These people, like
most barbarians, have a horror of death and all that reminds them of it:
on several occasions I have been begged to throw away a hut-stick, that
had been used to dig a grave.
The bier is a rude framework of poles bound
with ropes of hide. Some tie up the body and plant it in a sitting
posture, to save themselves the trouble of excavating deep: this perhaps
may account for the circular tombs seen in many parts of the country.
Usually the corpse is thrust into a long hole, covered with wood and
matting, and heaped over with earth and thorns, half-protected by an oval
mass of loose stones, and abandoned to the jackals and hyenas.
We halted a day at Gudingaras, wishing to see the migration of a tribe.
Before dawn, on the 30th November, the Somali Stentor proclaimed from the
ridge-top, "Fetch your camels!--Load your goods!--We march!" About 8 A.M.
we started in the rear. The spectacle was novel to me. Some 150 spearmen,
assisted by their families, were driving before them divisions which, in
total, might amount to 200 cows, 7000 camels, and 11,000 or 12,000 sheep
and goats. Only three wore the Bal or feather, which denotes the brave;
several, however, had the other decoration--an ivory armlet. [24] Assisted
by the boys, whose heads were shaved in a cristated fashion truly
ridiculous, and large pariah dogs with bushy tails, they drove the beasts
and carried the colts, belaboured runaway calves, and held up the hind
legs of struggling sheep.
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