropes were still neatly coiled. Even the captain had ordered that the boy get Saturday afternoon and Sunday off. None of the sea bears was upset about it. They all liked the youngster and admired his courage, as well as his confidence in a better life.

He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with these little perks, although he was happy about them. He repaid his comrades with little things. On Sunday mornings, for example, he sewed and mended clothes for them, rolled cigarettes or shined shoes. He did all this on deck while talking to Doug. Occasionally he even carried the big pots upstairs and scrubbed them until you could see yourself reflected in them.

Chapter *

William and most of the guests on board wished that the long voyage would finally end. He wanted to reach the land of his dreams and see what it was really like there. He liked his life on board. He had got used to the swaying deck and liked his work, he did not find it difficult. Nevertheless, impatience now prevailed.

He casually watched the few passengers furtively as he disposed of the rubbish above or fed the cattle. There were only two elderly ladies, the rest men: old and young. Some with stiff collars and suits, others dressed more casually. All of them wanted to go to the African continent, he had heard from John. They looked like he had seen them many times and that reassured him.

Lying in bed at night, he listened to the sounds of the ship. Sometimes he heard the creaking of the planks or the roar of the ocean as the waves crashed against the hull. He loved these sounds that lulled him to sleep.

One afternoon John called him on deck and he saw an unusual spectacle. Fish were jumping high out of the water, some slapping the wooden deck of the ship. They were quickly scooped up and thrown back into the sea by sailors and passengers. It looked funny how they spread their big pectoral fins almost like wings, shot up into the air with the flapping tail fin that seemed to be split in two, some just gliding across the surface of the water like that.

The passengers laughed uproariously at the spectacle.

They're flying fish, John explained, grinning broadly that really brought out the gap in his teeth. They supposedly manage up to fifty tail beats per second when they fly. When flying, the fish rise up to ten, eleven metres in the air and can glide a total of over two hundred metres, touching down on the water several times but not diving in. Their average flying speed is about thirty metres per hour, they say.

He watched for a while, then work called him below deck. Somehow, for him, this fun experience was an auspicious sign of a contented, successful future.

Continuing along the coast of the Crown Colony created a certain tingling in William's stomach as he peered over to the land. It was now getting warmer by the day, although a light breeze cooled the air. Below deck, the air was stuffier and, especially in the galley, sometimes unbearably hot.

What you see there is Lamu, an archipelago, and after that comes Malindi. A place that used to be very important, but acutely less so. From there it's about 110 kilometres to Mombasa. Can you swim?

Yes. We sometimes jumped into the water and eventually I could.

My friend Robin and I went diving in Malindi. We borrowed some equipment from the navy. It's beautiful. Clear water and tremendous abundance of fish.

Isn't that very dangerous?

More dangerous is setting up a farm in the Highlands.

William looked at him for a moment, puzzled, laughed aloud. Probably!

See that white stretch of coast? That's sand and my friend says you could build hotels there for people to spend their holidays. Only there's no electricity, water or anything. Maybe one day it will be developed. Robin is a firm believer.

Does your friend have a hotel too?

No, he's a doctor, body and soul. His wife Mabel is a nurse. They are always extremely busy as there are not that many doctors. Many doctors work in the missionary stations. They recently moved to Nairobi and also have a small house in Mombasa. He picks us up. Robin is a fine fellow.

I have to go where I can get work quickly and make plenty of money. I don't care what I get for work, only good money I want to get. I want to get away from the city soon and farm my land.

One thing at a time. Look at everything calmly first and then make your decision.

William didn't reply, but he knew he wouldn't live in the city for long. He just needed to make money fast, enough money to buy a piece of land, some seed and some livestock. That was where his priorities lay. He wanted to see nature and live there, on his little farm, with a few cows, chickens, maybe some grain, fruit and vegetables. Just enough to live on and be full, a few chickens to sell. Later he would plant a few flowers and some bushes. Plus a small wooden house with two rooms and a chamber where he could store everything. He imagined his quiet contemplative life in the fresh air, surrounded by lots of nature would be wonderful.

Chapter *

The albatross, a large sea bird that lives mainly in the southern hemisphere and only visits solid land to breed, welcomed them. The seadogs on the ships traditionally felt a bond with the albatross. Albatrosses often followed ships long distances across the ocean. According to old sailor beliefs, the souls of sailors who died at sea take on the form of albatrosses. Although these birds could have been hunted on board as a welcome replenishment of food supplies, it was considered taboo to kill an albatross by the crews of the ships due to sailor's beliefs, John had told him the previous evening.

It seemed like a welcome to William. Today he would set foot on African soil for the first time.

The city of Mombasa appeared like a big grey blur in the distance. That was all that could yet be seen through the mist, the first tentative grey of the morning. He hurried to finish scrubbing the deck, for the last time, he thought as he did so. Hastily he jumped down the steep stairs, hurried into the kitchen and helped Colin and Marvin. That was the end of his work on the ship. Also for the last time, they had breakfast together, drank coffee.

A white beach with countless palm trees and some flowering bushes appeared. On the side, black children frolicked in the water while women washed clothes there. Men squatted on the seawall.

Strange smells, alongside a summer warmth welcomed him as soon as the ship approached the harbour. A row of fishing boats, larger wooden vessels they called dhow, sailing boats with triangular sails and another cargo ship bustled on the water. Old wooden barges glided leisurely closer. Presumably fishing boats. Masts and funnels grew larger, he even caught sight of an American flag, next to it a British navy frigate and just then he caught his first glimpse of wooden barracks.

He looked towards the dock where dark-skinned people were standing around and apparently the freighter was docking. Others were walking back and forth, loaded with boxes, chests and cartons. The babble of voices grew louder, interrupted by the wail of a ship's siren. Loud shouting, whistles, engine noises were heard again. Some British officials, in their khaki uniforms, marched bolt upright along the anchorage. Automobiles parked beside an old wooden shed. White men waited, waved. He found it all so exciting.

He was led by Colin to the captain. He looked at him intently. You really want to get off the boat, William?

Yes, sir, though I have enjoyed it very much on the ship, but I want to live in the colony.

Stay that way, my boy. You're a fine lad and your parents can be proud of you. Here's your money, plus an extra fifteen pounds from all the crew. They've collected for you and you'll get an extra thirty from me. Take good care of yourself and buy something for your farm with it.

Tears welled up in William's eyes when he saw all that money and he had to swallow. Thank you sir, thank you very, very much sir.

Is good. You deserve it. Maybe we'll see each other again one day.

I would be very happy about that, sir, he beamed at the man, wiping away tears. When you dock in Mombasa, sir, may I come and visit you?

You are always welcome, William.

He said goodbye to everyone and once again a few tears flowed. Some of the men had become his friends and something like a substitute for his missing family. Mr Kanther gave him a small package at the end. Everything you need. William, take care of yourself, and if anything is wrong, leave a message with the port authority. We'll take you with us immediately at the next stop.

The freighter had docked by now and the first blacks were pouring aboard to unload the ship. He looked at the men, muscular, with different skin colours, from black to tan, tall to short. All barefoot, dressed only in shorts. On some, no colour of the garment could be determined, as they were completely faded.

Mister Kanther spoke to one of the men, who was even wearing a shirt, and pointed forward. A torrent of unintelligible words from the man followed and the others quickly hurried in that direction.

With a heavy heart, he left the ship, nonetheless curious and full of anticipation. At the bottom, he turned around again, waving upwards before slowly walking on. It was a strange feeling to