Oct 17th: Conversation with Jhaveris

The first time I heard of Jhaveris was on a yahoo newsgroup for East African Asians in the diaspora, of which I am a subscriber and member.

Mama Jhaveri had responded to a posting on the newsgroup in which she self-effacingly referred to her husband as the author of a recently published book, “Marching with Nyerere: The Africanization of Asians.” The book, she said, was presented to Mama Maria, Mwalimu’s widow, at the ceremony held at the widow’s residence in Msasani.

I knew then I had to meet the couple during my visit to Dar.

Mama Jhaveri promptly and graciously replied to a request for a meeting. Telephone numbers were exchanged, and upon my arrival, I rang to arrange a meeting.

A fragile old woman, wearing a blue sari, her silver hair combed back and tied in a tight bun, welcomed me at their Sea View flat, a house where encounters and meetings shaped the future of the country—and fostered their close relationship with Mwalimu and early founders of Tanganyika African National Union (TANU).

“Karibu Jules, Karibu nyumbani,” she welcomes me effusively, smiling, showing her small gap between her front teeth.

She leads me to a sparsely decorated and furnished living room, where her husband Mzee Kantilal L. Jhaveri is seated in a sofa. He is wearing a long Indian tunic and matching pants. His face is gaunt and a dark skin patch shows below his silver glasses. He has sight problems in his right eye, ravages of time on human body.

He gestures me to sit down on the long sofa and Mama Jhaveri takes her position next to me. She says, smiling, “I can’t hear very well, so I have to sit close to you.”

In stuttered but measured sentences, his frailty from old age showing in the effort to speak, he says, “Where you are sitting, that sofa is where I first met Mwalimu. He was introduced to me by the late M. N. Rattansy, whom I worked with as a lawyer. We defended Mwalimu for a liable case. The rest is history. It is all in the book,” he gives his hearty laugh, and gingerly gets up, walking across the floor to retrieve the book from the shelf.

Mama Jhaveris also smiles, acknowledging and nodding, which she continues through out our meeting, always showing her support, adding her anecdotes to augment her husband’s narrative details.

The set of pictures—handsome and distinguished Jhaveris flanked by Mwalimu at the state banquet; Jhaveris delivering speech with Mwalimu seated beside him; Jhaveri addressing the East African Lawyer’s Association; Jhaveri with then President of Uganda Milton Obote; Jhaveri addressing the Parliament while serving as MP; Jhaveri receiving an award from Mwalimu—in the book portrays a close friendship over the years.

I probe further and Mzee Jhaveri recalls, even at his tender age of 87, vivid details and anecdotes of his early involvement. The unsung hero of the early days explains. Much of what emerged was also chronicled in The Daily News by the staff writer Boniface Byarugba in a profile on July 14^th 2007.

How did you end up in Dar?

He beams and Mama Jhaveri chuckles, as if the answer to the question has been repeated many times—and each time it amuses them.

In late 1945 he had met an old friend and his wife. The couple had just returned to India on a dhow from Dar. At the port, he says, he serendipitously met the couple as he had gone to receive his sister-in-law who had traveled from Mombassa. The couple had told him of Dar, the people, and the promise.

Then he had finished reading law in Bombay and was urged to study further. Upon advice he had sailed to London to purse studies at the London School of Economics.

He recalls with a deriding smile what one interviewer at the panel asked him whether he would return to “British India” after completing his studies. He told them he would return to an independent India not British India.

He pauses and then says, “They were stunned. I never got the admission, and I sailed to Dar. I have not forgotten that day. It was a turning point in my life.”

As old as he is he still recalls his early years for Tanzania’s independence struggle and his close friendship with the father of the nation in vivid details, sometimes even with nostalgia.

“He was a man and leader of rare qualities. You see Mwalimu was very much interested in the Asian constituency to be part of the TANU. He wanted to have strong links with the Asian Association. Then it was led by Dr. Malik. And both Rattansy and I worked for an advocate Vellani. You see back then, you could not practice legally until you chambered, so I was chambering with Vellani.

“Overtime my political interests and those of Rattansy and Dr Malik and Mwalimu were similar. We wanted an independent Tanganyika. And Mwalimu wanted every Tanganyikan as much part of the founding country.”

What about your ethnicity? Was that an issue? The response he gives me, I later discover, is no different than one accounted by Boniface Byarugba of Daily News.

“No,” he retorts, “never an issue. I will tell you.”

TANU appointed Jhaveri as a candidate for Dar es Salaam parliamentary seat, and he was ardently supported by Joseph Nyerere, who was his campaign manager. At rally, Jhaveri recalls, “At the rally in Buruguni people were shouting at me, heckling. They were asking me about my religion.”

Mzee Jhaveri takes a deep breath, and says, “Nyerere intervened and silenced the crowd. He told them ‘his path is the path of Mahatma Gandhi.’

The crowd, he recalls, became quiet and somber.

Then he ceases to speak and sighs; Mama Jhaveri intervenes and says, “Have some food, I cooked some muhogo. We break for lunch and quench our thirst with freshly squeezed orange juice.

The room is cooled by the fast ceiling fan. Power shortages, sometimes during the day and nighttime, are common in Dar. Often during hot days, when people overwhelm the grid with usage of their air conditions, it often triggers a shortage. That day we were lucky. Outside the heat of the morning and humidity is peaking at mid day.

Mama Jhaveri cares for her husband of many years; their relationship in their golden years is endearing. What role did this gentle silent heroine played in the movement I wonder as I see her attend her beloved companion?

She tells me he gets tired easily, has to rest during the day because of the heat, and has sight problems. It is quite apparent in his drawn face, thinning white hair, skin discoloration on both cheeks and his frail walk, his back slightly arched forward.

Yet old age does not deter him from being active. He boasts that he reads 10 newspapers online everyday, and is presently researching a book on Globalization and Africa. His mind is sill sharp, and likes to argue, just as he did in his early days as a defense lawyer for Mwalimu. His knowledge of the present world astounds me as he queries about the election campaign in the United States, about the U.S involvement in Iraq, about the deteriorating and hubristic leadership of the present U.S Administration.

I listen—and cringe.

We resume after the lunch respite. I turn to Mama Jhaveri who had remained very quite during the discourse, only occasionally nodding in affirmation to her husband’s account of anecdotes.

Her modesty, perhaps because of age or a cultural attribute belies her profound contributions for women’s issues in the country’s early years. She was born in Pemba, but grew up in Bagamoyo and later in Dar es Salaam.

While Mzee Kantilal was part of the TANU what did you do?

“From early on I was interested in women’s social issues, so it came very naturally to me to be part of a movement echoing and addressing issues related to women of all races. Women are same everywhere. They have the same problems, regardless of their color. Yes, “she says softly, nodding her silver-haired head.

“A visiting British Labor party member noted that TANU did not have a women’s wing or an organization. He suggested that one be formulated.”

Then, she explains, Bibi Titi Mohammed was quite courageous and outspoken, and it was natural that she head that part of the movement. So a movement called Umoja wa Wanawake wa Tanganyika (UWT) for formed, headed by Bibi Titi, and Mama Jhaveri was a prominent member of it.

She says, it has been the most fulfilling moment of her life, to be part of the women’s movement from those early days, where women were hardly representative in politics. She grew inside, she reveals to me.

Mama Jhaveri has the grace of a coastal Swahili woman, her mannerism and warmth and hospitality and charm melts you. Yet, when crossed, she has no qualms about expressing her displeasure.

“We would go on field trips to villages in the interior to listen to women and report back the issues to TANU. Sometimes it does get contentious and we have to stand for it. But Mwalimu was very keen on these reports.”

Are you still active?

“No. our time is over, “she laughs. “I am old now. Times have changed.”

Mzee Jhaveri interrupts and says, “We travel now. Visit our grand children in England and India. But this is our home. We have had this house for five decades and it has so much history.”

Indeed history it has, I acknowledge, and it speaks for itself. Part of that history is chronicled in his book, “Marching with Nyerere: Africanization of Asians.”

To be with the Jhaveris for two hours is an illumination; even at their age, their active mind is an inexhaustible reservoir of knowledge and wisdom. Out there, in Africa, there are many Jhaveris. As writers it behooves that we seek them—and write about them.

References:

Daily News, July 21^st 2007

Personal interview notes.