Kololo Hill Read online

  Jaya crouched by Asha’s bed. ‘Why don’t you get up now? Eat something.’ Days of this, watching her picking at the food that Jaya brought her and then closing her eyes again.

  ‘I’m fine here.’ Asha stirred, pulling the cover back over her head. ‘I’ll eat later.’

  ‘Later never comes, though. Please eat something.’

  Asha shook her head.

  ‘I know this is hard, Asha,’ Jaya whispered. ‘All of it. But please, eat something. We need to get ourselves out of here and to do that, you need to get your strength back.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here.’ Asha’s voice was strained, as though it took all her effort to talk.

  ‘But we can’t go back.’

  ‘That’s just it.’ Asha lifted her head briefly, looking at her. ‘I don’t want to go back; I don’t want to stay here either. Wherever I am, there’s pain.’

  Jaya patted her arm. ‘You cannot escape your mind.’ Jaya knew that all too well. She wished she could take away Asha’s hurt, take all their pain away. ‘But you’ll feel better if you try to focus on something else.’

  ‘Please, just go.’

  ‘I know it is difficult, but you have to focus on the future, not dwell—’

  Asha turned fast towards Jaya. ‘I’m not dwelling! I’m exhausted.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But that’s because you won’t look after yourself. We need to stick together now. For me, for Vijay, for Pran, if nothing else, please eat something.’

  No answer. Eyes closed.

  ‘Asha, think of Pran. We need to start rebuilding our lives and then he can join us. Don’t you want that?’ Still no response. Why was there was always so much to deal with? They’d never be free, always struggling, the ghosts of their old life haunting them forever. Jaya moved closer, putting her hand upon the rough blanket. ‘You can’t let Idi Amin win,’ she said, kindly. ‘I didn’t think you’d let him win.’

  Asha remained still, rolled up in a ball, face pale.

  Jaya left the room and went to join Vijay in the mess hall.

  ‘No Asha?’ he asked.

  Jaya shook her head, once again, and ate her lunch: a jacket potato with butter and lots of black pepper. She played cards with some of the other ladies, her mind still on Asha. Perhaps she’d been too harsh, but she’d hoped that giving her daughter-in-law other things to focus on might help. Jaya needed her to be strong, for her sake as much as anything. She couldn’t do it alone.

  Later, Jaya stopped by the dormitory doorway. In the corner, Asha’s bed was made, the plate empty, her bedclothes neatly folded away.

  21

  Vijay

  ‘Of course, we know you have all been through quite an ordeal.’ Mr Hutchinson’s eyes darted around the mess hall, looking everywhere except at the people in front of him.

  Vijay sat with the others, watching the barracks’ head administrator address the room. Mrs Boswell and the other volunteers looked on. Outside, the sky was a startling blue – as bright as any afternoon in Uganda – striped with feathery white aeroplane trails.

  ‘But it is best to look forward,’ said Mr Hutchinson, now turning his attention to the double doors. ‘With that in mind, we would like to give you some information so you can leave as soon—’

  Mrs Boswell coughed.

  ‘That is,’ Mr Hutchinson continued, tugging at his blue tie, ‘information on how you can move on from the barracks and quickly settle into your own homes. There will be new jobs posted on the noticeboard outside. We’ll also have copies of the local newspapers so you can look for opportunities there. And I am sure there will be something for you, as long as you are willing to work hard. There is a wide variety of work to match the skills and education of people like yourselves.’ Mr Hutchinson’s eyes moved to the light fitting. ‘We’ve also arranged a trip to the jobcentre on Tuesday. And a representative from the local council will join us later to explain the process for applying for a council house and welfare benefits for the infirm. For those of you who have the means, you may want to consider private rental. Please do speak to Mrs Boswell if you have any questions. And until the English lessons begin, I hope that those of you who can translate what I have just said into your various dialects will do so privately.’

  Just as Vijay was sure the speech was about to end, Mr Hutchinson continued, gaze flitting to the far window. ‘The main thing is that you’ve gone through a lot but you’ll all come out the other side.’

  ‘Like shit?’ muttered a teenager behind Vijay in Hindi. Sniggers spread along the back of the room as Mr Hutchinson left.

  ‘All this help they’re giving us,’ said Ramniklal, the little black hairs in his nose quivering like spider legs as he spoke. He and his sons had owned a dukan in Mbarara. While he and his wife Hiraben had made it to England, his family were now scattered across the world, in India, the United States and Canada.

  ‘Yes, all this help for, how did he describe it?’ Asha switched from Gujarati to the taut English vowels Mr Hutchinson used, ‘People like yourselves.’

  ‘Forget him, we’ll be out of here soon,’ said Vijay.

  Asha leant forward. ‘But in the meantime, we have to put up with him behaving like we’re beneath him? We had jobs and homes, just like him.’

  Vijay had to admit she had a point. He watched her as she spoke. He’d felt the guilt well in his stomach every time he thought back to the army at the roadside. If only he’d been able to stop the soldier. He was pleased that she was up and about again; these past few days she’d been so unlike the Asha he knew. Today, she wore no make-up, a plain mustard polo neck and denim bell-bottoms. She was as beautiful as ever.

  ‘No, he shouldn’t behave that way. But his life is not like ours,’ said Jaya. ‘He has never had to worry about soldiers coming to his house or people around him disappearing.’

  ‘Well, let’s just forget Mr Hutchinson and focus on getting out of here,’ said Vijay, standing up. He couldn’t help but wonder about Pran. What was he doing, had he made it out safely? He pushed the worries to the back of his mind.

  He walked out into the hallway and surveyed the noticeboard, alongside others. He hadn’t expected anything particularly exciting; those who’d been at the barracks a while had warned him that the jobs were basic. People who’d once managed hundreds in Ugandan factories and plantations were now themselves looking at jobs packing in factories. Others who had degrees in medicine or law were in the same position; their qualifications meant little in England. But there might at least be some jobs working in shops, anything to get away from the same four walls of the barracks, cooped up all day with little to do and no money of their own. There was only so much poker and snap any man could take.

  ‘These jobs are all local.’ Ramniklal came and stood next to Vijay. ‘And the problem is, if you get a job around here, you’ll be stuck around here.’

  Asha flicked a curl away from her eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we should find jobs closer to London?’

  Vijay looked at her. ‘Right now, I’d just be happy with any job, anywhere.’

  *

  One evening after dinner, Mrs Boswell asked everyone to remain seated at the tables in the mess hall. Vijay took a seat next to Jaya. Asha sat with Ramniklal and Hiraben.

  Mrs Boswell set up a cardboard box at the front and handed out pieces of paper with grids of random numbers on them. ‘Now, I thought this evening we could play bingo!’ she said, clapping her hands together. ‘Here’s some pens. But I’ll need them back, Mr Hutchinson will go spare if I don’t keep a hold of them.’

  As they sat and waited for the game to start, Jaya’s friend Madhuben, who’d been at the centre for over a month, told them about the letter she’d received from her brother. The British government used their lists of refugee names and locations to ensure post reached them. ‘They made it to Canada,’ she said, clutching the folded blue letter in her hand. ‘He said it’s freezing, snow everywhere, they can’t go outside for more than a few minutes even with coats on or thei
r hands and toes go numb. But he got out, they all did.’ She brought the letter to her chest. After a pause she turned to Jaya. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ll hear from your son soon too, Jayaben.’

  Jaya patted Madhuben’s hand and gave her a weary smile. Vijay took in the now familiar sight of his Ba blinking back tears.

  ‘It’s probably too early,’ said Vijay. It could take weeks for a letter to arrive from India. ‘And then there’s the post; there’s so much coming into England at this time of year. I’m sure a letter will be on its way soon.’ Right now, it was the only hope they could cling to.

  Jaya looked at him with gratitude, tugging at the neck of her cream cardigan as she listened to Madhuben going on about her family.

  Vijay looked over to the table of girls, all in their late teens and early twenties, chatting amongst themselves. He thought of his nights trying to meet girls in Kampala with John. He missed his friend, wondered if he was safe, hoped he was living in peace. It wasn’t the same here, of course, but he’d flirted with one or two of the girls when their parents weren’t looking and made friends with a group of rowdy boys who sat at a nearby table. Usually, he’d have joined them, but today something told him he should stay close to Jaya.

  Mrs Boswell explained that to win the game, you had to match the numbers as they were called out. She told them that many also had rhymes or nicknames linked to them. ‘So number 88 is two fat ladies,’ she said, looking around the room.

  ‘Two fat ladies doesn’t rhyme with 88,’ said a boy with a topknot wrapped in white cotton.

  ‘No, but it looks like, well, they look like ladies, you see.’ She swirled 88 onto the back of some paper and showed it to them all. The boy looked confused but the elder Sikh gentleman in the seat next to him gave a knowing smile; the feminine form obvious. ‘It’ll all make sense once we get on with it,’ said Mrs Boswell.

  ‘But not everyone speaks English, Mrs Boswell,’ said the boy with the topknot.

  ‘I thought that those that do could translate. How’s that sound?’

  ‘Translate the rhymes as well? That will take some time,’ called out someone at the back of the room.

  ‘Well, no, just the numbers if you want. Anyway, it’ll still be fun, you’ll see.’ She held her pink lipstick smile, though her voice tightened. ‘Let’s just get started, shall we?’

  She started to call out the numbers, but by the time they were translated into Gujarati, Hindi and Punjabi, depending on who was at each table, the point of the game – to find numbers as quickly as possible on your piece of paper – was lost.

  ‘There’ll be a winner soon, I’m sure of it,’ Mrs Boswell called out, as brightly as she could manage.

  Vijay watched his mother, her shoulders relaxed as she swiftly found the numbers. For once, she was enjoying herself, instead of worrying and fretting about everyone.

  After a few more numbers, a woman with her hair in a tight bun waddled shyly up to Mrs Boswell with her completed pages.

  ‘Bingo!’ Mrs Boswell called out on the woman’s behalf. ‘Well done, Mrs Patel. Oh, wait, you’ve gone onto your third page.’ Mrs Patel hadn’t realized that you were supposed to shout out ‘Bingo!’ when the page was complete; rather than fill out as many pages as possible.

  They carried on and played another two disjointed rounds before Ramniklal wrested control, persuading Mrs Boswell that it made more sense for him to call out the numbers in Gujarati and Hindi, as these were the languages spoken by the vast majority of people in the room. Soon he’d created his own names for the numbers instead: ‘22, two flamingos,’ he shouted out. ‘Number 3. Trun Jun’ – three people. Eventually the group spent more time coming up with the names than marking the papers. Mrs Boswell wandered off, presumably to make herself a strong cup of tea and have a smoke.

  *

  Vijay and Asha piled off the coach with others from the barracks and went into the jobcentre. There were rows of felt-covered boards with little handwritten cards pinned to them and, at the far end, a line of desks occupied by men in grey suits. A few people turned around to stare at the new arrivals. A whole coachload of Asians arriving at once wasn’t exactly easy to miss.

  ‘Right, have a look around at the boards, but you’re best off getting in the queue quickly, as it’ll be a while before you’re seen,’ said Mrs Troughton, one of the volunteers from the barracks.

  ‘I’ll get in the queue,’ said Vijay, smiling at Asha. ‘Why don’t you have a look around? Remember, boss of a record company for me, it’s that or nothing. Thanks.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course, sir,’ Asha said in a mocking tone.

  Vijay watched the two men at the front of the queue. At the desk, a younger man with blond hair was sitting talking to a middle-aged man with a bald head and thick-framed glasses, as if they were in some kind of competition to see who could look more bored.

  ‘Still waiting?’ Asha came and stood next to him. ‘Can’t trust you with anything.’

  ‘Found me a job that pays at least a million a year, I hope?’ said Vijay.

  ‘There was a job as a comedian but I don’t think you’re qualified,’ she said, raising a brow. ‘There’s a couple of things at a nearby factory, and a job at a solicitor’s firm. Some kind of clerk’s job you might like?’ Asha gave him the cards.

  ‘I’ll be sure to ask the friendly assistant.’ He looked back over at the adviser at the desk, who was now readjusting his zigzag tie while he waited for the next person in line to sit down. ‘What about you?’ Vijay said.

  Asha told him there were a couple of things she was interested in too, secretarial jobs similar to the work she’d done in Jinja before she’d got married. They compared roles but Vijay trailed off as he overheard two young men by the job boards, chatting and staring at some of the older Asian men nearby. Asha followed Vijay’s gaze.

  ‘They said, didn’t they, Rob, they’d be over here taking our jobs,’ laughed the first man, with a broad accent that Vijay didn’t recognize. His glasses flashed in the light.

  ‘And now here they are, literally taking our jobs from under our noses,’ said the second. He had a haze of thin fair hair.

  They laughed and shook their heads.

  Asha glared. ‘What’s the matter with these people?’ She started to head towards the two men.

  ‘Wait, Asha,’ said Vijay.

  Her voice hardened in anger. ‘Who do they think they are? We were part of their Great Britain until a few years ago. It’s not our fault we’ve lost everything.’

  What was the point in confronting them? He remembered December’s words about people with little hope. It wasn’t so different now, people would look for others to blame when they felt that choices were taken from them. ‘Forget them, we need to make a good impression here,’ said Vijay gently. ‘Anyway, I think there’s some jobs going at the boxing gym. The sign said they needed punchbags. Those two would be perfect.’

  Asha’s lips curled into a smile.

  After a few more minutes’ waiting, Vijay sat down at the desk with the middle-aged man.

  ‘So, have you reviewed the positions on offer?’ The man at the desk was too busy lighting a Camel cigarette to look up.

  ‘There’s a clerk’s job.’

  The adviser sucked on the cigarette and peered at him, eyes landing on Vijay’s left arm. ‘A clerk?’

  Vijay handed over the card.

  ‘You really think you’d be suitable?’ The man blinked heavily, as though he was trying to catch flies between his lashes.

  ‘Well, I’ve got my O levels and I dealt with customers back in Uganda.’

  ‘Yes, but what about that?’ The man frowned, staring at his arm.

  Vijay wouldn’t rise to the bait. ‘What, this?’

  ‘Look, Mr—’

  ‘Vijay. You can call me Vijay.’

  ‘Look Veejay, I’m not sure what things were like in Africa but there’s enough demand for jobs as it is.’

  ‘I’m willing to work. I’ll do whatever
it takes.’ Vijay’s voice was firm.

  The man stubbed his cigarette out in a red ashtray. ‘I’m not sure we have any job that would be suitable.’

  ‘I helped run the family business back in Uganda.’

  ‘Well, families have to look after their own, don’t they?’

  Vijay stared at him, anger coursing through him now. He just wanted a chance, couldn’t the man see that?

  The man started rummaging around in his desk for something. ‘There might be some monetary assistance available, but you’ve not been in the country long, so . . . Here’s some literature, have a look through that. You’re staying at the barracks, aren’t you? They’ll also be able to advise on welfare benefits for people like you. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ The adviser was already looking past Vijay to the next person in line.

  Vijay got up and waited for Asha.

  ‘How did it go?’ Vijay asked as she walked over to him clutching a wad of papers.

  ‘Not bad.’ She showed him an application form. ‘How about you?’

  Vijay looked at her, unsure how to answer.

  ‘What about the clerk’s job?’ she said.

  ‘He said it wasn’t suitable for me,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Why not?’ Asha frowned. ‘What’s the—’ She stopped, looking over at the man then back at Vijay, eyes travelling down to his left arm.

  ‘Shall we get back on the coach?’ he said. No point standing around in a place he wasn’t wanted.

  ‘Oh, Vijay. I’m sorry. There’ll be other jobs,’ she sighed, glaring at the man. ‘Don’t listen to idiots like him.’

  ‘Let’s just get out of here.’ Vijay hurried past the walls of jobs and out into the cold air.

  22

  Jaya

  Jaya looked down at the blue airmail letter. On the front, English words she couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter, she recognized the lines and curls of the writing. Looking across to the row of stamps in the corner, tiny illustrated people waving the Indian flag, she put on her reading glasses and walked across the dormitory.