Uhuru Street Read Online Free

over it. It stayed intact for years, long after he had left.
    Thanks to him I had my first glimpse of royalty. The arrival of Princess Margaret in our town was an occasion for a big and lively celebration. Preparations were in progress for months, and the last few weeks before she arrived were like the days of festive Ramadhan. Streets were crowded, especially in the evenings. Stores, decorated with light series and flags, stayed open late and busy. Groups from schools, churches, Red Cross, and RSPCA, individuals on stilts and in fancy dress banging drums and tambourines, went around for donations. School bands, the police band, and neighbourhood bands equipped with lead pipes and tin-can maracas practised in different parts of the town. All of a sudden Union Jacks became a common sight, fluttering in rows onstorefronts and in the hands of schoolchildren. Vendors of sweets, coffee, and brightly coloured sherbets set up on street corners or went about from store to store calling out their wares, whistling. The sounds of children playing rang out in the streets late into the evening.
    Schools went through special preparation and drill for the royal visit. But to my great disappointment only the higher forms were to be allowed to welcome the princess. I missed the excitement of the rehearsals, the free lunches and sodas. Developments in the rehearsals were announced daily at home by Mehroon. She was the eldest and not for nothing called ‘Reporter’ by us. So and so would participate in the gymnastics display, someone else had the chance to sing the anthem, a third one would present a gift. Curtsies were demonstrated in our sitting room with much discussion and debate. I watched all this from a distance, feeling left out and envious. All the excitement seemed to be passing me by. On the day of the visit, even the motorcade was rerouted to miss our street.
    Then, on the afternoon of the fated day, while I sat in the store with Mother and Ali and my younger brother Aloo, waiting for Mehroon and the others to return, a sudden commotion rose up in the street outside. A thunder of bare feet thudded down the street, as almost everyone who could simply left what he was doing and started running with excitement like a being possessed. Ali walked out, squinting at the sunlight, made a quick enquiry and hurried back inside. On the store bench he left the shirt he was working on and was off.
    ‘What’s up, eh Ali?’ I shouted after him, looking up from an assembly of cardboard box and wooden reels on the floor.
    ‘The young queen,’ he said, ‘she’s coming!’
    He stopped, came back inside, pulled my hand and together we took off. But that was no way to beat the crowd running with us, and soon I was on his shoulders, bumping along and towering overthe others. We ran on main roads and along side streets, all the while following the crowd ahead of us as they took first this turn and then the other. Men and women came out of houses and stores, shielding their eyes from the sun, gazing towards a mass of people now converging from many directions. Some looked up at the sky and pointed. Finally we stopped where a huge crowd had gathered around the war memorial, the elevated bronze statue thrusting a bayonet at some unseen enemy.
    ‘There it is – the bird,’ said Ali, pointing up. And there it was, like a locust buzzing in the air – the helicopter from which the princess had landed. For some, as for Ali, this was the only sight they had of the royal presence.
    Sitting on Ali’s shoulder and looking over the black, fuzzy heads of the mass of people, all straining their eyes and craning their necks, I saw the princess waving a white-gloved hand. Her dress was white and her wide-brimmed hat was also white. A figure of such grace and poise, as if an angel had descended from the sky. And beside her, in his tasselled black and gold ceremonials, the Governor, Sir Philip Morrisson – a name whose each syllable we had learnt to pronounce