God of Hunger HTML version

flourished, more wilted, while most simply got by, in a country to which they
went with feelings of trepidation, from homelands they often recalled, to a
place they never forgot; a land which now bears little trace of them. This book
is dedicated to their remembrance.
I was born (1944) in Tanganyika arriving in the UK in 1963 to attend the
Cambridgeshire College of Arts and Technology. Finding the fenland winter
too cold to bear, I spent much of my first year identifying the college with the
best heating system and found it at Keele University where the Nissen hut
accommodation was served by the largest radiators in the land. Keele then
allowed its undergraduates a Foundation year during which I discovered
History, the love of my life after Merrilyn, whom I met at Keele. We married in
1969 and were blessed in 1972 with a daughter, Sophie. The family home of
forty years and more is in Staffordshire where, at various colleges, I have taught
African Politics and Government, International (European and Non-European)
Political History and modern Polish, British and German Diplomatic History.
In writing this book I have relied mostly on memory; on remembered
conversations within a family where story telling was the main source of
entertainment. We did not listen to the radio. Nor to the gramophone. We also
read next to nothing. Perhaps this was because when night fell regularly at 6 (or
at 12, by the Swahili clock) the paraffin lamps gave inadequate light for that
pastime? Or was it simply because talking in the dim flickering light had the
added attraction of shadow play on our lime washed bedroom walls?
There were some two dozen books in the house; a set of Golden Pathway
which a slick salesman off-loaded as the best source of knowledge for our
betterment. The Wedgwood blue, hardbound volumes, were never consulted
save for a look at each coloured frontispiece. Strangely, many years later, I saw
a play in Nantwich, in Cheshire, based on the unread contents; it was all very
English. There was also a three volume set, in Polish, recording the battle for
Monte Casino whose summit was taken by Poles. Next, a book in Greek
entitled Hellenes Abroad (Tanganyika), written by John Tsondos, published in
Nicosia, no date of publication. It contains material I have long treasured such
as mention of every Greek in the Territory, including many photographs,
including one of our family. There was also a tome called Greeks in Africa, in
English, published by a Greek publishing house in Alexandria, in 1955, listing
every Hellene in every corner of the continent. The photographs show men in
short sleeved shirts, knee length baggy khaki shorts (kaptulas) and knee high
long socks. Women in flower patterned light cotton dresses, and couples often
leaning on the bonnets of automobiles, one foot on the running boards, a la
Bonnie and Clyde. The American limousines, box-bodies and pick-ups are
straight out of fifties movies. My Godfather owned a brown Hudson which had
a massive steering wheel on which was mounted a glass globe the size of a
small paperweight, enabling the driver single-handedly to swing the wheel