The history of the Sikhs of East Africa begins with the Railway - though detachments of Sikh Regiments had seen service in certain parts of East Africa in previous years.

The Sikhs who were brought over from India to build the old Uganda Railways were skilled workmen - carpenters, blacksmiths and masons. They were quick to adept themselves to the specialised requirements of the Railways and many became fitters and turners and boiler-makers.

The story of the construction of the Uganda Railway is well known in history with many books written about it -'Man Eaters of Tsavo' is one of the books which narrates the genuine fear of the labourers, who gave their lives in the jungles of Kenya while building the Railways. The early settlers had to face these marauding lions that were a constant threat to their lives. It is only necessary to mention that these famous man-eating lions seem to have had a great partiality for Sikhs as their staple diet. Anyway, these stout sons of the Punjab continued to push the twin lines of steel forward, lions and leopards notwithstanding.

These early Sikhs were soon joined by their educated brothers. There was no department of the pioneering Railway without its Sikhs. A number of policemen, ranging from inspectors to constables, were also sent from India to become the vital instrument of maintaining law and order. They remained in the country for several years.

Many, but not all, of the original Sikh arrivals returned to India to be replaced and augmented by others who came of their own volition. Their skills and industry were always in great demand.

The Sikhs penetrated into every nook and corner of East Africa to erect the buildings and to build the roads; to undertake general maintenance work on the farms; to serve in the offices and to assume charge of the hospitals.

The manner in which the Sikhs increased their usefulness to Kenya is a saga of resource and initiative and perseverance.

They undertook with confidence any type of work, which required skill and industry. They became highly successful farmers. They responded magnificently to the growing needs of the country by improving and diversifying their capabilities. They became contractors and furniture makers.

BULLOCK CARTS

Long before the motoring era, they played an invaluable part, along with the other Punjabis in solving the transport problem of the country. They built and operated Indian style bullock carts.

When the motorcar and the motor-truck began to trickle in, the Sikhs converted themselves into mechanics and engineers. They began to own garages and engineering workshops. Anything that was tough and challenging attracted the Sikhs.

With every succeeding year the Sikhs adopted a steadily rising standard of living; they gave the best possible education to their children, and they invested by far the greatest proportion of their earnings within the country.

The Sikhs entered all the professions, nor did they neglect the realm of industry, their speciality being saw milling.

In the Police, the Civil Service, in the commercial establishments, the educational and medical institutions, in the factories and workshops, the Sikhs came to play a very important role indeed.

Nairobi, the capitol of Kenya boasted the majority of the Sikhs. Although the turban and the beard was the distinctive emblem of them all, they presented contrasts of every conceivable description, which of course was one of the healthiest sign of an alive and progressive community.

Among them were men of real learning and near-illiterates… though these latter were virtually extinct. They contained men of great refinement and others whose rusticity faithfully reflected their occupations.

There were, however, no acute extremes in the local Sikhs in wealth. Throughout East Africa, the Sikhs of substantial wealth were very few indeed. It was a community of the middle-income group, because instances of extreme poverty were also scarce.

During the initial 60 years or so of the last millennium, the Sikhs built nearly 40 Gurdwaras or temples in various towns of East Africa, a truly remarkable achievement. They managed a dozen 'aided' schools of which one is in Nairobi and was amongst the largest in the whole country.

These schools were open to all races; the Sikh clubs which existed in most of the major towns had throughout been important venues of inter-racial social functions and had always admitted non-Sikhs as members.

From the earliest days, the Sikhs played a very prominent part in many aspects of sport, both as players and as administrators and organisers.

Sikh women's organisations were attached to every Sikh Temple. They held their own separate congregations but they also participated in terms of complete equality with the main congregations as well.

There were several Sikh study circles, libraries, and young men's associations' also A Sikh Missionary Society, which published Sikh literature on many occasions.

The public life of Kenya had been well served by the Sikhs. They had been Members of the Legislative Council and of all the municipal councils. They had taken part in numerous other bodies and commissions and committees.

The Sikh Community of Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania was one of the largest outside India and is proud of its record.

We present some early exploits of the Sikhs in Kenya, who were subjected to lots of hard work and fear of the 'Man-Eating' lions.

A NARROW ESCAPE
From In the Grip of the Nyika by. H. Patterson (pp 6-7)

Five Sikh carpenters had made a staging some eight feet high and on this had pitched their tent, where they slept in peace and, as they thought, in safety. Every night they gained access to their airy abode by means of a moveable ladder, and they took the precaution, Robinson Crusoe-like, of pulling it up into their castle imme-diately after nightfall. I had already warned these men that their perch was not nearly high enough, and told them that they would be much safer on the water-tank or in trees, until the iron huts which I was then building for their protection could be got ready. They did not wish to move, however, and Natha Singh, the leader of the party, assured me that they felt quite safe so high up; besides, was not 'Khuda' (God) all-powerful? It seems that 'Khuda' was indeed looking after them. One night, contrary to their usual custom, they carelessly left part of the ladder projecting a little way beyond the end of the staging; a hungry Man-Eater on the prowl observed this, and thinking that he could not find a meal more conveniently elsewhere, determined to try how a carpenter tasted. Calculating his spring, he leaped lightly on to the projecting ladder, which, unfortunately for him, instantly tipped up and toppled over, both falling heavily to the ground. No doubt the ladder gave him a good blow when it struck him, for he fled at once without attempting to touch the men, who, thoroughly terrified by the tearing of their tent caused by the tipping up of the ladder and believing that the lion was upon them, jumped from the staging in all directions and with terror-stricken cries raced for their lives to the nearest trees. Fortunately no one was hurt, but after this the staging was deserted for the more secure fastness of the top of a masonry pier rising out of the riverbed.

I'm 90 now and I can't remember everything now, but I'll tell you what I can about my background in India and my first years in Africa.
Our family had a farm in the village of Jun dali, in the Ludhiana District of the Punjab. We were farmers; Jats - all Gills were traditionally farmers; Gills are what you could call a clan of Jats. My mother died when I was just five hours old; when I was a baby I was brought up by her brother and his wife.

I was sent to the best school in the area, a school in Ludhiana run by the Arya Samaj. No, it didn't matter that the Arya Samajists are very staunch Hindus and we Jats are Sikhs; my father had good relations with the Arya Samaj people. He did not care what religion anyone belonged to; he said that the only thing important in religion is to believe in God, to be honest and to be good to people.

I completed Standard 8 in that school and then I returned to my father who had remarried. My little half-brothers were going to a private school in our village. As I had finished my schooling I used to take them to school in the mornings and collect them in the afternoon. One day the headmaster, knowing that I had learned English, asked me what I was doing. I said, "Nothing." So he gave me a job teaching in his school, with a salary of 13 rupees a month. It was a small school, built of bricks with about 100 boys.

Fortunately I had kept ties in Kenya. I'd laid the foundations stones of both the old and the new Singh Sabha temples in Nairobi, and in 1948-50 I had built Gill House, the first 5-storey building in town - a skyscraper in those days, which I rented to the colonial government for offices. So in 1972 I came back to Kenya where I had started my career as Bauji'. It was all because of my Uncle Nahar Singh that I am what I am today. I still keep his portrait in my office. Yes, though I am 90 years old I still go to the office every day.

My grandfather Kapur Singh was already married when he came to Kenya. His wife stayed in Gagobuha, except for one brief visit here. They had three sons and a daughter. The daughter died, one son stayed in India, but two sons followed their father to Kenya and also joined the
Police. One was Laxman Singh and the other was my father Satbachan Singh (left) , who
Was born in 1900.
In his career as a police officer my father Satbachan Singh moved around lot as he was transferred from place to place. Much of the time he was in Nairobi. In the early days Nairobi was very wild, covered with bush. When he went on his rounds he would come hack covered with ticks. Sometimes he encountered lions. He was posted up to Cherangani, and out at Tigoni too, in Settler days.

Satbachan Singh was not at all what one thinks of as a typical policeman. He was a very gentle man. He never raised his voice, never got angry.

HYPNOTIC COP
From interviews with Bhupinder S Sandhu, Nairobi

In 1954 I married Mohinder Kaur, the only daughter of Satbachan Singh, and came to live in Kenya. I got to know my father-in-law very well, and found him a fascinating person for as well as being a strict police officer, Satbachan Singh was deeply interested in spiritualism. He had been greatly influenced by a man named Dunichand, one of Satbachan Singh's teachers in school here in Nairobi. Dunichand was like a guru to Satbachan Singh. Dunichand was very strict about such things as drinking and although Satbachan Singh was very fond of good food (his wife was an excellent cook), he never took a drink of alcohol in his life.
Satbachan Singh developed an ability to hypnotise people. He didn't learn that from Dunichand. Maybe he had a teacher or perhaps he learned from books. (He gave me several lessons but we had to give it up because I drink, and you cannot take alcohol at all if you want to be able to hypnotise.) Although he gave one or two shows on hypnotism, Satbachan Singh didn't use his skill for fun, or for getting people to confess things in police cases. He used it only for healing people. He never advertised it in any way but people came to know of it and if someone came to him whom he thought he could help he would do what he could.
I can vouch for some of his cures, for I saw them myself. I saw him hypnotise and cure an Asian lady who was so crippled she was bedridden. After his treatment she was able to walk again, with crutches. He cured another woman I know of migraine headaches. He cured one of his servants who had crippled hands. It was not easy; he would have to prepare by magnetising himself when he had a patient to treat. He would then be able to transfer his suggestions from himself to his patient through passes.
Satbachan Singh could communicate with spirits. He would sometimes hypnotise a person and use that person as a medium. He said there were a few of his African sergeants he could hypnotise.
Satbachan Singh was an active member of the Theosophical Society. He was also a Freemason. I think this and his hypnotism were like vents from the strain of being a high-ranking police officer.

A TOWER OF STRENGTH

From 'Cuckoo in Kenya' By WR. Foran (pp 102-6 passim)

On the morning of May 16, 1904, I duly reported for duty at Ewart's office in the small row of shanties facing the Public Gardens. I expected to be trained in the work under his personal tutelage, but such hopes were rudely shattered immediately. He posted me to the charge of the Nairobi police station, with instructions to take over my new duties at once. I was to relieve Besant Singh, the Sikh Inspector, who would serve under my command henceforth. Once more I emphasised my complete ig-norance of police work, the laws of the land, and the Swahili or Hindustani languages. This did not seem to worry Ewart.
Presently I walked diffidently into Nairobi's police-station, introduced myself to the stalwart, black-bearded Besant Singh, and acknowledged the salutes of my new subordinates. The Sikh Inspector accepted being deposed with a friendly smile, which I thought did him immense credit, and seemed anxious to prove helpful to the stranger within their midst.
The staff of the police station consisted entirely of Indian and African police. All the records were kept in Urdu by the Indian police-writers; and Besant Singh seemed the only man of'the staff with more than a superficial knowledge of English. The handicap confronting me made my heart sink into the pit of my stomach.
I felt like a lamb among wolves.
Still more agitated now than when I entered the police station, I transferred my interest to a hefty stack of police files and criminal investigation reports. Besant Singh had quietly placed them on the table, speaking in rapid and fluent Hindustani far too fluent for me to understand all he said.
I glanced up sheepishly at the smiling, watchful Sikh Inspector, seeking inspiration from his non-committal face. There glowed no ray of hope for me behind those bright brown eyes and the carefully trimmed black beard. My heart slumped down into my boots.
I much question if be then realized how great was the chasm of my ignorance. If be did grasp this, he was gentleman and sportsman enough to conceal the fact. I owe Besant Singh much for steering me safely through those trying days of my noviciate.

The splendid Sikh had served with the Railway Police from the very beginning of construction work on the railway, and for the past two years had been in full charge of Nairobi's police station. He was a great 'shikari', a brave man and worthy of the highest traditions of the gallant Sikh units in the Indian Army in which he served with honour before transferring to the Indian Police and then coming to British East Africa. Besant Singh had killed twenty-four lions during the advance of the railway to Nairobi, making a habit of hunting them with a .303-rifle, for which he possessed only .256 calibre ammunition. To make these cartridges fit his rifle, he wrapped them around with paper. This intrepid Sikh sportsman was a first-class shot, but there are not many who would have dared tackle lions with ammunition that did not fit the rifle. Certainly I would not. .
What, at first, seemed like almost insurmountable handicaps now faded into comparative insignificance. Inspector Besant Singh was a tower of strength, often saving me from making an abject idiot of myself through over-hasty action or sheer ignorance.

I have been very unfortunate in my life. Why? Because I was not able to help my father. I was just too young to realise what was happening, or to be of any use. This is what happened.
I have no idea what precisely prompted my father - his name was Gurdit Singh Nayer - to leave home in Lahore. Again, I was too young, too young to even think of asking things like that. I just know that like other Indians seeking to improve their economic prospects, he ventured into Africa to explore business opportunities to see whether he could make a home in this part of the world. He left in 1889. He wasn't an adventurous youth, he was a grown man of thirty-two, working for the Bank of India.

My father established his own furniture business in Nairobi, and did very well. He made good quality furniture and was the first person in Kenya to import teakwood from Burma. He did so well that by 1913 he had enough money to build one of the most prestigious buildings in Nairobi, the 'Nayer Building'. It was close to the old Uganda Railway line and during the First World War the Government wanted to use the building as a warehouse so he leased it to them free of charge or remuneration, Today, the former Nayer Buliding, now known as Kipande House and occupied by the Kenya Commercial Bank, is considered as one of the 'Historic' buildings in Kenya. And of course he owned other notable properties in town.
Before leaving India, my father got married to the only child of a high-up, wealthy Lahori family. After he got settled in Kenya, he brought his wife, Damyanti, over and all of us children were born here. (I was born in 1919, number six of eleven) When I was very young we lived for a couple of years in Mombasa. I remember only that we stayed in the Liwali's building. Mainly we lived in Nairobi, where the Odeon cinema is now.
My father was a cultured person, versed in the Persian language, and he gained respect as a musician, actor and dramatist. He was a very generous person, and everything he could do to help other people. Helping people how? Well, for instance he would contribute money for marriages when people couldn't afford the expense.

He became a leading member in the Sikh community, and was known by the title of Sardar. For many years he was a member of the main Sikh temple in Nairobi, he Siri Guru Singh Sabha, but he had some dispute - politics, not religion - with the management. He walked out. For half or year of so one of the rooms in his Nayer Building was used as a Sikh Temple while he built a proper one in the bazaar. It was opened in 1918.
To avoid having any sectarian name attached to it, he called it simply the (Gurdwara Bazaar - the essence of Sikhism is that it is for everyone, not just for one particular group. Having built the Gurdwara, he handed over the keys for other people to run it.

He was also a prominent person amongst the Indian Community at large. People like Allidina Visram (of Mombasa who had a school named after him), Suleman Virjee (later he had the Suleman Virjee Indian Gymkhana named after him), they were my father's friends - I saw them in our house. At one point he was chosen by the Indian National Congress here to represent the Indian Community to the Governor of those days.

And then - he had a disaster in his business. He lost all his wealth. How he lost it I can't say. I was too young to understand what was going on, so I never thought to ask him. I Just know that he became very worried. What I regret is that I was so young that I didn't realise what was going on, and that I wasn't old enough to help him. But even in those bad times - my mother told me - he would do what he could to help other people.

In 1932, when I was only thirteen, he took us all back to Lahore. This photo of my father was taken early that year, here in Kenya, shortly before we left. Soon after we got to India he died. He was 75 years old.
My mother and all of us children stayed there for five years. Then we returned to Kenya. Although my mother was from a high up family and always dressed well with matching shoes and purse, she was a down-to-earth-person. During the war she worked as a volunteer for St. Johns. She died in 1984, more than half a century after her husband. She used to say she had lived both like a queen and like a servant.
I know my mother did what she could. It is only unfortunate that I could not help my father. I was too young. I always tell young people to do what they can to help their fathers because I was not able to myself I'm telling you, I have sad feelings about that.

THE MECHANICAL MINDED GUNGA DIN
From Wheels Over Black Cotton By ]ohn Bate (pp 31-32)

The spare part situation in East Africa was always generally good in my experience for the run of the mill vehicles. There were occasions though, when the hole in wall garage or agent was a godsend. I remember one of those types very well.
Lal Singh was a motorcycle expert who plied his trade at the Victoria-end of Government Road. During those early days he had been appointed an agent for one of the world's most sought after piston rings. They still are!
I think Lal Singh was a little upset at not being able to hoist the 'By appointment' sign outside his shed. Lal looked like a wild Afghan tribesman during working and only needed a long rifle to complete the illusion. A visit there invariably him squatting on his haunches, gazing with Asiatic reverence, or bloody-minded at the entrails of a motor cycle bleeding to death on the floor, depending on the and whether he had traced the trouble.
Over the years, many a set of rings and other knick-knacks were bought by me from old Lal Singh to be able to complete the engines of the weird (so I was told) motors I couldn't resist acquiring.
A visit was always illuminating and amusing. There was just enough room in the shed for one machine, provided it had no sidecar.
The surrounding walls and rafters were a wonderful sight. Old frames and wheels hung in garlanded profusion. Engines and gearboxes lurked in dark corners. Tyres, tubes, etc. draped the rafters keeping company with the varied chains and exhausts.
However, pride of place was reserved for a Welsh dresser affair, modified over the years, and housing the new stock proudly for all to see. Valves, pistons, chains, the odd exhaust pipe, carburettors, and boxes of his pride and joy.
After the usual polite greetings were exchanged he would say, "What you wanting sahib?"
"A set of rings for an Austin 7, (for example) ten-thou oversize," I would reply.
Lal would rise from the floor and twist his trousers tip over a considerable paunch and pause to ponder awhile. His ruminations were somewhat pedantic at times. He would stand with one hand scratching his head, resulting in a sideways movement of his turban, sort of rocking the boat exercise, and at others, a circular motion taking the turban round in slow circles, whilst the other hand would be reflectively scratching his -~ well, abdomen, I suppose, or thereabouts. It always reminded me of that child's game we played donkey's years ago, rubbing the top of the head with one hand and patting the stomach with the other without g
There would be much muttering and a very downhearted, "Austin, oh my Gard," now and then, the expletives usually spelling doom, out of stock. But no, he would open the dresser affair and peering through the gloom, extract a cardboard box as though it contained the Ten Commandments or Magna Carta and peer at the printed label. Then a large smile would split that nuggety countenance revealing a couple of gold teeth, and the correct parts would he handed to me. This mechanically minded Gunga Din never failed once, with me anyway, to produce the part asked for. He actually supplied me with a set of rings for my six cylinder Star. I thought that I had him well and truly stumped here!

Why "Kalasingha" ?

There is a factual background as to why the whole of the Sikh Community is referred to by this unusual appellation of 'Kalasingha' mostly by the Africans. A sturdy, tough an an adventurous Sikh from the State of Patiala migrated to Kenya in 1896 at the age of 16. His name was Kala Singh. He started a progressive business under the name of Munshiram & Co. and became engaged in a very wide -spread business activities. He travelled through forests, barren lands and mountains, all in the times when there were no means of travel in any form. His exclusive adventures brought him in touch with the indigenous tribal people. S. Kala Singh particularly opened up the Masai reserve and made it accessible for people other than the Masai. This assisted in progress in trade and easy contacts for better understanding for the different peoples of Kenya. The traits and qualities of S. Kala Singh are still persistent in the Sikhs in East Africa so they are referred to as "KALASINGHAS"

-A long time ago, it must have been in the 1880s or somewhere then, my grandfather Munshi Ram and his friend Kala Singh came to Kenya. They were both from the same village. Maur Mandi in Patiala State in the Punjab. Munsbi Ram's family was well to do, a family of Aggarwals, a Hindu business community in the Punjab. Kala Singh's peop1e were Jat Sikh farmers. In India Aggarwals were sort of commission agents. People like my great-grandfather Hiramal would buy produce, mainly grain from the farmers and then sell it. There was a big market at Maur (Mandi means market), and the businessmen and the farmers would meet there.

Munshi Ram and Kala Singh got to be friends in India and came over together. You know in those days there was no difference between Hindus and Sikhs. We were all called Hindus even the Sikhs. It was only when the Muslims began attacking the Hindus that some became warriors under the guidance of Guru Nanak Devji (Guru Gobind Singh Ji [Kanwal]). In my grandfather's time even now in India it wasn't only the Sikhs who wore turbans; all the older men wore turbans.

About the same time, perhaps even earlier, my grandfather's elder brother Anant Ram came to Kenya. He also opened a shop on River Road. His son Darbari Lal also came here, and Grandfather Palimal as well. I always called him grandfather but he must have been a cousin of my grandfather's. He didn't stay long but later his son Kasturi Lal came and opened up a business in Nanyuki. We were a prosperous family, working all together. But we could have become much more prosperous. There was one Governor of Kenya - I don't remember his name who used to go around to the Asian shops. He knew my Grandfather well. He said to him, 'Mr. Munshi Ram, I'll give you some land, about 10 acres, at a very cheap price (I think it was something like 10 shillings or 50 shillings an acre). If you buy that land your children and your grandchildren will remember you always because Nairobi is going to develop and it will become extremely valuable property.' But my father replied we are only here for a few years, for business purposes. We don't intend to settle we're well off at home.' So he didn't buy that land. You know where it was?
The middle of it was in what became the centre of Nairobi, where the statue of Lord Delamere used to be (near New Stanley Hotel).
Ironically', my grandfather's family did settle here. He never brought his wife over, but all his sons came. The wives never came over in those early days. That was the general system of Indians. We Aggarwals married other Aggarwals but the men here would get their wives in India and leave them there, to raise the children. Munshi Ram got married to an Aggarwal girl and they had three sons: W'aliati Ram, Puranchand and Lekraj who was my father. All three came to Kenya but Waliati Ram only came to look, for being the eldest he was running the family business back in India. Puranchand lived here until 1954 and then he returned to India with all of his sons.
When my father grew up he was married in India to a girl named Durgadevi. But by then things were different and ladies were coming to Kenya. She came and stayed here and had eight children five sons and three daughters. We Aggarwals, the family of Munshi Rain did a lot to develop Eldoret and Nanyuki and Timau but it is Kala Singh's name who is most remembered by the Africans.
Kala Singh parted company with my grandfather that's when our business name became Munshiram & Co.; and eventually he went back to India and he died there.
No, it's not true that he had a Masai wife. He was not that sort: he came from a good family' and had a wife back home in India. He had one son who returned and lived in Arusha but I think now he too has left. But Kala Singh is probably the best known name in all of Kenya. To this day all Sikhs in Kenya are known as Kalasingas.

COPS AND LIONS
From interviews with Mohinder Singh Chadha, Nairohi

My family was helping maintain law and order in Kenya from the very beginning of the century, for it was in 1901 that my eldest uncle, Ladha Singh Chadha, came here. He had been in the police in India, in the town of Jhelum. Recruiting was going on there for people to come to Kenya, and extra pay was being offered. So Ladha Singh volunteered and came here.
He was first posted to Nairobi. He used to make extra money by shooting lions, for the Government was offering 50 rupees per lion killed. He used to go to the river below where the museum is now in the evening and wait for them when they came to drink. (I've never shot a lion; there weren't any around Kericho where I grew up, and anyway I don't like killing.) Subsequently he was transferred to many places, ending up in Nakuru, his post when he retired. He came with his wife and infant daughter, and all the rest of his children were born here.
The middle brother, Lakha Singh, was so very well educated but his elder brother called him over anyway and got him a job with the Prisons Department as a warden. He was stationed in Nairobi and several other places, then finally at Kisumu.
The youngest brother was my father Bishen Singh. Ladha Siugh called him over as soon as he finished his studies in 1907. He was posted in Lumbwa (or perhaps it was Londiani), and then in Nairobi where he was in the Intelligence section until he retired.

WITH A LEOPARD PERCHED ON HIS SHOULDERS
From Kill or Be Killed by W Robert Foran (pp 53-55 passim)

The hunt was organised by G. McL. Tew, the Superintendent of the Railway Police; and he told me the story of what happened. Three other Europeans and a stalwart Sikh policeman volunteered to accompany Tew, and one afternoon they set out on their little private war with the leopards. Between Nakuru and the lake is a wide grassy plain, covered by scattered and stunted bushes . . .
The sportsmen passed through the long grass in extended formation, shouting at the tops of their voices in the hope of disturbing a slumbering leopard and getting a shot at it. Harnam Singh, the Sikh policeman, easily drowned the noise of the others by his lusty shouts. Tew said that he had every appearance of thoroughly enjoying his share in the hunt. Finally, he noticed that the Sikh was lagging behind the line of attack, but paid little attention to this, being far too intent on keeping his eyes watchful for any movement in the grass to indicate a leopard's presence.

After a time, Tew became conscious that the Sikh was yelling louder than ever; and now there was a note of extreme terror in his vocal efforts. He turned round to see what was the matter. The Sikh was running toward them at top speed, with his turban dragged off his head, and a big leopard perched on his shoulders. The brute's body clung round the back of the man's neck like a woman's fur, and its paws clutched at Harnam Singh's khaki uniform.
The others all ran back swiftly to the man's assistance, while the Sikh rushed to meet them, yelling wildly. He came bounding along with huge leaps, shouting in abject terror as he came. The leopard was having a rough ride on his shoulders. No one dared to shoot, for fear of hitting the Sikh instead of the leopard.
On seeing the other four men, the beast appeared to take a sudden dislike to so much human company. It slipped off its perch, flinging Harnam Singh to the ground in doing so, and slunk off out of sight into the tall grass. Everyone was so much concerned with the Sikh's plight that not a single shot was fired at the leopard. The injured man was hurried back to Nakuru, where his slight injuries were treated and dressed. They were mostly claw scratches, for the beast had not used its teeth at all.
Thereafter nothing could induce Harnam Singh to go out on a hunting expedition! He served under me for two years at Kisumu after this incident, but I had only to mention the word leopard to see his big body shudder violently and his face go ashen-grey.

A MODEL POLICE SERGEANT
From A Cuckoo in Kenya by W R. Foran (pp 102-106 passim,142~ 175)

At last, however, I held the key to the solution of the burglaries in the [Kisumu] bazaar. As the Indian police alone patrolled the bazaar region, I suspected something must be radically wrong with their work. Without any warning, I moved them to the railway area and substituted African askaris in the Indian bazaar. As if by magic, the burglaries there ceased immediately.
The natural inference to draw was that the Indian police were themselves the burglars. I caused enquiries to be made as to the antecedents of these men and, in due course, received a full report from Nairobi. For the most part they were men with bad criminal records in India; while some were even wanted for crimes by the Indian police. They had been engaged for police work in East Africa without any enquiry as to their suitability. On landing at Mombasa, the entire twenty-five new policemen were sent direct to Kisumu. . . . Only one, a Sikh, enjoyed a perfectly clean record. . .
I retained the services of the Sikh, Harnam Singh. He had been a 'naik' (corporal)
in the 14th Sikhs, serving with them through the Boxer Rebellion in China, and then going on pension. Harnam Singh swore that he had no knowledge of what was going on, and had not been in the confidence of the others. I promoted him to sergeant and placed him in charge of the Indian bazaar area. Harnam Singh proved a model police sergeant, and continued to serve well and honourably until taking his discharge some years after I left East Africa. He was a fine figure of a man, and upheld the best traditions of the Indian Army throughout his career in Africa.

CATTLEMEN

From interviews with Mohinder Singh Chadha, Nairobi

When my father, Bishen Singli Chadha, retired from the Police, he didn't want to go hack to India. He worked for the Railway for a year or so, I think as an ASM (Assistant Station Master) or perhaps as a Goods Clerk. In the meantime a European suggested to him that he and his brothers {see 'Cops & Lions"] settle in Kenya. My father checked around and decided that Kericho would be best for business and so in 1916 all three brothers settled there.
Kericho is in Kipsigis country, and the Kipsigis raised very good cattle, so Kericho had become a cattle-trading centre. There were some Punjabi Muslims settled there, in the cattle business, and that is what the brothers did too. They would buy cattle from the Kipsigis and then sell them to the Somali traders who would then walk them to Nairobi and even Mombasa and resell them. The brothers kept horses and mules and used to ride around to the local markets, in the radius of about '30 miles, and buy cattle from the Kipsigis. (When we children were little my father kept a brown pony for us; we all knew how to ride in those days.)
The Kipsigis women liked heads and wire for ornaments and it was cheaper to barter with such things than to pay cash for the cattle. The brothers then started a shop, selling beads and wire, and sugar and such things. 'There were already some shops in Kericho one was belonging to the Anandji family also were Gujaratis (i.e. Hindus; see To C.I. Sheet Shops in Kericho"]. The brothers lived in a house behind the shop, all made of corrugated iron sheets.
In time the land around got taken up for planting tea and there were government restrictions on the Kipsigis living around so the cattle became very few. The Somalis began leaving Kericho. But my father and uncles stayed, starting a grocery shop called 'B.S. Chadha and Bros'. They also built a grinding mill down by the river, powered by the fast-flowing water. This was called a rego-rego' because of the noise it made. Lakha lived down at the mill. My father stayed in the town and looked after the grocery shop. Ladha and all his family went back to Jhelum around then, in 1920, and he started a money-lending business -- we're still in touch with our cousins on that side, Lakha never married. He kept a Nandi woman as a wife for a year or so but they didn't have any children.

KERICHO KIDS

My father got married when he was 25 and had been in Kenya for several years.
He went back to India where his parents had arranged for him to marry a girl named
Thakardevi. When my father returned to Kenya she came too, for in those days
women followed their husbands like lambs. I was their first child, born in Kericho 1918, on Christmas Day. The first World War had just ended, in November, there were great celebrations in Kericho with a big Victory Parade and trees e planted in the Boma to commemorate the occasion; those trees and I are the same age.
After me another son was born, and then two daughters; later there were more sons and two more daughters: we were ten in all. Although money was scarcce we were happy in those days.
There were only four or five Indian children in Kericho when I was little, not enough for there to be a proper school. One shopkeeper hired a small maize store as a school. It was cleared out so the sacks of maize were all piled up on one side and we students sat on the floor on empty gunny bags. Our teacher was one local Gujaratis, and I went there for my first two years of schooling. We only studied in Gujarati (though my family is Punjabi speaking, of course). Later the Government primary school, called the Kericho Highland Indian School, which went up to standard 6, where English was taught. I also used to speak Kipsigis, the language of the local people.
In 1926 my mother took all of us children (I had two brothers and two sisters it) to India. It was the first time she had seen her parents since she married here. We stayed two years in Daryajalib near jhelum, and then returned in January1928. When we returned, my father sent me and my 'younger brother to schooling, and my two sisters too. My mother came to look after us.
We went to the Indian Primary School, which was about 200 yards from the KhalsaBoys and Girls School. This school was made of corrugated iron sheets and it had only kindergarten and Standard I. In that school we were taught in Urdu and we learnt oral English. For Standards 2, 3 and 4 there was another school, opposite the Railway headquarters are now. For the 5th Standard there was the Government Secondary School (now called Jamhuri School). That had a hostel attached behind the school, so we lived there and our mother was able to go back to Kericho. The girls went to the Punjabi Girls School. One of my schoolmates was the son of Mrs. Mascrenhas, a Goan lady who ran a shop in Kisii. She was a slim woman, very quiet. That is why she could compete with the Gujaratis.
We used to go back to Kericho for vacations every three months. The nearest train station was Lumbwa (it is now called Kipkelion); between Lumbwa and Kericho we travelled by cart. My father had a small Scotch cart, the kind covered with A tarpaulin, drawn by 7 pairs of oxen. We would leave Kericho at 7 in the morning and do about 11 miles. Then we would stop and unyoke the oxen so they could drink water and eat grass. We would spend the night in the jungle, sleeping in the cart, while the drivers slept underneath. Then we would leave early next morning and reach Lumbwa in time to each lunch at the dak bungalow. The train would come in about 1 pm and stop for an hour so all the passengers could eat at the dak bungalow too. There were waiters employed there, and the food was very good. There were many different stationmasters and I can't remember their names, except I recall that in 1938 there was one called Gurbachan Singh. The train would travel all night and we would arrive in Nairobi about 9 in the morning, and then we would hire a rickshaw, drawn by two men, to go to our hostel - the rickshaw journey cost just 4 shillings.

CROSSING KENYA WITH THE RAILWAY
Contributed by late Gurdial Singh Pandhal. Kibos

Oh yes, we've heen here a long time, a very long time. My father got to Mombasa in 1894, before the Railway. He had a shamba there, everything.
My father Baba Jagat 'Macho Dogo' and a friend of his Lal Singh left India in 1892/3. They were from Jullunder District. They were very young and very poor. They had no clothes, no money. They paid their passage on a steamer by firing the boiler. They got to Mombasa even before the Railwav started. But when it started my father got a job as a clerk, second division service. He was getting clothes, food, accommodation and medical attention, plus 17 rupees 50 pice per month.
They worked their way up with the Railway. They left Mombasa and went to Changamwe, the Railway headquarters. Then they moved with the Railway on to Mile 7. And so they worked their way up the line. There were many Sikhs working on the Railway, and Punjabis and Muslims. They got to Mackinnon Road. They and the Railwav continued. People were being eaten by lions at Tsavo. They, the Indians, made a cave with boulders to sleep in. But even so they weren't safe. My father saw one Indian being taken by a lion. The Railway went on across the Rift Valley. Then near Fort Ternan the Africans, the Nandi, stopped the Railwav for a while.
In 1901 the Railway arrived at Lake Victoria and so did my father and his friend. The Railway brought the steamer. My father stayed here a little while, near German Point. There was sand there, lots of it, but there was no use for the sand; it was lake sand and dirty. Then my father went to Port Bell.
People continued to settle in this area, slowly, slowly. In 1914 came the war. Many people died. The British and the Germans were competing to build a railway into Uganda. The British got there first.

After the Railwav reached Kisumu, the Government gave the employees tents and asked them to take up farming. Because the Indians had worked very hard the
Government gave them 1500 acres divided between 30 people. Some people took
10 acres, some 50 and some 100, depending on what they thought they could manage.
The land was between Kisumn and Muhoroni, and the people were a mixed lot,
Gujaratis, Punjabi Muslims, Hindu Punjabis and Sikhs.
My father was one of the people who got a farm. He got a farm No. L. R.650/ 4,
105 acres of freehold land near the Kibos River. That was good because he came of a farming family and knew about the work. He was a small man but stout and very tough. The Government gave the land for farming but not any implements, only some pangas.

It was all forest, you couldn't see your neighbours. The settlers cleared the trees from the land with just pangas. My father and the others had to make their own implements out of wood, there wasn't even iron for hoes or ploughs. They'd do the final shaping using sharp stones.
When he was settled he called my mother Raj Kaur. She came in 1906. I was their first child, born here on the night of 10 June 1908. Then there was another son and four daughters.
The Government liked the work my father was doing and they said to him to bring more farmers like him from India. So my father went back to India in 1908/ 9 and brought over family members such as his brother and others who wanted to come. They had better tools but they still had a hard time. There were no roads. The nearest railway station was at Kibos, two and a half miles from our farm. Other farms were much farther away from the station, seven or eight miles. People used to travel in ox-carts with roofs. The carts were made by carpenters from India, some Sikhs and some others. Some carts had two wheels, others had four. People would travel right up to Busia and Uganda in those ox-carts. People who didn't have carts went on foot. It would take two to three hours to walk to Kisumu from our farm. We didn't have donkeys in those days, although now we have some to pull the weeding plows. We bought one horse but it died- its legs swelled up.
The area was very unhealthy when we settled here, with many diseases. There was a lot of malaria and blackwater and yellow fever. We had to take people to Kisumu with Ox-carts to the hospital there if they were sick. Sometimes people died on the way.
At first we planted the local crops, wimbi and mtama [types of millet] and they were very good. We tried wheat, but it was not successful here. Then we planted maize and vegetables and many sorts of pulses. Sugar was introduced here in 1910/12 and was very successful, and also cotton. We found this was a very good place for farming. We made our own water mill for grinding posho on the Kibos River. Other people built mills too; there were eight on the Kibos and the Awatch rivers.
We had very good labour too, mostly the Luos. They nicknamed my father 'Macho dogo' because he had 'small eyes'. We lived with our labourers as we still do, all in tie compound (though in separate houses of course). In those early days we were all like brothers, Europeans, Indians and Africans. When the Railway reached Kisumu Muslims had their mosque and the Hindus their temple both in one temporary building in the landhies. That building was made of mud and poles with a mabati roof. There was no trouble, there was lots of good feeling between everyone.
The 1914 war came here. The Government seized all our oxen and carts. They gave us a bit of money but almost nothing. They returned some of the oxen and carts after the war.
The one bad thing was that there was no [Indian] school in Kisumu except a private Gujarati one. So in 1920 our whole family went back to India for studies.
My uncle and cousins stayed here on the farm. I got married when I was there, in
1928, to Basant Kaur. She and myself and my father came back in 1929, and my
mother and sisters and brothers came a bit later, in the 1930s.
In 1920 the Government started to auction land. That was when we got this farm. Then they auctioned more land in 1930. That was the year that the locusts came in big swarms and ruined everything. The Government auctioned 4,200 acres upside, which was bought by the Waljee Hirjee Estate. But Waijee Hirjee' couldn't manage all that land, so they sold it in bits to others. By the time all this land was settled there were about 100 families altogether, half of them assorted Gujaratis and Punjabis, and half of them Sikhs. There was a real sense of community amongst all the farmers.
My father's friend Lal Singh had got a farm in Miwani. There were also two or three European farmers here, but not more because of the malaria. Most of the European farms were beyond Chemelil, around Songhor and Muhoroni. In 1920 a man named Eric Mayers came from Australia and surveyed here. Then he looked for a site for a sugar factory. He saw that Miwani was a good place and he brought a factory in 1922 and it started working in 1924. Then a Railway station was made at Miwani.
The sugar factory paid 6/- to 8/- for a ton of cane then. But they couldn't sell sugar in the depression, there was so much coming from Uganda. The sugar industry revived a bit in 1935 but it really picked up only after 1947.

OUR FAMILY TRADITION
From interview with late Naranjan Singh Chaggar

I'm pleased that you and Mr Lakhani have been able to come the dinner; it's more pleasant here than in my timber yard in town. But I'm afraid you'll find this big house rather empty since I now live here alone. My wife died many years ago. I hope you like vegetarian food; I'm a complete vegetarian. [And I never drink alcohol.) Now, let me tell you what I can about my family.
You know, in the early days there were many Indian artisans, especially Sikhs, working on the European farms and sawmills. In most cases they would go only for a short while, when they were called to do some particular work. They'd stay a month or two, whatever was needed, and then go somewhere else to do some other job. There were only a few Indian fundis employed full-time on the European farms, but four men in my family were amongst those few.
My grandfather's brother Labhu Ram Singh was the first of the four, for he came here sometime before World War I. He was working for Col. Swinton-Holme who had a farm at Soy, a place 30 miles from Eldoret. He had Scotch carts and big wagons, all pulled by teams of many oxen, which he used for transporting passengers and goods. Labhu Ram Singh was in charge of making and repairing the carts, and all general fundi work on the farm. The Colonel was a very active man, running the Soy Club, involved in the post office and in the police. Subsequently all his four sons were here; the eldest and youngest were working with him at Soy, while the other two worked us Kitale and various places. The grandsons are still in Kenya one at Kitale.
Then Labhu Ram's nephew, my father's brother Kartar Singh, came. He worked at the 'Elgeyo Sawmills' for a few years (there were a lot of Indians working there, about 70) and then he worked for Mr E.W. d'Ollier on his 'Endebess Estates'. That was a large coffee plantation and it had a big factory where all the farmers around would send their coffee. My Uncle Kartar Singh w