ABOUT KENNY

Eastern European Jewish roots. British culture. African heritage.

In the 1930s, my father, Igor Mann, had become a renowned veterinarian in Poland, specifically for dogs. He ran a successful dog clinic in Catovic, where he taught children how to care for stray dogs and cats, and held fundraising dog shows to keep the clinic going. In September 1939, just as Hitler's armies marched into Poland, Pa shot all the dogs in his clinic to save them from the Nazis, and walked out of Catovic with his one pair of shoes slung over his shoulder.

My parents, Erica and Igor Mann, arrived in Kenya as Jewish refugees in 1942. This photograph was taken shortly after their arrival in Athi River, Kenya, where my father established a cattle ranch.

Photo: unknown

With the help of underground collaborators, he found himself in Bucharest, where my mother Erica was one of the few female students studying architecture. Pa was housed in a hostel that happened to be run by one of my mother’s girlfriends who must have thought that Igor was pretty cute. At the time, Erica had been engaged for seven years to a nice fellow called Zephy. Both the Russians and the Germans made life for Jews extremely difficult, Erica and Zephy had moved to Paris, where they thought they would be safe. Erica became an apprentice in an architectural studio, but it soon became apparent that Paris was no safer than anywhere else, and they decided to return to Bucharest.

Shortly after Igor's arrival in Bucharest, Ma's girlfriend - the manager of the refugee hostel - persuaded him to call Erica. “I hear that you have very beautiful legs,” he said in his appalling German. My mother hesitated for only a split second before replying, “Well, in that case, I suppose you had better come and check them out for yourself!” That was the end of the engagement to Zephy and the start of a 50-year marriage.

Igor opened a veterinary clinic in Bucharest. But after only a few months, it became clear that my parents would have to flee Europe. My father had many prominent clients whose pets he treated, among them, Franklin Mott Gunther, the American Ambassador in Bucharest. One night, Pa received a phone call from Mr. Gunther. "You have just a few hours," Gunther said. "Hitler's forces are marching towards Romania and you have to get out. I am sending a car for you at midnight."

They don’t look like refugees, but here are Erica (right) and a friend on board the soldiers’ transport that took them from Israel to Southern Rhodesia in 1941.

Ma spent the day gathering visas and packing two small suitcases. Sure enough, at midnight, a car arrived and dropped them off on the edge of the River Danube, where they were picked up by a fisherwoman in a rowboat. She took them across to Bulgaria, and from there, they made their way by foot, donkey, and horse cart to Istanbul. My mother was 23, my father 33. From Istanbul, they had hoped to immigrate to Brazil, but they could not get places on board any ship and were sent to a refugee camp in Cyprus. Eventually, they were taken to Israel where they spent a year in a refugee camp. From there, they were transported by troop ship to a refugee camp in Fort James, in then Southern Rhodesia.

At this time, the British needed educated people for professional positions in their African colonies, so Papa was offered a job in the tiny outpost of Athi River, just twenty miles southeast of Nairobi, in Kenya, where he would become the parasite inspector at Liebigs Meat Factory. My mother had always wanted to explore the “white patches” on the map of Africa - the "terra incognita" that had never been explored by Europeans, so she was delighted. My parents adapted to life in Africa as though born to the task. In Athi River, they settled in a tiny government bungalow there and soon developed a thriving cattle farm.

The entire story of my life after my parents' extraordinary flight from Europe and adaptation to Africa is told in detail in my book

CHASING THE ZEBRA - A MEMOIR IN THREE ACTS.

Learn more about the book HERE.

Traditional Maasai ceremony, Kenya, 1960s.

Photo: Oscar Mann

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