50. An Unexpected Yet Benevolent Layover in Honolulu

🛳 My ship ticket was booked through only to Hawaii and then

The ship arrived in Honolulu and I was at the thrilling roundabout in my life; time to redeem my sealed envelope which carried the efforts I had been working on most of my life.  Standing in the immigration line still on board the ship, my adrenaline was certainly raised a bit more.

There was just a few of us and now it was my turn to come forward.  The sealed envelope was opened and along with my passport, I was recognized, stamped and received.  “Welcome to the United States.” the immigration officer said to me pleasantly.

I was given my golden ticket (legal resident-green card) and now I could leave the SS Orsova.  As I disembarked the ship, there was a line of island girls dressed in their grass skirts ready to greet us.  Aloha!  they warmly said to each one of us along with a few extra Hawaiian words I cannot recall exactly.  

Perhaps loaa i kou makaikai as they placed fresh and fragrant flower leis around our necks, each with a sweet and lovely smile.  Aloha indeed!  🌸

Going into the Customs Building I found a big locker to store my suitcase.  My flight was not until the night time so first thing on my to-do list, food!  

I called a cab and asked the driver to take me to a decent and nearby Chinese restaurant.  The man’s attitude was pleasantly laid back and he was more than willing to help.  He promptly delivered me to a street where there were a few eateries; I didn’t miss the Chinese writing on many of the business signs.  

I began to look into the windows hoping one would call to me quickly.  As I was looking into the window of this one restaurant, I saw how quickly the seats were filling – it was lunch time and now I am even more hungry because I’m smelling the food too.  

Remember I just disembarked a ship where I was constantly being fed!

As though breaking into my thoughts of a delicious lunch, the front door opened and a caucasian man stepped right up to me.  He said, “ I see you there and I think you were hoping to come in and have some lunch, am I right?”

I replied without thinking twice, ‘Yes I’d love to but I see there are no open tables.’  He smiled and said “Don’t worry about that, if you want you can join me as there’s no one else at my table.”  

I didn’t have to mull anything over when it came to the increasing sounds in my tummy and so with a gracious smile I went in with him, following him to his table.  We sat down and he handed me a menu.  He mentioned his order was already placed.  Right away I saw a couple of items I desired and ordered them.  My food came shortly after his hit the table.

He introduced himself as a basically retired U.S. Marine, having served during WWII and a few years after that; beyond Pearl Harbor, he loved the islands and decided to plant himself in Honolulu.  

This kind-hearted American man, James, would’ve been my dad, by age I mean to say.  He was at least 25 years my senior.  We enjoyed a wonderful conversation over lunch, and yes the food was good too.

James asking me where I was from, where I was going ….I told him I was from Fiji and he said, “Oh I know Fiji!”  and I told him San Francisco is where that evening’s flight would take me.  

Seeming slightly alarmed James said, “Oh Blue you’re gonna freeze over there, especially coming in from Fiji.”  I had to laugh at his unexpected concern for me.  

He thought to tell me that San Francisco is definitely into winter now and it’s very cold there.  He then made suggestion that I consider remaining in Hawaii, “…at least through the winter and let the western U.S. warm up a bit!” he said with a chuckle.

I thought that a marvelous plan but then I had to say, ‘I think that’s a great idea but I haven’t anywhere to stay, I mean to say I hadn’t planned on a detour.”

James didn’t miss a beat. “You should stay with me.  I have a big house and it’s only my wife and our dog.”  Say, that’s a fabulous idea I thought and said as much with a grateful smile.  I think he would read my face.

I agreed and we talked more about what he wanted to do to help me; he seemed to enjoy this very much.  James said he could take me to the office of employment and that he’d help me get on my feet in no time.  “At least we can try, right?” he offered.

James wouldn’t let me buy my lunch treating me as his guest.  That was such a nice thing and I was feeling comfortable.  We left the restaurant together and as we walked towards the parking lot, we stopped at a phone booth to ring up his wife.  He told her he was bringing home a friend for a couple of nights.

We first went to recover my suitcase and then he took me straightway to the Employment Office.  “Might as well get you registered right away.  We wouldn’t want you to miss any opportunities.”  Thankfully that was a fairly quick and easy process.

James drove me around the town, pointing out this and that and Pearl Harbor too as we went by it.  James told me he was grateful to have survived it but was deeply saddened by the losses, some very personal.  

After leaving the town area we began ascending the hills towards his home.  It was such a beautiful neighborhood, lots of green of course and spacious lots with large ranch-style homes neatly placed upon them.

I turned to look in the direction from where we came and the view was sprawled out clear down to the Pacific Ocean, truly a brilliant blue from that vantage point!

We approached a driveway which he turned the car into.  As we pulled in a car was pulling out.  “That would be my wife.  She’s gone to visit her family.”  He stopped in the driveway up by the front door.  

I’m sure you can picture this in your mind’s eye;  the circular drive, the small flower garden in the center and the relaxed laid out home, glorious in its day, fantastic today too I’m sure!  We got out and walked into the house.

James warmly welcomed me into his home, “Well here’s the house.  I’ll first take you to your room so you can leave your suitcase there and I’ll show you around.”  

As I am experiencing an American’s home for the first time in my life, I was wowed to say the least.  It was something like a palace of sorts to me; so spacious and well, just beautiful.  He showed me the bathroom, the kitchen, the den … do you remember dens?

He then walked over to his telephone and I took a seat nearby; at this point we were taking care of changing my flight.  He called Pan Am and after a few words like calling on behalf of his friend who’s feeling under the weather and needs to cancel his flight, it was done.

I remember thinking to myself about who this man James really is when I heard him say to the person on the other end of the line something about his military status, it somehow reassured me in a calm way; it was like he was well known or something.

While we sat in the kitchen I had a soft drink although he had offered me the run of his entire liquor cupboard.  “We had a fabulous dinner last night, are you interested or should we go out?”  James asked me.  

My honest thoughts; I didn’t have a lot of money in my pocket, he had already treated me so kindly and anyway I was feeling tired, I said whatever he had would be perfect.

He attacked the refrigerator breaking out all the goodies.  There was a large, neatly wrapped in aluminum foil package he opened up.  It contained several delicious looking pork chops.  All the trimmings were there and we feasted.  

🇺🇸 Good choice to stay in – first American dinner in an American’s home.

All in all it was a nice night.  I enjoyed it very much including an evening stroll around his property.  And this time I enjoyed looking at the island lights from the opposite end of where I had seen them before, for the very first time; I’ll never forget that feeling, that sight.

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James:  fictitious name for the real mcCoy!  What a sincere, caring human being and what a perfect welcome into American life!  

Sometimes we just cannot help but to say with a twinkle in our eye and a fondness in our heart, “Ah, the good ‘ol days!

 

 

 

a Little Blue Masala From the Pacific CHILDHOOD ~ pilot episode

A new century, a foreign island to call home and two young lives.  And out of this union sprang many new lives, bringing forth a few fantastic adventures …

🇮🇳 My father was born a Hindu native of Uttar Pradesh, a state in northern India in 1884.  Twenty-one years later, as an *indentured servant of the British Empire, he sailed out of Calcutta on an English steamer towards a southern Pacific paradise.

While on board the ship coming to Fiji Tappoo from India, as one might imagine, a lot of time was spent on the open sea.   Relationships were forged and in some cases an acquaintance became a friend.  Some of those friends became like family and ofttimes trust accompanied these new relations, especially after disembarking in a new land; most likely these are the only friends one has to start over with.

Coordinates: 18.1416°S 178.4419°E

It was 1905 when he first arrived in the Fiji Islands, then a Crown colony and seated deep in the South Pacific on the International Dateline.  My Hindu mother was born in 1903 into a very loving home, there in Fiji.   ♥   My parents married in 1920.

After my father’s indentured service to the Crown was up, and as a good means of support, my father began to purchase tobacco leaves wholesale from the farmers in the Vunidawa district of Viti Levu, Fiji.  The land there being especially fertile supported dairy farms as well.

When my father sold the tobacco leaves it was in either the bulk or rope form.  In the latter instance he’d cut off and sell just what the customer wanted.  This lucrative business brought to my father one of the main distributorships of tobacco in all of Suva.

This is how he made his small fortune and began raising his family.  My father had purchased land in Toorak, which is approximately a 15-20 minute drive just southwest out of Suva proper.

There came a point in time when some of these shipmates who traveled from India with my father, convinced him to sign some documents (a thumbprint sufficed as a legal signature) which caused the forfeit of his property straight into their hands.  Lacking in proper education, my father didn’t quite understand business dealings and such; he was a decent, kind-hearted and simple man.

My father was told that in return they’d be able to produce better profits for him than what his land was worth currently.  This of course was not their true intention, an un-truth was told; he was being tricked out of his property ownership.  They filled his head with exaggerated tales of profits for all to share in, if they were to bring in developers.

While this reality is a truth in doing, there was only selfish motivation; they knew they were taking his property legally if not most certain, unfairly.  Over a course of time my father had prepared to build a nice big family home on his land.  What neither of my parents realized is this land was no longer theirs.

My father had always given my mother his earnings cash every night because well, she was the bank!  And he loved her very much.  She ran all management of the household; the family finances and he wanted her to have whatever she desired.

Naturally that created quite a stash of cash.  It didn’t take long before my mother’s kind and generous nature was common knowledge outside the household.  She was eventually taken great advantage of as well.

Mainly the people doing the taking were some of the household helpers already employed by my mother.  The workers would at first ask only for a shilling or two for their labors -and my mother always gave each one a little extra- then gradually build up to great wage expectancies, insisting on much more when finished.

They spoke of school fees that couldn’t be paid, or there was not enough food in the house or their children needed clothes and such.  Others in the house felt it was a play upon her sympathies.  She gave to them nonetheless.  It became obvious over a period of time, there were those simply taking advantage of her kindness.  I’m thinking some of these people are legitimately in need -but at every turn?

🦋

I was born on an Easter Sunday morning.  It was the 14th of April in 1935.

C - A Little Blue Masala (cover page)

The location of my home was known as 1 mile, Suva, as it was exactly one mile from Suva’s town center. Previously it was known as Old Golf Link due to its former incarnation as a golf course established by the ruling British of the times.

My mother’s father aka my nana, migrated to Fiji from Surinam, a Dutch Colony on the northeastern coast of South America; he was just a little boy when he arrived with his family.  His father came to Surinam from North India in the latter part of the 19th century.

My nana built this house and with his 2nd wife, resided there as well.  We had other family members living in this home; my mother’s two brothers and their wives but no cousins yet.  In fact most of the family was born there, ending in 1951.  Families were quite united in the days of old.

By the time of my arrival into this family’s life, my parents had already a son and daughter.  My elder brother was born in 1922 and my elder sister was born in 1928 -both were born on the same day- how does one do that?!

I recall being told that my nana and his wife lovingly nicknamed me meethaiLal (sweet [as in candy] red).  As my daughter tells me now, “Oh dad, if they only knew you would grow up to be garamLal! (red-hot!)”

Speaking of red it reminds me of this little boy’s treasure.  My nana had given to me a little red ball about the size of my head, for Christmas.  I absolutely loved that ball more than any other plaything I had.  I played with it all the time; I felt it was my very good friend.  You know it really made me happy.

Then one fateful day as I was playing with my ball it made its way into our fresh water supply of the local well.  It’s the kind of well that you’d see in old movies.  Oh how I cried, realizing I couldn’t get it out.  💔 I thought my best friend was lost forever.

great Nana's picI felt so sad, I couldn’t stop crying and I wouldn’t even eat my dinner that evening.  Finally I just went to sleep.  My nana came home and asked for me.  He was told that I didn’t eat and I wouldn’t stop crying.  No one knew why I was so sad and I didn’t want to tell on myself.

My nana came to me and waking me gently, asked me what was wrong.  I hesitated to tell him because I was scared that I’d get into trouble.  After he assured me it was all right to tell him, I sadly described as best I could how my ball had gone down into that hole in the ground, out in the yard.

I’m sure he was amused by the slight smile on his face and he offered me his hand, inviting me to go outside with him.  We were going to reassess the situation.  He was definitely amused!  He laughed a hearty laugh as he sent the water bucket down into the well to fish out my ball.

My world was perfect once again!  And not only that, a point was made to cover up the well.  Only the adults could now remove this cover as needed.  Thank God it wasn’t due to a child having fallen into the well to get the right thing done.

I was either 4 or 5 years of age when my nana passed away.  There was an empty spot in the house, in my heart.  I missed him very, very much.

 

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* indenture  [noun historical]  a contract by which a person agreed to work for a set period for a landowner in a British colony in exchange for passage to the colony.  > See FREE Oxford Dictionary of English -app  ++ On the Crown’s ticket, my siblings and I (at a future date) were granted free passage to visit our father’s homeland.


I do hope you have enjoyed the launch into this very interesting saga based on true events.  It is a continuing adventure brought forth by some very precious memories of a beloved, now senior, gentleman.  I pray for his continued participation which has been filled with much laughter and a few tears for balance: always a fresh recollection as though it were only yesterday.

Thank you for your indulgence.  Do return next week, Sunday evening about 8P pst for a fresh infusion of some Blue Masala!