I remember him as a Black African now, though I didn't know it then. Colour is not one of the distinguishing features of other human beings when you're a child.
All I remember was a gentle giant, erect, even though he was advanced in years and should have been stooping. He treated me kindly, always climbing up a tree to offer a ripe fruit to a young city dweller and showing me the interesting features of Socolvaddo in Assagao. He did all the tasks outside the house and never without a smile. He loved my Dad too, because he treated him well and kept aside for him generous shots of good Siolim Cashew feni to drink after the setting sun. Sometimes the feni would set him off on a jolly dance in the front yard, African style, arms waving and legs stomping to music from the Emissora de Goa on the radio. To my constant queries on who Fottulo was, they told me that my grandfather who died before I was born, brought him from Africa. Nothing more. One day in Bombay, Dad sadly told me that Fottulo died alone at home in Assagao. I was sad too. There would be no more kind caretaker to meet the next summer vacation. Now from what I read, Fottulo might have been a Siddi. That would mean the grandfather bringing someone from Africa story was untrue for some reason. I hope it was. The thought of him leaving his familiar surroundings for a life in Goa, does not sit well with me. Roland Francis Toronto.
