Monthly Archives: February 2017

My father was born in 1900 in China, Meixian, of Hakka ancestry, thus he was raised when the last Empress Dowager Cixi was still ruling China. I do not know much about his early life but I guess that he was doing not so bad if he had been able to receive a good education. What prompted him and my mother to leave China to immigrate to Mauritius was probably, like any parent in the world, to provide a better future for their children.

Meixian is located in Meizhou, North East of Guangdong Province

China in the first half of the twentieth century was not a good place to live, much less to raise a family. It was a chaotic and lawless era, warlords fighting warlords, the Communists fighting the Nationalists and Japan interfering in China. So those who could leave immigrated overseas. Why chose Mauritius! This is a good question. My father had an elder brother who was already in Mauritius, he in turn would have known somebody there before him. The first Chinese settlers, mainly Cantonese speaking, arrived in Mauritius circa 1780, from Canton Province but gradually overtaken by Hakka immigrants from Meixian.

I believe my parents took a boat from Hong Kong, because my father told us an anecdote about Hong Kong. When he was there in a restaurant the waitress sat on his lap and fed him peanuts as part of the establishment’s service, a very bold concept to the traditional Chinese culture. This was how advanced and liberal Hong Kong was.

My father’s first job in Mauritius was teaching at the Chinese Middle School (Sin-Hwa) which was established in 1912, a pro-Communist school at Dr. Joseph Riviere Street. A second Chinese middle school (Chung-Hwa) was later established in 1941 by the Kuomintang, a pro-Nationalist school at Remy Ollier Street. The Communist and The Kuomintang were arch enemies in China, their conflict sometimes spilled at the two schools, particularly during their respective National Day, October 1st and October 10th.

Mao Zedong the Leader of the Communist Party in China

Chiang Kai-Shek Leader of the Kuomingtang Party, arch enemy of the Communists.

The entrance to the Chinese Middle School (Sin-Hwa), still stands intact as it was at least since 1950s

I do not know the year my parents moved to Mauritius but they must be a young couple then because all the children were born in Mauritius. When I started to remember thing, around age six or seven, my father was no longer a teacher. I do not know the reason why he quitted the School. He must have been unhappy with the school politics as he opened his own Chinese school for a brief period near Saint Croix. Afterward he worked as manager of a Chinese business club on Desforges Street near Dr. Joseph Riviere Street. He lived at the Club rather than at our boutique at Aleppo Street. My brothers, my sisters and I visited our father often. We had a few friends there. We also visited our eldest sister’s place just round the block.

Desforges Street 1950s where the Chinese Club was located, not too far from the Town Hall

My recollection of the Club was that my father was pretty busy attending to the demand of club members, and I remember he was allowed to run a side business selling soft drink, beer and snacks to Club members. I sometimes assisted in serving the members. My father loved “Ceylon” tea with condensed milk, and he always made some for us. Indians were famous for their special brew Ceylon tea and occasionally we went to their tea shops to enjoy their tea and delicious pastries.

The tea stall that I knew in 1950s Mauritius will look like this tea stall in India

My father was easy going, rarely screamed at us, much less caned us, a normal form of punishment to most kids then. The only time my father hit me and my brother was when we accidentally shot a self made bamboo arrow at a grown up. Then it was a mild whack on the hand with a ruler, more for show and symbolic than to really inflict pain on us. He rarely complained, got angry or showed displeasure but he was disciplined and well organized and cared for us. When we kids misbehaved or not listening, he knocked our head with his knuckles, a common and traditional Chinese show of authority, that was the extent of his disciplinary action. My best recollection of him was when he held my hand and walked me to my first day at school, and while waiting for the gate to open he bought me a treat from an old Indian lady. I always remember and cherish that moment.

My father had a deep appreciation of Indian culture, so he particularly liked to watch Indian movies at “Rex” and “Luna Park” cinemas. Very often he brought me along and I also fell for Indian movies which centred on good guys fighting bad guys and good Gods fighting evil Gods, dramatized by lively music and songs.

A renovated “Rex” cinema on Desforges Street, Port Louis, where my father and I watched many Indian movies.

One day my father collapsed at the Club probably due to hard work and inadequate diet. My second eldest brother, by miracle, happened to pass by the Club, found our father on the floor and quickly seek help. In a way he saved our father. My father went through surgery and was hospitalized at Moka Hospital for several months. We were grateful to our brother-in-law who arranged for everything, and every Sunday he drove us in his Austin to spend time with our dad. I loved Moka for its serenity, fresh air, open space and the colourful flamboyant trees.

Moka in the 1970s unchanged from 1950s, serene, refreshing, colourful.

My late brother-in-law posing by his Austin or Morris. He drove us a lot in this car. I think it was me and my niece on the balcony.

After recovery my father quitted his job at the Club and returned to live with us at the boutique. Although I was small, I felt quite happy that we were now together as a family. We did not need or rather we could not afford an extra hand at the boutique, so my father took up a job with a prominent Chinese firm, Lai Fat Fur & Company. My father was one of several people looking after Mr. Lai’s warehouse on Jummah Mosque Street. His work was demanding and when he came home he was so exhausted that he often fell asleep on the bed. Watching him, I felt a pinch of sadness in my heart and I would quietly remove his shoes so that he could nap more comfortably.

Most Sunday morning we did some house cleaning, the most important task was to eliminate the bed bugs that lived in the cracks of the wooden planks of our beds. The bed bugs lived exclusively on human blood and every night they came out to bite us. When I caught and squashed them a pool of my own blood splashed on my finger. My father would stand each plank straight up and bang one end on the stone floor several times until the bugs fell off from their hideouts, the bugs knew they were in trouble and stampeded in all directions. The kids’ jobs were to trample on them with our fingers or feet. In the afternoon the whole family would walk to our uncle’s place at Champs de Mars, he had a big home with a large backyard with vines of green grapes. Including the family of a second visiting uncle, we were talking of ten adults and twenty kids. These were great quality time we spent with our parents, uncles and cousins.

My daughter and grand-daughter today would have a fit just looking at the bed bugs. We lived with them.

My father, apart from being well educated, was also talented in playing musical instruments. One day he bought a Chinese guitar “Yueqin” and a Chinese Bamboo flute “Dizi”, and taught us how to play. At age seven or eight, I was able to play both instruments.

The Chinese guitar “Yueqin” my father taught us to play.

The Chinese bamboo flute my father taught us to play.

My father was a kind person, had no enemy and treated everybody with respect. One day one of my brother-in-laws, troubled by the politics at his workplace, asked my father’s advice and guidance. He replied: “Don’t worry, Heaven will take care of the bad guys.” My father was well known in Mauritius as a respected Chinese teacher, and as was common, every time an adult met a young Chinese boy or girl, they would ask: “What is the name of your father”. When I told them my father’s name, their face beamed with a smile and replied: “Your father was my Chinese teacher”, this was enough to pump joy and pride into my heart.

In the 60’s most offices in Hong Kong worked half day on Saturday, and on this day I could not wait to hop on a bus to “The Star Ferry” to cross the harbour to Central district on Hong Kong island to meet with my girlfriend. The only way to cross the harbour then was by ferry or hire a sampan if the ferry service was closed for the day. Then we did not have the “Cross Harbour Tunnel” and the wide network of underground Mass Transit System. The ten minutes ferry ride was really pleasant, cheap, fast and efficient. This ferry still runs today and has become famous as one of the best ferry ride in the world, a great way to watch the spectacular coastlines of Hong Kong and Kowloon.

The Star Ferry crossing from Kowloon to Hong Kong.
A scene from the 1960s “The World of Suzie Wong”

Sampans were an important means of transport between the many islands of Hong Kong

My girl friend and I then took bus No. 5 to her home in Causeway Bay, passing through Wan Chai which became famous from the 1960 movie “The World of Suzie Wong”.

William Holden crossing a street in Wan Chai, from the 1960s movie “The World of Suzie Wong”

The bus ride was about half an hour, longer if there were traffic jam caused by the large number of people wanting to get to Happy Valley Race Course. Hong Kong people were avid gamblers. If they were not gambling at the race course, illegal gambling dens or Macau casino, you would find them at the mahjong table. The buses were old and non air-conditioned, mostly single deck. We needed to sit by the window for the breeze if we did not want to suffocate. The glass window panes slide forward to close and backward to open, often they were stuck and became non functional. We were not always lucky to get a seat in which case it was all standing and holding tight to the hand belt hanging from above our head. The smell of sweat of the persons around us were unbearable just as ours would be to them

A single deck bus in 1960s Hong Kong.

1960s Double deck buses in Hong Kong

The bus stopped at every designated stop for the route, and at each stop there were more people wanting to get on. Passengers entered the bus from the back and alighted from the front. It demanded special skill and know-how to get on a bus as there was no queue system, everybody just had to outwit the other passengers and elbow their way into the already sardine packed bus. Very often the door would not close as people were clinging around the doorway, then came a barrage of swearing words from the driver, shouting to the last batch of passengers either to get off or push their way in.

A bus conductor trying hard to control a crowd boarding the bus in 1960s

Just as it was hard to get in the bus, to alight was not easy either. Passengers needed to get to the front to alight and the passageway was so crowded that they had to push really hard to get through, more often than not triggering scream and swearing from the standing passengers. Some passengers carried large bags and parcels, a cheap way for movement of goods, and this added to the difficulties. Imagine the scenario when it rained, with the many wet and dripping umbrellas mingling inside the bus. Who dared to complain, we were already lucky and content if we were spared a poke in the eye. Bus drivers were always in a rush to move on and were indifferent to the passengers’ failure to get off and to their subsequent complaint and swearing. Alighting passengers just had to try their luck at the next stop.

Every bus had a conductor on board to collect the fare and issue a ticket. He carried a bag around his waist with several pockets to hold different money denominations to facilitate easy dispensing of change. It was hard for him to reach all the passengers but who cared if some had a free ride. From time to time inspectors came on board to check the passengers and issue fine to those without a ticket. In such case there would be a great commotion, argument, shouting, swearing, pleading and threat.

Bus drivers, always sweaty, sat in a small cubicle turned mini oven by the heated engine and the hot humid summer air, a towel hanged around their necks to wipe the ever dripping sweat. They would have tossed aside their shirts and wearing only the white cotton under-vests, and who could blame them. They were always in a rush for the reason that the more trips they made the more money the Company earned. They hated passengers blocking the door and delaying the voyage, time was money, so much so that at their will they often stopped the bus a good distance from the bus stop, quickly drop the alighting passengers and drive away instantly before the crowd realized the trick. Filing a complaint, who had time!

At the bus stop fuming passengers stretched their neck to look anxiously far ahead for their bus, what’s taking so long. When they saw their bus arriving they all got ready to pounce at the door, and had to make a quick mental prediction of where the bus would stop, well before or well after the actual stop, and strategized their move accordingly. Sometimes the bus driver, having heard no buzz sound of the stop bell, skipped the stop altogether to the irritation of the impatient crowd.

We were lucky that we were getting off at the route terminal, we did not have to fight our way out as others had done earlier. When we got off our shirts were pretty much soaked wet and stinky but we were glad the journey was over.

Today buses in Hong Kong are modern, comfortable, clean, air-conditioned, organized and efficient. They are equipped with powerful engines, well designed for flow of passenger traffic, mostly double deck for maximum efficiency. There is no ticket conductor, the bus driver controls everything including collection of fares. Passengers enter from the front, drop the exact fare in a money box, or in majority of cases they use a pre-paid electronic card which they tap to a reader located near the bus driver. Further people are now more civilized, they line up and behave orderly.

A passenger pays his fare by tapping his “Octopus” electronic card on the reader as he enters the bus.

Last year when I was in Hong Kong I benefitted from the Government Subsidized Fare Program to senior citizens, a cool 50% discount on any trip. This year I was back again and a new even better program for seniors was introduced, namely a flat fee of HK$2.00 for any single trip however far the destination may be. Seniors travel free on the “Star Ferry”. Is not that wonderful!

At an early age I was exposed to business through my participation in my parent’s corner store. Although it was a very small business, nevertheless it was no different from running a corporation. I think the same principle applies to small or large business.

Our corner store looks very much like this, sixty years ago.

Out of a number of siblings, I was the only one interested in the shop. I spent a lot of time, voluntarily no coercion, serving customers, and I was so tiny that I had to stand on rice bags to get myself above the shop’s counter. Our customers were mainly “Creoles” descendants of African slaves then brought in mainly from Madagascar and Mozambique, and “Indians” from India then brought in as indentured labourers to work in the sugar plantation.

I would see people like these coming to our corner store to buy things

The shop’s counter was L shape and it separated us from the customers. On one side of the counter sat two glass display cases, one containing a bowl of margarine, a can of the higher grade “Red Feather” brand butter, a jar of locally made jam, a plate of sardines and a can of condensed milk. These were condiments which we sold in minute quantity, customers unable to buy a whole can, delightful when spread to the warm round French loaf. For those who could afford it, sardines on crunchy bread with the vinegar marinated hot pepper “piment confit” was the best choice, else sugar sprinkled over sliced bread was a cheaper alternative. The other display case contained household accessories, sold per piece, such as needles, thread, zippers, buttons, clips, elastic bands and cheap imitation jewelleries.

This is the exact butter we carried in our shop sixty years ago. Still on the market today.

Sardines on warm crispy French loaf with “Piment Confi”, a luxurious diet to the poor inhabitants of Mauritius

Mauritians love their “Piment Confi”, green peppers marinated in vinegar.

The only time we sold one can of sardines whole was when on one unique occasion two tall imposing pitch black tough looking “Zulu” soldiers in khaki military uniform came to our shop and asked for a can of sardines. They stood there and then and devoured the contents using their fingers. The Zulu soldiers, remnant of the World War II military force, were stationed in a barrack a kilometre behind our shop. I stood there watching them feeling awed, scared and glad at the same time.

On the other side of the counter we had the grocery items, such as rice, sugar, salt, tea, flour, spices, cooking oil, kerosene, canned food namely Pilchards in tomato sauce and condensed milk. Most produce were sold in small quantity, half pound, quarter pound, the spices in spoonful, and wrapped in cone shape paper bags in-house produced from old newspaper. We even made our own glue to tape the paper bags by cooking flour with water until it turned into a thick paste. In another corner sat a couple of shelves stacked up in neat rows with different brands of cigarettes. The cigarettes came in round tin box and we sold one cigarette at a time.

Mauritians love their spices which include garlic, ginger, cilantro, tumeric, clove, thyme, basil, cannamon, black pepper, dried chilis.

Pilchards in tomato sauce sold in our shop sixty years ago. Still available on the market today.

Cigarettes were kept in circular tin container with lid. The Triple Five was a favourite brand of cigarette then

Sale was by cash only. Debit or credit card and cheque were never heard of. Occasionally some credit was allowed to a few trustworthy customers. My brother used white chalk to write the amount owned on the edges of the shelves and erased when paid.

We carried two types of cooking oil, coconut oil the less expensive and vegetable oil the superior quality. The oil usually came in a large three feet high drum which we rolled to the back of the house for storage. A portion of the oil was siphoned into a two feet tall tin container from where we, using a long quart-size tin ladle, dispensed the oil into the customer’s bottle through a funnel.

Cooking oil came in large drum.

Our shop opened from 7 am to 7 pm everyday except on Thursday and Sunday when we closed at noon. As if the opening hours were not long enough the neighbourhood kept coming after hours and knocked on our backyard door to buy things. I realized later that it was not that these people were busy and could not come earlier but they were waiting for the bread winner to come home from work with money to buy food for the day.

I learned about buying and selling and in between earned a profit. Who does not know the motto: buy low and sell high, but it is not as simple as it sounds. I learned about risk.
For example I felt uneasy when we were not able to sell all the individual sardines by end of day, or when I saw the unsold bananas hanging from the shop’s ceiling turning deep brown with black freckles, a sign of deterioration. Most often reduce the price and cut the loss was the way to go.

I was worried when our bananas turned blackish. A business risk we had to take.

One day after school I walked, amidst deserted undulating terrain, with an Indian schoolmate to his family farm two kilometres away from home. He wanted to give me some cilantro free. To bypass his father’s prying eyes he hide a bunch of cilantro inside his watering can and walked to the small stream running by the farm to get water. There he let go the cilantro in the running stream for me to catch thirty feet downstream. I felt really proud when I brought the item to our shop to sell, very glad of my contribution to the family business.

Even as a young boy, I liked to compare other neighbourhood stores, predominantly run by Chinese, to ours. The earlier Chinese in Mauritius, for lack of local language and other relevant skills, had few alternatives other than running a corner store. For sure our shop was not doing as well. I knew it was location and I envied my two other uncles’ shops which were located at Champs de Mars, an affluent area of town. Also I knew we were not the friendliest shop on the block, my mother always acting tough, necessary to keep the hooligans in check. For some reason my father was working and living at a Chinese Club on Desforges Street. So the lack of a male presence, similar to my aunt’s circumstances at Deep River, weakened the shop security. I remember on several occasions my elder brother had to chase some bad kids down the road to retrieve stolen merchandises.

I was aware that product quality and competitive pricing were also essential ingredients for business success. I remember how quickly warm breads were sold off each morning. I knew Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola were quality drinks but their prices prohibitive. When we acquired a refrigerator at a later stage, we were able to make our own cold soft drink from the local “tamarind” fruit, a sweet and sour terrific thirst quencher which the locals gobbled in one swoop.

I was extremely happy when we got our refrigerator and made our own “tamarind” soft drink.

The tamarind fruit widely grown in Mauritius. We can also eat them as is, a sweet and sour taste.

However strong business minded I was and however strong my desire to get into business was, a business career was not meant for me. I ended up working in the financial industry. In hindsight I could probably never be a successful businessman, for I could never take advantage of a customer or an employee. My principle, my philosophy, the nature in me would have driven me to give the shop away. Such is fate.