Monthly Archives: August 2015

I was 20 years old and it was the first time I met this sister of mine from Hong Kong. She is the eldest of the family of 13 from one mother and one father. Friends and relatives liked to poke fun at us saying that our family had its own football team with two spare players. When we talk about football in Mauritius we mean soccer.

This sister was born in Mauritius, I do not know the exact year but I calculated that it must be around 1928. When she was a baby my mother took her and a second younger baby sister to China and they were left there with Grandma. Why my mother did not bring them back with her to Mauritius I don’t know the answer and I had never enquired about the reason. I could only deduce that my parents were too poor and too busy making a living in their new country that it was difficult to raise two small babies. I am sure it was extremely hard and heart breaking for mom and dad to be separated with my two baby sisters. I later learned that the second sister was given away to another family. Again I did not know why and I never asked of my parents. Giving children away was a common practice in China in that era, usually necessitated for one of two reasons, either the parents were too poor to bring them up or the children were constantly sick and the local soothsayer would recommend that the child be given away to a new family. This should stop the sickness. When we were growing up and our mother told us about the second sister we felt quite sad and sorry that it had to be this way.

This is a typical Hakka Community House where hundred of families reside. My sisters probably lived in one of these units in the 1930s

Somehow life went on. My mom gave birth to many more babies in Mauritius and we all never saw our two eldest sisters for many years to come. They grew up with Grandma, went to school and did whatever children would do in China. They seemed to have done well because both went to school and are literate unlike many other kids in China who did not have the chance to an education. Though my second sister was given away, I believe she lived not too far from the first sister in a Hakka village in Meixian County, North East of Guangdong Province, where many of the villagers, including my parents, had some time ago decided to cross the Five Oceans to look for a better place for them and the children. This reminded me of the Japanese whom I met on board the M V “Ruys” during my voyage to Hong Kong when they were returning home from Brazil to visit their parents and acquaintances. It was a relief to me to learn that the two sisters kept in touch with each other while growing up. One of the hardest things in life, I believe, is to have to leave one’s place of birth and the loved ones for a new country where the language, the food, the weather and the customs are very foreign. Hakka people originally from Northern China had been on the move for many centuries, migrating to the South due to social unrest, upheavals and invasions, and eventually from there across the seas to all corners of the globe.

Contemporary immigrants to a new country have a less hard time as they or at least their children are likely to speak the language of the new country, they would have done some research of what to expect and prepare for it. With modern telecommunication systems they technically are in touch with the loved ones they have left behind and the probability is high that they would be able to save enough money in a few years to travel back to their old country to renew acquaintance with their friends and other members of their family. Immigrants like my father and mother had a much harder life, they left their country with only a dim hope that luck would be on their side to allow them to one day return or visit their place of birth.

My parents might have travelled in a similar ship when they immigrated from China to Mauritius in 1920s

When I left Mauritius for Hong Kong in 1966 I had to travel by sea, air was out of the question, far beyond my means and the voyage took 15 days. I can do it today in 10 hours. Telephoning my parents long distance was too much of a luxury and was only used in case of extreme emergency. I remember that I wrote to my parents regularly when I just landed in Hong Kong, I had the choice of sending my letters by Air Mail or Sea Mail. For many the savings in postage between air and sea was something quite worth considering. I don’t recall having telephone my parents even once because though there was a house phone at my sister’s residence, my parents had no phone at home. They would have to ask a favour from some residences that had a phone and then there were not many in the neighbourhood where they lived.

I remember that the only one time my family contacted someone on the phone was when I was around 8 or 9 years old. I used to spend my summer vacation at my aunt’s shop at Deep River, a small village in the district of Flacq some 40 kilometres from Port Louis. Deep River was a Sugar Estate owned by a prominent family of French descent. My parents had gone to the nearby Boulangerie (Bakery) to ask to use their phone. They had called the Deep River’s Estate office, a five minutes walk to my aunt’s place. Some one had run to my aunt to announce that there was a phone call for her from my parents from Port Louis. My aunt, my cousin and myself walked as fast as we could to the Estate Office to answer the call. That was the way communication was in the 1960’s in Mauritius. Hong Kong then was far ahead with almost every household or group of households having a telephone unit.

This is a rotary telephone unit popular in the 1960s. All now replaced by digital phones.

By the time I set foot on Hong Kong for the first time the sun had just set but the city was very alive and bright with blinding neon light. A large number of people were still roaming the streets as if night was not in their vocabulary. The tall buildings, the busy traffic, the crowd, the neon lights, the noise, the strange language, the vibrancy were mesmerizing.

At the same time a strange feeling ran down my spine, I was a little apprehensive of this place which from now on was going to be my world. Hong Kong was sophisticated, a huge city of some three millions people, unlike the quiet serene village-feel City of Port Louis. What lied ahead was a big unknown and scary. For the first time I was on my own and I missed the comfort and security which were always there for me when I was growing up and living at home with my parents. Now I alone would have to make all the decisions that needed to be made day in day out.

It is mind blogging to see these neon signs hanging above the streets of Hong Kong

Chinese Medicine Shops were very popular in the 1960’s. Here the Chinese herbalist is picking and weighting different kinds of herbs, ready to be wrapped in paper. The potion will be boiled in water for an hour or so, then consumed by the patient. The taste is bitter.

We headed home in a comfortable and new car which my brother-in-law was driving. I remember we drove along a stretch of Nathan Road which was the longest straightest and busiest road on the Kowloon peninsula. On both sides of the road lined large buildings stuck tightly together shoulder to shoulder some over 20 storey high. The ground floors were mainly commercial, retail shops, restaurants, department stores, doctor’s office and they were all very brightly lit. The upper floors were mostly residential but there were commercial towers nestled within the residential buildings. Between the rows of buildings neon signs of all shape size and colour were hanging prominently extended from the façade of the buildings out into the street. Each neon sign was trying to outdo the other to gain the attention of the crowd below. I noticed a double deck bus in its bright red color speeding precariously from the opposite direction, its roof seemed to almost ram some of the hanging neon signs. These neon signs were fascinating, never seen so many so dense, so colourful and so bright. Till today Hong Kong has never lost its pre-eminence as the “Neon Sign” Capital of the World, beating easily Tokyo and Shanghai,

As the car turned right into Waterloo Road the picture changed drastically into a quiet but still brightly lit non commercial area. This road was six-lane wide, a major thoroughfare in Kowloon and was named to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 when British Allied Forces defeated Napoleon Bonaparte. Waterloo rang a special bell and had a special significance to me because France following its defeat at Waterloo had to cede the Island of Mauritius to England. This change of administration made Mauritius a unique destination where French and English cultures flourished side by side to this day and significantly reshaped the lives of its residents.

I remember noticing as we drove on Waterloo Road a large structure, The Truth Lutheran Church on my right sitting on a small promontory pleasantly landscaped. To my left was also a huge building which my brother-in-law told me was the Kwong Wah Hospital. Both structures are still here today.

Truth Lutheran Church on Waterloo Road as it was, and still is, 50 years ago.

The Kwong Wah Hospital founded in 1911 is now a 1,100 beds hospital providing a full range of medical services

My brother-in-law’s apartment was just a little ahead at 71 Waterloo Road which would be my home for the next four years. We had to drive around the block to look for a parking spot on the street as the building housing his apartment did not have its own parking, just like all of the buildings in the neighbourhood.

We took the elevator to the apartment situated on the 9th floor and when the maid opened the door, I saw my sister and her six children standing obediently along the hallway waiting silently and curiously to meet this far away uncle for the first time.

My brother-in-law’s apartment is overshadowed by this new Tabernacle. 50 years ago the apartment was overlooking the original tabernacle

We were standing on deck all this time to watch the activities that were unfolding while the ship was entering port and preparing to drop anchor. It was a busy port congested with cargo ships and other service vessels trying eagerly to get their job done. It was noisy not just because people were shouting orders as part of their job requirement but also because boats were constantly blowing their horns as they zigzagged impatiently amidst the flotilla of vessels. While our ship was maneuvering into position to drop anchor, we could see a large number of boats big and small waiting in line around our ship like the racing dogs in Macau ready to pounce as the gate opened.

Time is money and this statement was and is still particularly true within the Hong Kong context. Barely had the anchor reached bottom that the waiting vessels were quickly accosting the sides of our ship. The port people, the immigration people and a host of other servicing people were fast ready to climb the gangway to get on board. The ship crew was no less inferior in any respect as they busily put into motion their routine to unload the cargo. No time was lost, no time was wasted, that was the way Hong Kong people run their lives then and now.

The weather was cool as it was winter in Hong Kong and I could feel a little chill. My island Mauritius being situated in the southern hemisphere had the opposite weather, we were in full summer. We waited quite a while before we were allowed to make any move, just wondering if the port officials were busy working first on First Class Passengers.

I went down to my cabin to wait for my brother-in-law whom my father had written earlier with details of my voyage. Soon we received the green light to disembark and the small corridor leading to our cabin started to get crowded and noisy as everybody rushed to get off the ship. Unlike with modern day cruising as we know it, every passenger in our class had to take care of his or her own luggage and belonging. So there was a lot of pushing and shouting as “coolies” came on board to help passengers with their luggage. Coolies, a term originated from India, were very common in Hong Kong and other South Asian Countries then. They were unskilled labourers hired to carry heavy loads, their only helping tools were their muscles and a bamboo pole dangled over their shoulder with the loads tied with ropes hanging at both ends.

Coolies are unskilled labourers hired to carry heavy loads. Very popular in Hong Kong and other South East Asian Countries in the 60’s

Then I recognized my brother-in-law from earlier photo as he wiggled his way through the corridor. I never met him before, this was the first time. I shouted in Chinese “Brother-in-law” and not by his first name as Chinese etiquette required and still requires that we address our “elders” by title rather than by name. If we had multiple uncles, we would call them “First Uncle”, “Second Uncle” and so on. My brother-in-law with a broad smile on his face called me back by my Chinese name “Chin Woon” but added “Kiu” at the end. “Kiu” means uncle on the mother side. My nephews and nieces would call me “Ah Kiu” or “Uncle” as I am a brother of their mother. By custom my brother-in-law could have simply called me by my Chinese name “Chin Woon” but he chose to call me “Chin Woon Kiu”. This is a very common Chinese way of address when there is a lot of affection, warmth and respect between the two parties. I smiled back. If we had met today we would have given each other a long hug but back then it would be very un-Chinese, a double-hand shake was the correct etiquette.

My brother-in-law then promptly instructed two coolies he had brought along to carry my belongings, among which I remember clearly was a large tin container one foot by one foot and a foot and a half in height. I never ever saw one again. When I was growing up in my parents’ small corner shop we would buy crackers wholesale secured in this large tin container and sell them retail, one cracker at a time, to the consumer. My tin container was filled earlier before I left home at the insistence of my mother not with crackers but our world renowned Mauritius fine sugar as a visiting gift.

We quickly passed immigration and my passport was stamped, reading as follows:
Arrived by M.V. “RUYS”, The Director of Immigration permits the holder to enter Hong Kong dated Feb 9, 1966.

The Director of Immigration permitted me to land in Hong Kong on Feb 9, 1966

We made our descent by way of a long gangway running along side the ship down to a floating deck from where we hopped into a small “sampan” hired by my brother-in-law for our exclusive use. The water was choppy and the gangway swayed slightly with the rhythm of the waves. Walking down the gangway was quite scary and unfit for the faint of heart. As the sampan steered toward shore I turned around to look with a bit of melancholy at the towering giant that had brought me here from across the Indian Ocean and The South China Sea. I did not know that I was looking at the M V “Ruys” for the last time.

The Kowloon Peninsula looking across from the main island of Hong Kong. In between is the Hong Kong Victoria Harbour. This picture is Now and the tall buildings shooting into the sky were not there then.