I was making 250 Hong Kong dollars per month at my second job at the Banque Nationale de Paris in Hong Kong in 1967. Apart from the two French expatriate staff at the Tsim Sha Tsui branch, I was the only local staff speaking French, a great advantage for me. Not only that I could take good care of French tourists visiting the bank but also I was able to assist some of the Bank’s customers who were doing business with French Nationals.
My salary was decent, I had little expense as I was staying free at my brother-in-law’s large apartment. I dined with the family every evening, and many weekends I joined them for dim sum or barbeque outings in the New Territories, never having to spend a cent.
Despite known as a concrete jungle, Hong Kong has many open spaces for hiking and barbecueing
But then I was not exactly the luckiest person on earth, though I should have been, because my brother-in-law place was not the same as home. Not that I was meanly treated, on the contrary my brother-in-law and sister loved me a lot. I remember one night we went walking in the busy streets of Mongkok. The streets were lively and brightly lit with dazzling neon lights, the hawkers occupied a lot of the pavements and streets, excitedly selling their goods to a huge crowd of people. My brother-in-law bought me a pair of leather gloves from one vendor, an interesting novelty for me, having no reason to wear one before. The gloves did keep my hands warm during the cold winter days. One of many treats from them.
Street hawkers were common everywhere in Hong Kong 1960s, vibrant and entertaining
My brother-in-law’s home was very traditional, no going out, no late night, no frequenting bad company. So after dinner we all watched the long running TV soap opera “Enjoy yourself tonight” and then ready for bed. My eldest nephew was a couple of months older than me and it was a bit weird for an older person to call a younger person “uncle”. We shared a room, he played the guitar and we chatted often and got along very well. He had a girl friend who was not “approved” by the father and he had to clandestinely meet her in the weekend. During week days he could only talk to her on the phone, often for hours when most of us were gone to sleep.
Then there was the eldest niece, four or five years my junior, a queer type of a person who one way or another considered my staying with the family as a sort of parasite. The rest of the five kids were just wonderful, each had his/her own character and we had great fun together.
Dinner was prepared by a maid, we called “Amah”. Amahs were popular in Hong Kong and South East Asia in the 1960s and prior. They were domestic servants who looked after children and did household work. They had long braided hair and always wore uniform throughout their life, white shirts and black pants. They lived in-house, likely to serve one master their whole life, and became almost part of the family. There are great stories about “Amahs” and their main characteristic was that they were “loyal and devoted” servant who had taken a vow of celibacy. One story goes that one dedicated amah jumped into the sea to follow the boy under her charge who had accidentally felt overboard.
Amahs in typical black and white clothes and long braided hair.
Our amah’s cooking was not the best, at least to me as I was accustomed to more Indian/African taste, hot and spicy. I remember the worst dish was the daily broth which Hong Kong people invariably had every dinner. It was usually chicken or pork broth with vegetables or peas. For some reason the peas seemed never washed before cooking and I could see small white plump worms floating in my bowl. Quite disgusting but the shy person I was, I could never complain nor reject the broth lest I looked ungrateful. With much effort I always finished the broth. Then I sensed the eldest niece was always watching me and I did feel quite uncomfortable and miserable. Often I had hoped that the sister who was to come with me to Hong Kong was there to help me through this difficult period. She was upfront and assertive, and would not hesitate to say what I could not say. I learned first hand that it was better and happier to live in one’s humble abode than someone else castle.
My host sister always, with good intention, ensured that I had breakfast before I went to work. The Amah always cooked for me a bowl of plain noodles, a favourite breakfast in Hong Kong, which most of the time was left too long in the cold winter morning that it turned into an unsavoury lump of flour.
Weekend was the best of time. I worked half day Saturdays. So I spent most Saturday afternoons and Sundays with my girl friend as well as other Mauritian friends.
Then one day I did not feel too well, had regular coughing. I was diagnosed with tuberculosis. I believe that I caught the sickness partly due to my low immune system caused by not having an enjoyable diet and by my bottling up all my emotions. Hong Kong people were then not as healthy as they are today, there were a lot of people with tuberculosis and it was not difficult to be infected by TB carriers. Active TB is contagious and I had to be careful when in the company of people.
Ruttonjee Sanatorium for TB treatment founded by a Parsee Merchant in Hong Kong 1949
My brother-in-law arranged for a Specialist to take up my case. A nurse came home regularly to administer injections and I had monthly check up and X Ray at the doctor’s office. Six months later I was cured but the X-ray film continued to show a scar in my lung. Super that he was, my brother-in-law paid for all the expenses. I was grateful.