[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}
Discuss Goa-related issues, post your comments to goanet@goanet.org
Keep track of what others are discussing about Goa in cyberspace,
visit http://lists.goanet.org/pipermail/goanet-goanet.org/
[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}[*]{*}
AN AFRICANDER IN THE MAPUSA OF THE 'SEVENTIES
Or, my days as a Britto's boarder
Benedict 'Benny' Faria
Benedict.Faria at sun.com
For seven years, I was a boarder at St. Britto's. This is a a
random account my school memories. Time has made me embellish
some, and abbreviate others. Whilst begging forgiveness for
any inaccuracies, I would like to dedicate this to the
thousands of Britto boarders. They carry similar memories and
experiences that have forged them into the men they are today.
I joined class IV, in 1970, and left with the SSC batch of
1977. Prior to that, and like many other boarders, I was born
and spent my fledgling years in East Africa.
African Nationalist movements in the late 60s determined that
all schooling was to be in Swahili. My ex-pat Goan parents, in
common with many parents in Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania,
yearned instead for their offspring to be educated in English.
Mindful of this, priests from the various boarding schools in
Goa would visit East Africa during those uncertain times, to
soft-sell their boarding schools, and allay parental
concerns. Of these was a Fr. Condillac SJ, who made a big
impression on my mother during one such visit. Thus, in May
1970, my elder brother Angelo and I, embarked from
Dar es Salaam on a nine-day voyage aboard the SS Haryana, bound
for new beginnings at Britto's.
My mother had thoughtfully painted us a lively picture of
boarding life in Goa, of hockey matches, studies, church and
prayers. She warned us above all, to be mindful of snakes,
deep wells, and ghosts.
I was an gullible, wide-eyed, innocent boy. I found the
initial boarding experience totally stupefying. However, the
regimented routine left no time for self-indulgence, and I
soon got into the rambunctious spirit of things.
Months later during that first year, on my black
steel framed bed, I would still envision that this
was all a dream and that I would wake up back home
in Africa. Other boys fared less well initially,
and it was not uncommon for some to succumb to
tearful home-sickness during the first few nights
in the boarding.
For us boarders, the start of the school year was the
previous Sunday evening. The 150-180 or so boarders would
wend their way up the steep slope, some on foot from Mapuca
praca, and others, the lucky ones, in cars or taxies.
Parents, uncles, even grannies would heave tin trunks up the
stairs to the junior or senior dormitories. It was a noisy,
disordered, yet sentient affair. It was the only time we'd
get to see the other boy's parents or relatives, and even
bashfully squint at their sisters or girl cousins. Events on
that day would be inflated and recounted for many days after.
There was always a distinctive damp smell in the dormitory
during the first weeks at school. I've rarely encountered it
since leaving, and it never fails to evoke memories of the
start of a new school year.
The monsoon would have just broken and I have fond memories
of snuggling up for that first night with the rain hammering
down noisily on our asbestos roof. We'd spend the evening
catching up with old friends, and swapping holiday stories.
Boys lucky enough to have travelled to the Gulf or Africa
came back with unimaginable stories of swimming pools,
drive-in cinemas, and hamburgers. There'd also be new
transistor radios, cassette players, watches, compass boxes,
hockey sticks, football boots, and clothes to show off as well.
It was also the time we'd encounter the new 'Brother', in
retrospect, the lucky Jesuit novice who had bagged the year
out in beautiful Goa. This was also the start of an informal
competition to come up with a nickname for him. Sometimes it
took a few days, but we'd always eventually get to a
consensus.
My memory is now short, but there was Jack the Pack (Brother
Dias), Kalicharran, and Kapao among others over the years.
The reasons behind these have faded with time.
There were up to four rows of beds, and if you were early,
you had a choice. The beds furthest from the Brother's room
and nearest the wash basins were favoured by the bigger boys
of each dormitory -- perfect for tom-foolery after
lights-out.
There would also be the ritual 'sharing' of sweets. Boys
lucky enough to have a good supply had to endure contrived
'best-friend'-ship for a while. Lester Fernandes' granny's
bolinhas were a particular favourite of mine, though its not
the only reason we're still close friends.
We'd also have to bag our desks in the study halls on first
floor. As these would be used as classrooms during the day,
we had to lock the desks, and fret over how best to keep keys
safe. Many a Britto boarder became an expert lock-picker
after losing desk or trunk keys. Consequently, sardine tin
keys, compasses or paper clips were always treasured.
Our first days were busy, acquiring text books,
second hand from older boys if you'd reserved them
the year before, or brand new from Minervas, the
local bookshop. Then we'd spend time wrapping the
texts in brown paper, a habit I have to this day.
The annual experience of acquiring brand new
notebooks, pencils, compass boxes and crisp brown
paper instilled in me a mild fetish about
stationery, and I still feel mildly excited at
sharpening a pencil, or starting a new notebook.
Our school day routine was relentless. We were governed by
the whistle, and the school bell. We awoke at 6.45 am, mass
at 7.30, breakfast at 8, school at 8.30 till 1.30, lunch,
study time from 2 till 4, football, hockey or basketball till
5.30, serious study time between 6 and 7.45, followed by
prayers or hymn singing in the chapel, supper at 8, and
bed-time at 10 pm. I vowed then that I would live to enjoy a
morning lie-in. To this day, it remains one of my unabashed
indulgences -- when my working day permits, of course.
If there was a persistent image the 'day scholars' had about
boarders, it was that of the daily stampede to the refectory
for meals. The food was generally poor. If you got there
first, you'd get to scoop out the rare piece of meat from the
communal steel bowls to protests of "eh, eh, fishing,
fishing, men".
I was always hungry at school. Breakfast, at 7.30 am
consisted of white bread with a smidgen of butter and jam,
and gallons of sweet, strong coffee. If you were nice to the
'mestas', they'd let you cover your bread in 'kalchi kodi'
(yesterday's curry), a pleasure I would still die for.
Lunch at 1.30 pm, like dinner, usually consisted of white
rice and watery fish or meat curry. At 4 pm we'd have tea,
with a crust of plain toast.
Occasionally, and there was no pattern to this, we'd have
'chops' for supper. These were mince savouries fried in
breaded batter, the most exquisite meal in school memory.
There was an attempt to introduce extra fruit and powdered
milk for boys who parents could afford it. Not being one of
these, I was always uncomfortable with this disparity.
On five occasions every year -- Christmas, New Year, St
Britto's Day, Easter, and Loyola Day -- we'd have fried eggs
for breakfast, and I suspect, the same food as the priest.
Raids on the Fathers' refectory were not uncommon, for extra
bananas, and fresh bread. In later years, and when we could
afford it, some of us would bunk off to the nearby Woodlands
restaurant after supper for a great meal of steak, potato
chips, with fried egg for Rs 3. It also felt very grown up.
My mother had the foresight to make me practice the
'barakadi' while still in Africa, Devnagiri script reading
and writing. This stood me in good stead for Konkani classes
(pausa pausa, yo re yo), Marathi (kai pahije?), though like
most Africanders at school, I scant understood what I was
reading. Britto's then also had an English-only policy.
After dinner, in the dim light of the main hall, we'd play
'catching cook'. It was loud, raucous and I loved it. Twenty
or more boarders would play for the 45 mins before bed-time
at 10 pm. I can still feel the excitement, akin probably to
how wildebeest feel as they collectively stampede from a
predator, breathlessly savouring the momentary respite
between chases.
We'd swoop up and down the stairs that formed a circle -- up
the stairs in front of "princy's office", around the chapel,
and down by the games cupboard. Whizzing down stairs two at a
time (no hands), is a skill I honed from this happy activity
-- a skill I still practice and hold proud.
Another popular game among the seniors was 'Kitty, kitty,
what's the time'. The prefects disapproved of it as it was
potentially dangerous, but we were young, indestructible, and
knew better of course. One team would form a long line of
bent backs, whilst the other team would leap frog onto them
one at a time, till about 10-15 boys were astride and atop
the others. Them amid much groaning, the bent over team had
to guess how many fingers (whats the time?) one of the other
team was holding up, till they got it right, or the line
collapsed with the weight. Naturally, these were played
guerilla-style, and had to be over before anyone in authority
showed up.
We were collectively known as Africanders, and we'd
play against 'the rest' of the boarding at hockey
(which we'd always win), and football, which we
always lost.
Football was marvelous. The whole senior dorm was roughly
split up into two teams at the start of the school year. The
two teams sometimes well over 20 strong each, would play
football every other day (hockey in between). The scores
would be accumulated through the year till the following
March when scores of 97-95 would be banded about. Perfect
days -- playing football, or hockey, or basketball, knowing
that there was a film on later that night, usually on
Thursdays, with 'chops' for dinner.
---
Benedict Faria (Class of 1977) is now engagement architect,
for client solutions (communications and media) at Sun
Microsystems Computers at it's Regis House office on London's
King William Street. He wrote this chapter for a forthcoming
book collectively penned by the alumni of St Britto's,
Mapusa's most noted school.
GOANET-READER WELCOMES contributions from its readers, by way
of essays, reviews, features and think-pieces. We share
quality Goa-related writing among the 7000-strong readership
of the Goanet/Goanet-news network of mailing lists. If you
appreciated the thoughts expressed above, please send in your
feedback to the writer. Our writers write -- or share what
they have written -- pro bono, and deserve hearing back from
those who appreciate their work. GoanetReader welcomes your
feedback at goanet@goanet.org
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Goanet, building community, creating social capital for a decade.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
_______________________________________________
Goanet-news mailing list
Goanet-news@lists.goanet.org
http://lists.goanet.org/listinfo.cgi/goanet-news-goanet.org
