Monthly Archives: March 2020

The Chinese Middle School (新華中學) was founded in 1912 by philanthropists Lai Fat Fur, Venpin and Ng Cheng Hin, and closed in 2011 as students opted for western education.  My elder brothers and sisters attended Chinese school, this meant they had to forgo western education. Starting around early 1950 there was a huge shift to attending English school, hence my immediate elder brother and siblings below him went to English school. We therefore could not read or write Chinese.

The Chinese Middle School was situated on a large block of land, surrounded by Dr Joseph Rivière, Remy Ollier and Emmanuel Anquetil Streets, Port Louis. The School apparently came under the umbrella of the Communist Party when Mao Zedong took power in 1949. The Nationalist Party, the Kuomintang, out of Taiwan, opened a second Chinese school in 1941, called The Chung-Hwa Middle School (中華中學). There were occasional clashes between proponents of the two schools, particularly around the National Day of the respective countries.

I spent several years of my childhood around the neighbourhood and have a deep understanding and memory of “Shing Fah”, the Chinese name for the Chinese Middle School. After all, my late father was a teacher there and I attended evening classes there for a couple of years, learning and remembering only a handful of Chinese characters, namely “big”, “small” “school” and my own name. I went back to visit the school in 2014, and all that remained was the main gate of the school.

Let me attempt to describe how the school looked like in the 1960’s. The main gate to the school was on Dr. Joseph Riviere Street. As you enter the gate, to the right was a small courtyard with a small house, residence of the school caretaker. In the middle of the courtyard was a large tree which provided shade to the old folks who regularly came to chat with the caretaker, a nice way to spend an afternoon. The guests sat on wooden stool or bench. The caretaker sat on a more comfortable rattan wicker armchair

Adjacent to the courtyard was a Chinese temple, quite small and dingy, with the usual altar on which sat wooden tablets, statue of Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy (I believe) and large incense burner metal bowl for the joss sticks. There was a verandah with six circular pillars in front of the temple main entrance. I rarely saw any worshipper coming in to pray, I don’t know if it was because Shing Fah was a Communist School, and Communist believes no God.

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Facing the Temple was a basketball court, where I and a host of other kids spent numerous hours playing basketball, football or play catch. Due to unaffordability, an old tennis ball was used in lieu of a proper basketball or football. We always played barefoot and occasional bruises or cut formed part of the routine. Sometimes we fell and the skin of our knee peeled off against the rough concrete surface of the court. We just let the blood dried and clogged, no bandage, no complaint, no crybaby. After a couple of days, the blood hardened into a shell and we kids could not resist peeling the shell piece by piece, like peeling a hard boil egg. At times, the wound got infected and oozed out a thick yellow substance which we washed with water and soap. If available, we applied some mercurochrome. I even had my right toe bent sideway up to forty-five degree many times.

When it came to basketball season, tournaments were played here in the evening, the court lighted with six big flood lights hanging over the court along thick metal wires. Two favourite teams were the “Dragon” out of Port Louis and “Wild Cats” out of Rose Hill. I, of course, cheered for Dragon our local team. Spectators paid an entrance fee to attend, there were no sitting, everybody stood along both sides of the court, packed like standing sardines. We, kids, sneaked in through the gate or climbed over walls to get in.

On one end of the court was a tall stone wall separating the court from the residence of the “Tsakok”, a prominent family of Port Louis. Members of the family always watched the game from over the wall, unobstructed, which I qualified as the best seat of the arena.

The highlight of the evening, apart from screaming fans, was the food stalls that lined the street in front of the school gate, selling favourite snacks – fish ball, meat stuffed tofu, gateau arouille or gato violette (deep fried balls of taro), grass jelly cubes (leong fan), pineapple, cucumber, alouda. My favourite treat was the slice of cucumber painted with a thick layer of mazavaroo chili pepper sauce, followed by a cold alouda. The extremely dynamic hot chili pepper never failed to fire a cascade of sweats down my forehead, over my eyelids down to my neck. This was what took my breath away. The stalls were manned by two young teenage brothers who studied at Bhujoharry College, and I thought they were so smart to cash on this opportunity. In the absence of sufficient street light, kerosene lamps were used to brighten the stalls.

The school ran regular black and white movie show in the basketball court on weekends, mostly propaganda movie about how strong and glorious the Communist party was. We all sat on the ground, under open sky, with great expectation, in front of a large white screen, awaiting anxiously the broadcast of the national anthem of China that preceded the shows. We could hear the repeating cranking sound of the projector as the film rolled out from one reel to another.

On the other side of the basketball court was a wooden stage, with tin roof, where live singing, dancing and drama were performed by students or drama clubs on special occasions such as October 1st China National Day or Chinese New Year. The stage was also used by school teacher for announcements and to lead the students gathering below for daily physical exercise.

Behind the temple was the area where the classrooms were situated, two rows of three or four classrooms, with a large open yard in the middle. Access to the classrooms was by way of a narrow corridor with a gate. When school was over, we would climb over the locked gate and entered the classrooms. The student had individual desk and chair, unlike our western school where kids sat shoulder to shoulder on long desk and bench. The desk had the shape of a rectangular box with four legs. The top cover could be flipped open, so that school materials could be secured inside. Often pen, pencils, rubber, ruler and occasional coins were left inside the desk, and naughty we were, we did not hesitate for one moment to serve ourselves. Luckily, we never got caught.

Further ahead was another area with a couple of more classrooms and one small house served as the residence of the Principal and the school’s administrative office. I imagined now and then that my father spent some time here when he was a teacher of the school.

Adjacent to the administrative office was the private property of a Chinese family, separated from the school premises by a stone wall. Considering the size of the dwelling, we know the family was well off. In the middle of its courtyard was a mango tree and during blooming season, kids could not keep their eyes off the tempting juicy looking mangoes.

One afternoon, I and my best buddy decided to climb the wall on to the roof of the house. Our motives were obvious. While on the roof, ready to pluck the best-looking mango, we saw the school Principal coming our way. My buddy, as if by magic, was down on the ground in a second, leaving me up on the roof hanging high and dry. It was a critical moment for me, a matter of life and death, I was toast. Then, a brilliant idea flashed through my mind. I pretended to be a member of the proprietor household. I sat relaxed on the roof pretending to be enjoying the afternoon and admiring at the family mangoes. Just when I thought that I had fooled the Principal, a resounding sound from below came crashing into my ears: “Hey you, what are you doing up there on my roof”. He was the owner of the house and he had caught me red-handed. In a flash, I was down on the ground floor in front of the Principal. The rest was history.

In 1865 a group of British Merchants in Hong Kong banded together to establish a bank to facilitate trade with China. A branch was opened in Hong Kong and one in Shanghai, hence these two cities formed part of the Bank’s name, The HongKong and Shanghai Banking Corporation Limited, now widely known as HSBC. It was a dream of young men and women seeking a banking career in 1960’s Hong Kong to join HSBC. It was the most reputable and envied bank then and people called it “The Bank”.

HSBC was very much a British run bank, all the bank executives were from Britain and were referred to as IO’s, International Officers. The IO’s were mobile and every couple of years were posted in various countries, thus giving them valuable international exposure. Time changed, and in 1960’s HSBC started to recruit local people to executive position. These local executives were referred to as RO’s, Resident Officers, and they were initially not eligible to overseas postings.

Resident Officer’s post was the envy of every bank employee but hard to get. A University degree was the minimum requirement and I did not have one. There were some exceptional cases of promotion from the rank and file, where the incumbents were highly recommended by their manager or they were studying for a Diploma in Banking.

For many weekends I remember sitting at my girlfriend’s home dining table or on a quiet bench at Victoria Park, studying for the Banking Diploma, through a London Business School Correspondence Course. I naturally applied for the Resident Officer position at HSBC, also at Chartered Bank, a distant second choice. I sat with over 100 candidates for a preliminary written examination held in the imposing banking hall of the Chartered Bank Head Office for three hours. You guess right. I did not make it.

My late mother always talked about benefactor and guardian angel. Indeed, an angel came down to open a door for me. Here is the story.

A Mauritian friend of mine, named Jackie (a male), who moved to Hong Kong around the same time as me, had a girlfriend, a nice beautiful girl of Portuguese descent. Her name was Evelyne and she was the personal secretary of the Personnel Officer of HSBC. The Personnel Officer was a British Lady, tough, no nonsense and powerful, no staff dared to be on her bad side.  Her name was Miss Unthank and she had undisputed authority over recruitment of local staff. Thus, Jackie secured a job as a result of the connection.

Shortly after, I met Jackie and lamented about my failure to join HSBC, I did not know that he was already a Resident Officer in training. Jackie introduced me to Evelyne who arranged an interview with Miss Unthank. “I will take in a second Mauritian and no more” was the comment made by Miss Unthank to Evelyne after my interview. I guessed that I should have somehow impressed Miss Unthank. I was the happiest person in Hong Kong, and I was and will always be grateful to all three “benefactors”. I look at them as three links of a chain, missing any one link made the chain no more.

Then, some turn of event shot dark clouds over my sky. The story is like this. HSBC sent me for a medical check-up, a requirement for all Officer’s employment, my X-Ray showed traces of Tuberculosis. I explained to the Doctor that I was completely cured and offered to provide him with a written confirmation from my Doctor. However, the Bank Doctor did not bother to wait and forwarded the unfavourable medical report to the Bank.

It was a devastating moment for me. My one and only chance for my dream Bank was shattered by the irresponsible action of one Doctor. “Is it not the duty of a Doctor to save life. This Doctor instead put a rope round my neck”, this thought run through my mind time and time again. Fortunately, all was not lost. Miss Unthank sent me to Ruttonjee Sanatorium which specialized in the treatment of tuberculosis, for a second opinion. She had no obligation to do this, but I was glad she did. Tuberculosis was a disease that was widespread in Hong Kong at the time. I was certified fine. This was my second chance.

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No doubt, Jackie, Evelyne and Miss Unthank were all my guardian angels but I also believe that I must have been a good person in the first place, else why would any one care to extend you a hand.

In Imperial China Emperors invariably maintained harems of concubines, to the extent that some concubines never ever had a chance to see, less sleep, with the Emperor after the Concubine Selection process. Similarly, local landlords were legally allowed to have as many concubines as they could afford. In many cases, the main wife even encouraged the husband to acquire concubines, where they were unable to conceive, as it was paramount to have a male descendant. Further, concubines raised the status of the main wife to a “Tai Ma” (big wife) with undisputed power and authority over the lower status concubines. One side effect of concubinage was the fierce and at times fatal power struggle that ensued between concubines and between half-brothers.

Imperial history became interesting and intriguing as the male offspring of competing concubines battled one another for the attention and favour of the Emperor.  In the pursuit to inherit the throne, half-brothers did not hesitate to betray and resort to murder.  Emperors, worried about siblings in-fighting, were at times compelled to take the hard road of removing, by way of life prison or death, a threatening son so that another favourite son could ascend the throne without challenge.

Although Imperial concubines were subservient to the reigning Empress, this did not prevent them from seizing power and becoming powerful Emperor, as were the case of Empress Wu Zetian, the only female Emperor in the Chinese history, and Empress Dowager Cixi (Empress Dowager is defined as the mother or widow of a Chinese Emperor).

There are numerous Chinese movies depicting the intrigues of Imperial households on Youtube and the likes, with English subtitles, a great entertainment for any evening.

Concubinage was abolished in China when the Communist took power in 1949 and Hong Kong later in 1971. However, concubinage continues to be socially tolerated in China and Hong Kong even today, although it is not legally recognized. The term is now changed to “Er Nai”, literally Second Wife.

As China opened its door to trade in the 90’s and its citizens became affluent, keeping an Er Nai became not only widely popular but represented a symbol of power, wealth and social status. It is widely believed that most corrupt Government Officials and affluent businessmen in China maintain at least a second wife, if not a third and fourth.

Honkongers also jumped on the bandwagon when factories started to move from the Colony to mainland China for its cheap land and labour. They usually spend weekdays attending to their factories, returning home for the weekends.

China became a perfect breeding ground for Er Nai, young Chinese women seeking financial stability by offering themselves as Second Wife, and lonely businessmen away from home seeking companionship and pleasure. Typically, the arrangement, a business arrangement per se, requires the man to provide a comfortable apartment in China and a pre-negotiated monthly allowance to the Er Nai. There is even established rate for an Er Nai depending on the cities in China, with Beijing commanding a premium. To ensure a long and permanent relationship with the “husband”, Er Nai made sure to bear children, reported to number in half a million, a clever tactic to hold on to their man.  However, Er Nai know where they stand and do not seek to replace the main wife, content to maintain the second wife status.

Mistress villages have sprung up in cities close to Hong Kong, namely Shenzhen, so that the men can drop by the apartment to be with the Er Nai for a short period before taking the train back to Hong Kong to have dinner with the wife.