THE PROJECT

Having trained as a therapist, I continued to explore my identity, ancestry and the experience of being a 19 month old migrant growing up in London. It is complex. This thinking eventually lead to creating Migrant Women Histories on Instagram during lockdown 2020. While I researched an art project, I found many photographs detailing the movement of people but I wondered about individuals and their memories and stories. I felt they should be noted and not forgotten. I also came across a fascinating photograph of a family in a rather noble looking home in India, the walls adorned with portraits of family members... all male. Where were the mothers, daughters, sisters?

Migrant Women Histories is a space for stories of the women behind the men in those and many other portraits. The unrecognised heroes that we all know, the holders of so much, integral to family and society. 

Take a moment to read the rich stories below...

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"You’re 84 and it seems like time has stopped still. You don’t like going out (I take you out anyway for a spin despite your protests), you have your favourite ‘dramas’ on 24/7 on your numerous Indian TV channels, you insist I eat a full meal regardless of the hour when I pop in for my daily visits to your tropically warm house, I bring over fish n chips and curry sauce every Friday and I drive you to Aldi every Sunday for yet more stockpiling of milk and bread. When I look at you still making chapattis in seconds for this still-grateful 50-year old son, I wonder how many thousands you’ve made since arriving on these shores on a ship in 1955 as a pregnant 18-year old with your much older husband."

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Mum was born in the Parish of St. Lucy, Barbados, her father a white landowner who had many children by different women. She grew up knowing her father, visiting him until the age of 16 as part of an arrangement he had made to provide financial support for her schooling and upkeep. However, he would make her feel ashamed each time she went to collect money. 

When she turned 16, he withdrew all finances which meant she had to leave school. Mum learned shorthand and typing, working for a solicitor and then as a doctor's nanny.

Mum is the 4th only child with 6 known half-siblings, some she knew growing up and three brothers she recently discovered in Canada; one of them refusing to acknowledge their relationship. All this came to light when Mum’s brother was gifted a DNA test and discovered many relatives in Canada, America, Africa and Bermuda. 

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Jackie was brought to England by her Grandma aged 15 months to reunite with her mother, whom we know from the story above. 

It broke her Mother’s heart to leave Jackie behind when she was only 6 months old and made her into a protective and strict parent. Although Jackie has no negative experience of this, her mother felt terrible when her baby cried for Grandma and not her.

Her first memory of being in England at the age of 2, was her sister was being born in 1963. School was an exciting prospect and Jackie couldn’t wait as she made friends easily and wanted to, “Know everything!” PE was a favourite lesson but having to do it in knickers and vests was not as boys would tease.

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Masooda spent the first 10 years of life in Riasi, one of four children with her father and mother, much as any other family. That all changed the day she left Riasi, amongst the tumult of Partition to Shakargarh village, Sialkot, Pakistan.

Like her younger sister Hameeda, Masooda was present at the cataclysmic moment of Partition. She was caught in that maelstrom of hatred and every second of it was an existential threat to her life and that of her relatives. However, Hameeda remained with their Mother in a safer part of Kashmir and did not flee from the death squads. Masooda fled for her life with 50 members of her families, other members had already been slaughtered. She was with her elder sister (who was heavily pregnant and gave birth in Pakistan), niece and brother in law (a sought after prize for the enemy as he was an educationalist, later becaming the principal of Azad Jammu and Kashmir Mirpur Government College). 

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Mrs Hameeda Begum is resilient, resourceful, patient and unafraid. Perhaps this is due to witnessing the cataclysm of the partition of Pakistan and India in 1947. Her father and only brother, with his wife and children, were killed during it.

At nine years of age, Hameeda became a refugee, arriving in Sialkot speaking only Kashmiri and having to learn Punjabi. Her family structure was decimated and she became separated from family members, including an older sister Maqsooda Salaria, as they fled from the death squads. Hameeda meanwhile, was with her mother in a safer part of Kashmir and was saved from witnessing such horror.

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In the 1950’s when the call came from England for Commonwealth citizens to travel to England (to rebuild it) Mum saw the opportunity to try something different. A few friends went ahead and when letters came back telling of the cramped conditions they had to live in, she had to make the difficult decision to consider leaving the children behind but she was undeterred.

Her husband went first in 1958 and confirmed that there really was no room for children as couples had only one room in a house with maybe 4 other couples sharing the kitchen and bathroom with everyone. With a heavy heart she still decided to commit to their plan and a few months later followed her husband to England leaving behind her 3 children in the care of her sister.

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Mum lost her mother in 1962 when she was 17 years old. She faced this hardship with resilience and determination, completing her teacher training the same year and returned to Gujrat to work in a primary school to help support her family; her father and two younger siblings. 

She was married at the age of 20 (February 1966) and her husband returned to England the day after the wedding, alone. Nine months later with mixed feelings, Mum left her family and job to join her husband in England, excited at the prospect of new beginnings and adventure but unhappy leaving everything behind to move so far away. She moved into a shared house with her sister in law and her son which meant there was no privacy. 

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My mother’s name was Shantha, meaning 'peace' in Hindi. She was born in 1945, the year World War II ended. I felt a poetic synchrony in these two details, as if her mere birth brought with it peace, harmony, reconciliation. Shantha was born to parents of south Indian descent in the northern city of Jamshedpur. The family returned to the south when Shantha was four for the birth of her younger brother. Another two brothers and one sister followed into a family of happy chaos. 

Completing an undergraduate degree and Bachelor of Education, Shantha worked as a secondary school teacher in Bangalore, specialising in History and English. (Years later, many in her adopted home in England assumed she could not speak English. In truth, she could recite entire Shakespearean sonnets and monologues from memory). 

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My mum’s grandfather migrated from Gujarat to Kenya in 1923, aged 15. He came on a steamer called the SS Karanja, which took over two weeks to arrive. 

His son, Chunilal, is my Bapa (grandfather). He was born in Kisumu and married my Ba, named Vidya, in 1956 in her birthplace of Elburgon, Nakuru. 

Together, they had 4 children; three boys and one girl. My mother Nutan was their third child.

My mum had a comfortable life in Kisumu and was spoiled by her doting parents, who bought a toy car for her (but not her three brothers!). She was looked after by a woman from the Luo tribe of Kenya, called Okech, and they had a close relationship. Despite their bond, there were clear and problematic racial divides that were created between Indian and African people under British rule which still remain today. 

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Ijeoma moved to Hackney at the age of 2, went to nursery and picked up a cockney accent although she has since lost that. She has a younger brother also born in Lagos - the family settled in London in 1998 when he was a few months old.

In 2009, a few days after her 15th birthday, Ijeoma was excited as her father was visiting to celebrate (her parents had separated) and she had her first, new laptop. It was a Monday morning and she was getting ready for school, a 15 minute walk away. dropping her brother to his primary school on the way.

That day, there was a knock at the door at 7.30, mum was at work so she wondered who it could be. Four immigration officers burst in, there was a physical altercation, Two of them took dad, the other two remained with Ijeoma and her brother. They were told to pack a bag. Ijeoma remembers feeling confused and uncertain with no idea of what was happening. One man said, “Why do you speak like that, why do have that accent?” wrongly assuming that she would be unable to speak English fluently.

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My parents’ marriage ended when I was around 3 years old. My mum worked abroad in Malaysia to provide for me, so I didn't spend much time with her during my childhood. My grandma (mum's side) took care of me during that time. My mum remarried in Malaysia when I was around 8 years old and had a baby boy. After my 9th birthday in China, she took me to Malaysia to live with her, my stepdad, and my half-brother hoping to provide a better education for me. Leaving my grandma behind was the most difficult thing about moving away, as she had taken care of me since birth.

I met my stepdad and half-brother for the first time when they came to China with my mum. They felt like strangers to me. I was especially shy interacting with my dad, who only spoke English. A dull awkwardness cocooned me every time I tried to speak or do anything around my family. A feeling which persists even now.

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Teffanie was born in Ealing in 2002 while her parents were both at university. Aged 4 months she moved to Mutoko to live with her grandparents on their farm, a practice usua l in Shona culture while couples study or work to establish themselves. Teffanie is bi-lingual speaking Shona and English. 

Aged 3, Teffanie moved to live with her Aunt/maiguru and Uncle/sekuru in Harare although she thought that her aunt was her mother and called her 'Amai'. It was not altogether unfamiliar as there had been regular trips and holidays to visit them and she had cousins whom she knew and played with. This helped the transition from a very rural, spacious area to a house with less space in a busy city. 

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My Dadimaa (grandmother), Jamkuben Hematram Mehta travelled from Gujarat, India to Mombasa, Kenya on a dhow boat with her toddler and baby in 1945. She travelled across the Indian Ocean on this almost two-week voyage to be with her husband and create a new life together in Kenya. She knew many had not survived these dhow boats, if weather was stormy, or incidents occurred, yet she carried her faith and resilience with her as she left her homeland for that very first time. 

Sadly, in 1964, after successfully building a cafe business in the small village of Kitale, and having nine children, her husband passed away. She was widowed and alone for the next chapter of her journey, and in looking after her offspring, some of whom were only small children.

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