Children of the Revolution, 1961–67

BY 1960, UGANDAN ASIANS had turned Kampala into a conspicuous statement of our presence, a street theatre parading wealth and vanity, religious spectacles too with jousting deities and conflicting band wajas, any excuse to show off and compete. Cradle-to-grave capitalists, East African Asians do both consummately, on this earth and in preparation for the next. Diwali brought out the drummers and soulful accordion players accompanying young Hindu women – lit up by sequinned saris and sparkling chandelier earrings – who danced in lines and circles beating bells and sticks, creatures of wispy light to enrapture and confuse. The virgin sirens knew how they tortured unmarried men (and married ones too, I suspect) bursting with unreleased sexual longings. At midnight the town blazed with fireworks, and any surreptitious stroking of female hair and flesh would suddenly be exposed by a mighty flash, an instant photograph of sin.