[Reader-list] Breathing a New Freshness in the Outskirts

[Ojwando JP]

Walking through the narrow by lanes of Kengeri Satellite Town, one of Bangalore’s burgeoning extensions recently, I came to the realization that certain things have changed. Obviously for the better I must emphasis. 
  And the source of the glowing tribute? I could go on a walk with remarkable ease and not a single person in sight to accost me. 
  This was not the case earlier when I moved to the sleepy locality off the Bangalore-Mysore highway. Even then, as an alien in one of India’s cosmopolitan cities, I had become constant source of fascination or indignation for the locals depending on which side of the fence they reveled in. 
  Their reasons? I could not comprehend no matter how hard I tried. Or was it my descent, being of the Afro race? 
  Banking on my previous experiences in the south Asian sub continent, I resolved that the safest way out was to be on the move and never to look back no matter the ‘provocation’. 
  Indeed this tactic seemed to work as a deterrent but not for long. 
  The locals soon came up with novel ways to get around the self imposed barrier. The young and old alike would come tagging along, some with loads of questions stemming from genuine interest or curiosity. Yet for others, it was an open and shut case of ignorance or sheer hostility. For the former, they had a friendly smile and would quickly engage in banter. 
  Sometimes it went along these lines. “Hello
West Indies?” “Do you like cricket? Olonga your brother?”
."Do you like my India?” And at times bordering on the absurd: “Where are you from?” “Oh! Africa? Is Mandela your president?” or “Don’t feel bad
tell me, you don’t get education in your country?” 
  The intensity and the pace of questioning did not leave one with many options. Which of these would you answer or ignore? Lack of response would elicit rude taunts. 'Kaalu'  (Black man) or ‘Negro’ became a far too familiar call or 'Kothi' (Monkey) when they took it to the extremes some times at the behest of elderly people.  
  With passage of time, slowly the taunts began to recede. Some of them had come to the sad reality that I could not be touched their intense prodding notwithstanding. 
  Intriguingly, it was not so different with Rade Moshi, a management student from distant Tanzania. But hers was a struggle with a different dimension. 
  Perhaps the first African to reside in Kengeri Satellite Town, she had met with an instant boycott when she decided to trade her city residence for the outskirts. 
  “Forget it, we will not come to visit you,” her friends had protested so terrified of the distance from the city. Bangalore then had not seen much of its latest expansions and Kengeri Satellite Town was just another ‘halli’ as the locals would say. 
  To Rade’s friends, Bull Temple Road and Chamarjpet were the furthest they could think of traversing. Beyond that, you were heading out of town.  
  What if she fell sick? A joke in the students’ circles had it that if you were to make a call to a resident of Kengeri Satellite Town, you had to prefix an STD code, the implications not so hard to grasp. Though they had their own misgivings, Rade was unfazed. The serene and tranquil outskirts of Bangalore were too inspiring to ignore. And surely, nothing untoward took place.  
  Come Sunday, I wanted to unwind after a tiring week and what better way than to take a walk reveling in the cool evening breeze? 
  It proved an eye opener. 
  The place has since opened its doors to embrace African students in their hordes, some of them with their families. Kenyans, Ugandans, Ethiopians, Tanzanians, Sudanese, and many more from the Middle East, now share the locality with the locals and ‘guests’ from other cities of the south Asian sub continent. 
  The transformation is not hard to see as locals continue to warm up to their ‘guests’. Cyber cafes telephone booths, multi-cuisine eats outs, amongst other utility services have sprung up. Surprisingly, even the barbers and stylist have mastered the art of trimming kinky afro hair.  
  Previously, an elderly man, seeing me struggle with my bits and pieces of the local language at a grocery store rebuked me. 
  “Learn the local language,” was his unsolicited advice. Perhaps he was right. 
  Unfortunately, what he and others of his ilk fail to grasp is the dilemma of those living in a multi cultural society. Which of the Indian languages would you opt for? 
  To make a purchase of bread or related items, a mastery of Malyalam at the bakery would be called for. The general stores abound with Merwaris while the numerous youth in the vicinity are students from the north who revel in Hindi. For transaction at utility service offices, Kannada gave you a head start. Amazing, is it not? 
  So on this day as I engaged in my evening walk, one thing was outrightly clear, the relative calm and acceptance. 
  For those wary of Kengeri, it’s now a safe place to tread without fear of intimidation by casual callers or mischief makers. 
  The best part of it now is that as Africans, we are well understood and the fear of being mistaken or clubbed together as natives of Dakshina Africa is all in the past. Just as Mandela a.k.a. Madiba ceased to be the president of Africa. 
  It has been a long walk to ‘freedom’ though.  


John Patrick Ojwando, 
Research Scholar, 
Dept. of Studies 
in Communication & Journalism, 
University of Mysore, 
Manasagangothri Campus, 
Mysore -570 006 
Mobile: 98456 28131
		
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