William Maama (මාමා)

A boy’s impressions of a gentle giant and a grand spectacle

Late into the afternoon, I heard water splash. It was the sound of William Maama bathing next door.

Before I go any further, let me introduce the characters in this story.

William, the main character, is the one who is bathing.

Mary is William’s wife.

Justin is fourteen, their elder son and

Linton. Eight, their youngest.

These four were my immediate friendly neighbours.

And me, Denzil, was ten years old.

William was William Maama, ‘මාමා — Maama’ meaning uncle.

Mary was Mary Akka, ‘අක්කා — Akka’ meaning big sister.

Justin was Justin ‘අයියා — Ayya’ meaning big brother.

Linton was Linton, just plain Linton with no salutation, for we both were of the give or take, of the same age.

Their water well was parallel to our veranda. When William bathed, I sat on the ledge of our veranda and chatted with him. We carried our conversations across the scantly erected fence, with only a few meters separating us.

William’s bath was after a tiring work day at the Colombo harbour. Wearing a loincloth, he rapidly pulled buckets of water from the open well. In between, he soaped himself, lathing himself to get rid of the industrial muck from his work. William was muscular, tall, and sturdy.

William Maama knew the art of talking to a ten-year-old. I loved listening to and answering him when he enquired about my school life. All of this in between his daily bath. I kept company to William, the multi-tasker.

Mary, William’s wife, was older than him. Before she married him, she was a nun. Mary behaved as if she was still a nun with religious fervour. She controlled her husband and the two sons like nuns to the faithful. Mary loved her God and attended church proudly, wearing a white veil. She wore her simple sarees draped like a nun. She would sing religious hymns in the evening, particularly the ones devoted to Mother Mary, her God’s mum and namesake. She surrendered her elder son, Justin, to a religious order. At a young age, Justin was in a seminary, preparing to be a priest. When Justin was home during school holidays, he was an altar server at the local church.

In contrast, William was an earthly man. His work in the harbour was hard, loading and unloading before container ships became the norm post-globalisation. William dressed in simple clothes, a sarong, and a shirt. Going to work was his sole duty. The thing about William Maama was that he was humane, a kind uncle to little kids like me. He was my man, a gentle giant next door.

Their home was small, with one living room, bedroom, and kitchen. But at an age where size does not matter, I had no regard for dimensions and sizes. William and his family were just my immediate neighbours. My equals.

Their home was open any time for me. After school, I played with William’s younger son, Linton. Our land had many open spaces and a long garden. It was the gathering space of choice for the local kids, out to enjoy afternoons after school, weekends and school holidays. Lightly erected fences allowed kids to slide through easily between properties. Together, we played makeshift football and cricket in our front yard with the rest of the neighbourhood kids. Linton was a master of playing marbles. Justin, his big brother, was resourceful and skilled in many crafts. He flew kites, knew how to use a catapult, and caught fish from the nearby waterways.

Mary Akka managed their finances. She handled it so tight, only to give William Maama his exact bus fare just before he left for work. That is all the money William had access to. If Mary was away, William had no way to go to work. Poor William walked up to the fence and borrowed his bus fare from my mother. I ran to my mother and gladly handed a few coins to William Maama.

My father and William Maama were good friends, despite their social differences. One was an educated civil servant, wore pants and could speak English. William was a labourer, a simple man. But these social gaps did not prevent them from being good friends. Often, they chatted together, sometimes late into the night.

My father worked in a remote town for a few years when I was growing up. Any nighttime noise, William would come over to the fence and ask my mother whether everything was all right. When my mentally sick grandmother hit my mother, causing her head injuries, William and Mary took her in a car to a doctor. On another day, my mother had had enough of her sick mother’s antics in her anger. Hearing the mayhem, William came running and helped my mother to calm down.

William provided cover for our young family when my father was away. There was a period an armed thief was menacing the entire neighbourhood. Brave William led the neighbourhood watch group, keeping guard in the night. In his presence, everyone felt safe, all neighbours. William was a community leader.

A weird episode with William Maama must be told here. William attended the church feast in his hometown while Mary Akka stayed back. When William returned home drunk. A huge commotion erupted in their home. Mary screamed for the entire neighbourhood to hear. Out came William to their front yard, shouting. Given any crisis, the neighbours came running to help and gathered in their front yard. William Maama challenged them to fight him. The curious me and the rest of the neighbourhood kids gathered on our side of the property, watching this unique show, never seen in our neighbourhood. The men tried to subdue William, but he was in no mood for surrender. It was so unlike William. The liquor consumed at his home village had taken the better of him, and he was boisterous as never seen before. Then leaving the onlookers behind, he walked up to the water well, stark naked. It was the first time I saw an adult’s full-frontal, shocking this ten-year-old.

The neighbours and my father got together again and managed to get William back into their home. They held him down on the cement floor in the middle of their house, him still stark naked, while the neighbourhood boys, me included, peeped from the window, watching this grand spectacle. William was on the ground while eight men were trying to hold the strong man down, him yelling at them. The neighbourhood women gathered were giggling at the nudity on show. The transfixed kids, too, me included. Finally, the men tied William to a bed with much effort.

Neighbourhood duties were complete. Adults returned to their homes. Kids followed their parents.

There was no further hullaballoo from William’s home after that.

On the next day, it was quiet in William's household. William Maama was normal again. None talked about it, for William had so much credit with his neighbours for his past good deeds. Instead, William Maama smiled at me as if nothing had happened.

Life went back to normal. Everyone forgot about the episode. I was back with William Maama, sitting on the ledge, carrying our chats while he bathed and lathed.

Mary Akka never forgot the incident and blamed William’s relatives in his home village for poisoning him with the liquor that Sunday.

A few years went by. I was now in Dubai, working. My father and William remained good friends. On one of my holidays in Sri Lanka, still in my early twenties, my father took me to a hospital where William received treatment. On his hospital bed, William was starkly different to the hero I saw as a young boy. Nothing like I remembered when I left Sri Lanka. William Maama was thin, in pain and weak. Yet, he was happy to see me and held my hand. I brought him a smile.

That was the last time I saw William Maama. Soon after I returned to Dubai, he passed away. William was relatively young, in his late fifties.

William Maama was a gem of a man. Earthen and gentle. One of the bighearted kind. A gentle giant. Never forgotten.

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