Free Uhuru Street by M. G. Vassanji

rudiments of hygiene. Haven’t you seen the mamas sitting all day outside the hospital – with kids with worms in their feet, worms in their bellies? Just to be able to show your new shoes at the Girls’ School …’
    Howls of delight at the magic words. A planted joke.
    ‘And in the rain, you’ll go around naked to save yourclothes …’ He started muttering under his breath, the dark scowl returned to his face.
    It was not known in class where Stuart originally came from. He looked neither European nor Asian. He sounded English, but not quite. The conclusion was that he was a Eurasian, perhaps even a camouflaged Goan. He always came in a cream or a light brown suit, wore a hat and carried a briefcase. The face was of a skeleton, a thin, pale skin stretching across it, his teeth rarely showing even when he laughed. It gave his scowl a distinctive ferocity and earned him the nickname Frankenstein. It was in fact one of the most feared faces in school. His lower lip jutted out and moved continuously during his silent mutterings. The boys never knew if those were real words he muttered or if he just pretended. But when he did that for what seemed like an eternity you felt your entire ancestry held up to ridicule and dismissed with contempt. ‘Right up to Adam!’ as Kanji said. Kanji, of whom Stuart said, ‘Born in the gutter, bred in the gutter.’
    The latecomer hugging his seat, the lesson started. The final chapter of an abridged
Tom Brown’s Schooldays.
    ‘It was the summer of 1842 …’ Stuart began. He preferred his own reading to the boys’ imprecise intonations. ‘Wot-wot-wot’ he would sometimes yell in derision at an ill-pronounced question. This time he did not proceed beyond 1842 in his reading. The year brought memories and he digressed. And the boys prayed he would keep on digressing until the bell rang. The class was quiet and attentive and responded positively to his humour.
     … The England of 1842. Young England, of rolling hills, lush forests, and stately homes. Where character was taught in schools … honour and courage were not mere words … and don’t think sportsman’s spirit was confined to the cricket pitch (a nod toward the door), you numbskulls, who use the pitch as a market for haggling and for community vendettas. (A titter: the barb goeshome.) England, an island on the map, a beacon for the world … The summer of 1842 … from Rugby to college – perhaps Balliol, or Jesus – and then into the world to help a fresh breed of boys grow into men …
    ‘Where is Balliol?’ he asked suddenly. A question he would have answered himself, but for half a dozen hands in the air now, wagging fiercely. The closest hand in the second row was acknowledged, and Lalji shot up from his chair.
    ‘Balliol is the college of Oxford!’ All in one breath, hoarsely. ‘I mean, Sir …’
    Interrupted by a jeering howl from the master and the class held its sides. It was going to be a great day.
    ‘Do you have to bark out your answer, man?’ Red-faced, Lalji sat down, and faced his grinning neighbour. ‘Show some grace, some poise.’ And then, with a trace of regret, perhaps, at seeing the demolished face looking back at him in a daze: ‘I know, your voice is breaking … but some grace, some poise, man … stand up first, compose yourself, and speak up, “Balliol is a college at Oxford.” ’ And then the mutter once more: pedigrees in question.
    Stuart’s mission in school was to civilise. Two months before, the class had been instructed on the use of the ‘English-style’ toilets. This, after he discovered a ‘mess’ on the lavatory floor. ‘Do you think the bowl is there to wash your faces in, you numbskulls?’ And then, grinning like a mischievous dog, he revealed a happy discovery: ‘And tell your other teachers the seat is not to be mounted either!’ The ‘other teachers’ were Indians. The boys wondered how he had found out who squatted on the toilet seats