The Idea for "Speak Swahili, Dammit!"

I was 6 months old when my Cornish family arrived, in January 1952, at the tiny goldmine in Geita, the most remote place in northwestern Tanganyika Territory, as it was then known. By the time I could lay down any lasting memories, I was aware of being very unusual. The friends I played with were all black, and the only language I could speak with any comprehensibility or confidence was Swahili. The strange thing was that, apart from my immediate and close friends, there was, in fact, also a white, or Muzungu society on the mine, and every night when my ayah dropped me off, exhausted by running amok in the bush with my Swahili rafikis, or friends, I was suddenly surrounded by my white Muzungu family, who I couldn't understand, and who laughed or scolded every time I spoke in Swahili.

By three I had cemented my unusual position in Geita. Mum and Dad despaired. I was bringing unwanted European approbation to my family. I was very different to other Wazungu children on the mine, and even my two year older sister spoke passable English....