Gold in a Talcum Powder Bottle

My mother hid her gold in talcum powder bottles.

Kampala, 1972. Idi Amin had given the Asians ninety days to leave, with almost no cash. My mother is called Pramila. She doesn't read, so before anything else in this book, I am speaking to her. Everything in these five scrolls starts with what she did on a Monday night in Uganda when I was seven.

The Entebbe story leaves something out. It makes her a monument, and she is a person. She has always made tea the same way, with too much milk and then reheated, which is objectively wrong and which she has never once admitted. She laughs before the punchline, because she has already seen where the joke is going and can't wait. She is suspicious of anyone who doesn't eat properly. That is her main test of character: leave food on your plate and something is not quite right with you. She has opinions about fabrics, and she will tell you, unasked, what she thinks of what you are wearing and whether it suits you. She is the most honest person I know. Her honesty is never cruel and never diplomatic, and it is always accurate.