THE RELUCTANT ASKARI

With less than a week to go before we embarked on Hired Transport (HT) 'DILWARA' at Singapore for the return journey to Kenya in June 1953, one of our askaris went missing.
For an African to go AWOL in Malaya was like a swallow electing to stay behind in Britain when all the others were taking off for the southern hemisphere. He was seen in the nearby village of Ulu Tiram (adjacent to the Jungle Warfare School, Kota Tinggi where we were staging) but fled when we tried to catch him. With just one day to go, he was caught on a rubber estate and locked up in the guard room.
Askaris were concerned about what was happening in Kenya. Mau Mau was sweeping through the country like a forest fire and they knew that another war would have to be fought when they reached home. I asked my orderly, Kipleli, how he would like to live in Malaya, like so many other expatriates did. There was a look of terror in his eyes as he asked me if that was an option. When I assured him that it was only a matter for discussion, he thought for a few moments and replied: "Effendi, have you ever seen a mother chicken scratching the earth for things that her chicks can eat?" I nodded. "And when there is danger, what do the chicks do?" he continued. I pretended not to know. "They scamper under her wings where they know they'll be safe. You and all the other officers are the chickens, and I'm just a chick." That parable is typical of the way askaris related complicated issues to simple situations.
There was no doubt that the vision of ordinary askaris had been widened during their time in Malaya They learnt what communism was about and they learnt how to work with British, Malay, Fiji and Gurkha soldiers. They came to realise what fine athletes they were and were proud of the records they gained for track and field events. It was in the early '50s' that the athletic fraternity came to hear about the fantastic running skills of the Nandi and Kipsigis. Nowadays, it is commonplace to see the Kipsangs, Kiptanuis, Kiplangats and all the other 'Kips' streaking ahead of the opposition to return world record times - and it all started in Malaya.
But to return to the askari who wanted to stay in Malaya. He was kept handcuffed until he got aboard the ship and was then put in the ship's cells at the 'sharp' end of the boat. During the first day at sea, he made a nuisance of himself shouting and throwing food, which he refused to eat, at his jailers. But when we turned west after rounding the northernmost tip of Sumatra, we ran into heavy seas. The motion amidships, where I had my cabin, was uncomfortable enough until I became used to it, but in the bows the rise and fall was quite alarming. It was not long before the prisoner was whimpering for mercy. Eventually, he found his sea legs but then went on hunger strike.
After four days of taking water only, the Doctor told me he would have to be force-fed. I spoke to the Colonel, who by this time had had enough of the prisoner, and would have agreed to him walking the plank if the Doctor said so. But force feeding was agreed and the procedure was simpler than I expected.
A couple of burly regimental policemen quickly overpowered him, bound him in a straight-jacket and carried him off to the medical centre. He was strapped to a table while the Doctor produced a piece of wood like a horse's bit with a hole in the middle and tapes at both ends. He pressed it against the askari's tightly closed lips which opened when it became painful. The tapes were tied at the back of his head, and then we were ready for the next stage. This was the insertion of a rubber tube through the hole in the 'bit' which was fed down to his stomach. It was then a simple business to pour a jug of soup down the tube. It was all over in a minute and the prisoner, realising he wasn't going to win, submitted to the authority of the provost sergeant, and we had no more trouble from him.