In early August 1972, Uganda’s president, Idi Amin, ordered the country’s Asian community to leave within 90 days. The deadline fell in early November 1972. Upwards of 50,000 people of South Asian heritage, many with family roots in Gujarat, left with very little. Around 27,000 came to the UK, where many were first housed in former military camps before settling in Leicester, London, and towns across the country. Many of the people who lived through it are still here. Their stories are worth recording now, in their own words.
What happened in 1972
Asian families had been part of life in Uganda for generations. Some had arrived with the building of the Uganda Railway around the turn of the twentieth century. Many more came as traders. By 1972 they ran shops, factories, and businesses in towns across the country, and many had been born there.
In early August that year, Amin announced that they had 90 days to go. The order was aimed first at those holding British passports, and its reach changed in the weeks that followed. For families on the ground, the meaning was plain enough. Leave by early November.
What followed is told differently in every family, but some details come up again and again. Queues for papers and entry certificates. Decisions about who would travel first. Homes, shops, and savings left behind, because almost nothing could be taken out. Goodbyes to neighbours, to staff, to a country that had been home.
Arriving in Britain
Around 27,000 Ugandan Asians came to the UK. The government set up the Uganda Resettlement Board to receive them, give them shelter, and help them find homes and jobs.
The first weeks were often spent in former military camps, places such as Heathfield in Devon and Houndstone in Somerset. By mid-October 1972, nearly 15,000 people had been admitted to the UK, and 8,500 of them were living in 11 resettlement centres run by the Board.
Not every welcome was warm. Leicester City Council took out an advertisement in the Uganda Argus discouraging families from coming to the city. Many came anyway, and around 6,000 settled there. Many more made their homes in and around London, and in towns and cities across the country.
That is the history in outline. Each family holds its own version. The cold of the first winter. The first job, often far below the one left behind. The first house. The first time the family sat down together and something felt settled again.
One family’s 90 days
Priyesh Pankhania, who founded The Open Journal and directs every film, grew up with this story.
Pri’s nana (his mum’s father), his nani, his mum, and his mum’s brothers were among those told to leave. They ended up in Coventry, restarting life from nothing. His nana left behind a very successful printing business.
His nana’s part of the story is, in Pri’s words, “really interesting”. He helped other people get from Uganda to the UK, while he himself ended up in Austria. The family knew he was somewhere in Austria. They didn’t know if he was safe.
Years later, after losing his mum, Pri learned that his nana did not have long. So he sat down with him, and filmed his story properly. It is a separate film from the one Pri made of his mum, the recording that began The Open Journal. This one belongs to his nana.
In Pri’s words: “I grew up knowing that story and there is so much more to it, and I’m so lucky that I actually captured it before my nana passed away.”
His nana is no longer here. The film is.
Why these stories matter now
A child of ten in 1972 is in their sixties now. Someone who left as a young parent is in their late seventies, or older. They remember the news arriving, the packing, the first weeks in Britain. They know what it was to leave everything and not know what came next.
Their children and grandchildren often know the outline. Uganda, 1972, 90 days, Britain. What they tend not to have is the detail, told in the voice of the person who lived it. The name of the street. The smell of the shop. What was said at the airport, and what wasn’t.
Pri puts it simply. “Someone once said to me that to know who you are and where you’re going, it’s really important to know where you’ve come from.”
These are the people who can tell you where you’ve come from. The history books will keep the dates. Only they can keep the rest.
Recording a parent or grandparent’s Uganda story
You don’t need a filmmaker to begin. A phone and an unhurried afternoon will do more than you might expect. A few things help.
Ask them first
Some people have told this story many times. Some have never told it at all, and may not want to. It was a frightening time, and for many it involved real loss. Ask whether they would like to talk about it, and let the answer be theirs. If they would rather not, that deserves the same respect.
If they are willing, let them set the terms. What they want to talk about. What they would rather leave out. Who the recording is for.
Start before the leaving
The expulsion is the part everyone knows. Begin with the life that came before it, because that is what was lost, and it is what the family usually knows least about.
Some places to start:
- Which town they lived in, and what the house looked like.
- What the family did for a living. The shop, the business, the hours.
- Who lived with them, and who lived nearby.
- What a normal Sunday was like.
- Where they went to school, and what they ate.
Then, when they are ready, the months of 1972:
- Where were you when you heard the news?
- What did you pack, and what did you have to leave?
- Who did you say goodbye to?
- How did you travel, and who went first?
- What do you remember about the first days in Britain?
- Where did the family first live, and what was the first job?
Ask for scenes, not summaries. “Tell me about the day you left” will usually bring more than “How did you feel?” Follow each answer with something small, such as “What happened next?” Let the silences run. Some of the most important things arrive after a long pause.
There is a longer list of questions to ask your parents about their life if you would like more starting points. One good question, asked slowly, is usually enough for an afternoon.
Bring out the photographs and papers
Many families still have something from Uganda. A passport. An entry certificate. A letter. Photographs of a shop front, a wedding, a school class. A recipe written in a grandmother’s hand.
Put these on the table before you start. Objects do a great deal of remembering. Ask them to hold a photograph and tell you who is in it, and record what they say.
Afterwards, photograph or scan everything. Write on a separate note who is in each picture and roughly when it was taken. Keep copies in two places, and share them with the rest of the family.
Record in the language they are most comfortable in
If your grandmother thinks in Gujarati, record in Gujarati. People tell a story differently in the language they lived it in. The detail is richer, the jokes land, the names come out right. Translation can come later, and another family member can sit in to help if that makes it easier.
The same goes for whatever mix of languages they actually speak at home. Record it as it comes.
Keep it short and kind
Twenty or thirty minutes is often plenty for a first session. Choose a quiet room, turn off the television, and rest the phone close to them rather than holding it at their face. Stop before they tire. There can always be another afternoon.
If you are thinking about something more lasting, there is an honest guide to how to preserve your family’s story on film, and what each option can hold.
The Uganda Stories day
We are also opening a day to film these stories in full.
It is free. Usually a son, daughter, or grandchild applies on behalf of the person who lived it. Pri interviews each person for an hour or two, in a quiet room, with no crew crowding them. The first day will be in North London. We’d still like to hear from families anywhere in the UK, as there may be more days in future.
Interviews can be in English or Gujarati, and other languages case by case. Everything we publish carries captions, and Gujarati clips carry English subtitles.
Each family receives the full edited conversation, and every clip we share from it, by private download link within four weeks.
Taking part means agreeing that we can share clips on The Open Journal’s channels. If you ever want a clip taken down, we will remove it from our channels. We can’t recall copies other people have already shared. The conversations may also become part of a longer documentary made from all of them, and that is set out clearly in the consent form.
Places are by application, and Pri chooses. Anyone not chosen for the first day stays on the list.
You can read more and apply on the Uganda Stories page.
Questions
When were Asians expelled from Uganda?
In early August 1972, Uganda’s president, Idi Amin, ordered the country’s Asian community to leave within 90 days. The deadline fell in early November 1972. Families left with very little, and most of what they had built, including homes, shops, and businesses, stayed behind.
How many Ugandan Asians came to the UK?
Around 27,000. Many held British passports. On arrival, many were first housed in former military camps run by the Uganda Resettlement Board, which helped them find homes and work. By mid-October 1972 the Board was running 11 resettlement centres.
Where did Ugandan Asians settle in Britain?
All over the country. Leicester became one of the best-known communities, with around 6,000 settling there, and many families made their homes in and around London. Others went to towns and cities such as Coventry, often wherever there was family, work, or a room to rent.
How can I record my grandparent’s story of leaving Uganda?
Start with a phone and a quiet room. Ask about ordinary life in Uganda before the leaving, then let the story move at their pace. Record in the language they are most comfortable in, Gujarati included. Photograph any documents and pictures they kept, and save every file in two places.
What is the Uganda Stories day?
A free filming day for people who lived through the 1972 expulsion. You apply on behalf of a parent or grandparent. Pri interviews them in North London, in English or Gujarati. Families receive the full edited conversation and every clip we share, by private download link within four weeks. Taking part means agreeing that we can share clips on The Open Journal’s channels.