To England via Uganda

In my teens during the Nazi era, walking in our town of Heilbronn am Neckar near Stuttgart, I heard the voices of people being beaten. Then our synagogue was burned down and on Kristallnacht my father was arrested and taken to Dachau. My Uncle David, a Swiss national who lived in Basle, came to our rescue. His son had an affair with the daughter of a German consular official. Making use of the affair, Uncle David bribed this official, getting us visas for East Africa, and my father was released from Dachau (he said that if you had bruises, the Nazis put ointment on them before you were released as they didn’t want anyone to see them). We left Germany in February 1939 with just three suitcases. My father gave a Heilbronn man valuable jewellery to forward our household goods, but that never happened: all our things disappeared. We stopped in Basle to see our relatives before proceeding to Genoa. There we boarded a boat for Mombasa, Kenya, from where we took a train to Nairobi. Ladies from the Kenya Council for Jewry took us to a Jewish boarding house. To remain in Kenya, British regulations required a cash deposit. We didn’t have enough for this so we travelled to British-governed Uganda, a two-day train trip, where the deposit was lower and our visa was also valid. In Kampala a Jewish family helped us rent a big house and Mutti took in boarders. My father got a job in the local bus station doing their accounts and I worked as a live-in child-minder. When war broke out in September 1939, Jews and Germans alike were interned by the British. When we were released, my father found work keeping books on a large plantation owned by missionaries. Important people came to the tea plantation, including the Kabaka, the king of Buganda, a large, heavily populated area of Uganda. I became the lady’s maid to the wife of the governor of Uganda in Entebbe. Government House had a view of Lake Victoria and a wonderful garden. I earned the equivalent of five marks per month and had to wear a maid’s uniform, had to curtsy to my employer and was allowed to speak only when spoken to. She belittled me as I was only a German-Jewish refugee. The governor, on the other hand, was friendly to me. At parties I took coats; once the king and queen of Greece came. The governor’s English aidede- camp and a housekeeper were the only other white persons on the staff. I had almost no contact with the black employees: one just didn’t befriend black people. On my monthly day off, I went to Kampala, a 45-minute ride from Entebbe. A Jewish couple introduced me to Abe Dokelman, who became my husband. His parents were born in Russia and had immigrated to Palestine before coming to Uganda. Abe was nine years older than I and was in mining up-country. We were married at the registry office with only my parents, their employers, my father-in-law and two of Abe’s brothers present. I was 22. I would have liked a Jewish wedding but it was 1942 and it was Africa. My husband rented two mines, a gold mine and one that produced iron ore, from the government land office in Entebbe. He had passed an exam qualifying him to manage mines. Government inspectors came regularly to see they were being run safely. Abe supervised 200 miners. Still, the gold miners stole a lot of the precious metal. This is what living up-country in Uganda meant. Entebbe was 400-500 miles away. Umbrana, the nearest village, was 40 miles away. I learned to drive a van, which was hard as none of the roads was paved. Our house was on top of a hill. I had no gas, no electricity, no running water, no telephone. We did have a wind turbine to charge our car batteries and our radio. We had our own milking cows and grew our own vegetables. Two servants spent all day carrying water from a stream uphill to our house in four-gallon tin cans. Another young servant chopped wood all day for my stove. My first child, Charles, was born in 1943. Three more followed and the house was no longer big enough, so we chopped down trees to build an addition. By then, I had a prima stove, imported from England, to cook porridge for the children. I had no contact with the miners, who lived in the valley. We had a watchman and I had a large Alsatian dog. The Africans didn’t like this dog and I walked outside without fear. That was how it was in Africa in those days. Once a fortnight we got together with another Jewish couple, who lived an hour or two away, and with Abe’s brother-in-law, who also ran a mine. During the war Jewish soldiers would come to stay with us. I was always busy. Charles, our oldest, was a boarder at a mission school in Kabali. I hometaught our other three children with the help of correspondence courses. For vaccinations and medical check-ups I took them to Kampala. My parents came to visit once or twice a year. In 1954 Abe gave up the mines so the children could have proper schooling. Members of our family built us a house outside Kampala. I still had no running water, but now there was electricity. We opened a shop selling uniforms, children’s clothes and blankets, a big item for Africans. We had four employees and an Indian tailor. My father kept the accounts. We imported goods from Israel, India, England and Germany. I drove a Bedford delivery van to pick up the merchandise from the railway depot. Because we paid cash we were able to sell more cheaply than our competitors. Ours was the only privately-run store in Kampala. We moved twice more, to a house in Kampala, then to a beautiful house we built overlooking Lake Victoria. It had a patio and a badminton court. Our furniture was made of imported wood. Kampala had a small Jewish community. I had Jewish friends from Poland, Egypt and England. We celebrated Rosh Hashanah and observed Yom Kippur in various people’s homes. Charles had his Bar Mitzvah in Nairobi. When Israel was friendly with Uganda, I entertained members of the trade commission and the Israeli ambassador at our home. We were doing well and my father thought one of his grandsons would take over our business. But it was not to be. Once more we had to move. We had had burglaries throughout our time in Kampala. With Uganda’s independence the problems became much worse. Only the Bugandans were honest and polite. Ugandans came into our shop refusing to pay but wanting to have everything. Uganda just wasn’t safe any longer. In 1964 we sold the house and the business, both at a loss. My father returned to Heilbronn, but Abe and I came to England. We had become British citizens long before. Perhaps a dozen other Jewish refugees came to London as we did. Many other white people went to Kenya and Mombasa. In England Abe became a salesman. I ran a canteen and worked in an office. The Jewish people I knew in Kampala are my friends to this day. We speak to each other often and we meet. I’m 91 and widowed now. I have six grandchildren and five greatgrandchildren. Looking back on Africa, I’m not sure how I did it. I can only say it wasn’t easy. Life was what it was and you got on with it. Ilse Dokelman (abridged by Eve R. Kugler)