They Are
A Careless, Light-Hearted, Improvident People, And
Are Very Fond Of All The Good Things Of This
World, Enjoying Them Thoroughly Whenever They
Get The Chance.
Their life is spent in journeying
to and from the interior, carrying heavy loads of
provisions and trade-goods on the one journey,
and returning with similar loads of ivory or
other products of the country.
They are away
for many months at a time on these expeditions,
and consequently - as they cannot spend money
on the march - they have a goodly number of
rupees to draw on their return to Mombasa.
These generally disappear with wonderful rapidity,
and when no more fun can be bought, they join
another caravan and begin a new safari to the
Great Lakes, or even beyond. Many a time
have I watched them trudging along the old
caravan road which crossed the Tsavo at a
ford about half a mile from the railway station:
here a halt was always called, so that they might
wash and bathe in the cool waters of the river.
Nothing ever seems to damp the spirits of
the Swahili porter. Be his life ever so hard, his
load ever so heavy, the moment it is off his back
and he has disposed of his posho (food), he
straightway forgets all his troubles, and begins
to laugh and sing and joke with his fellows as if
he were the happiest and luckiest mortal alive.
Such was my cook, Mabruki, and his merry laugh
was quite infectious. I remember that one day
he was opening a tin of biscuits for me, and
not being able to pull off the under-lid with his
fingers, he seized the flap in his magnificent teeth
and tugged at it. I shouted to him to stop,
thinking that he might break a tooth; but he
misunderstood my solicitude and gravely assured
me that he would not spoil the tin!
The Swahili men wear a long white cotton
garment, like a night-shirt, called a kanzu; the
women - who are too liberally endowed to be
entirely graceful - go about with bare arms and
shoulders, and wear a long brightly-coloured
cloth which they wind tightly round their bosoms
and then allow to fall to the feet. All are
followers of the Prophet, and their social customs
are consequently much the same as those of
any other Mohammedan race, though with a good
admixture of savagedom. They have a happy
knack of giving a nickname to every European
with whom they have to do, such nickname
generally making reference to something peculiar
or striking in his habits, temper, or appearance.
On the whole, they are a kindly, generous folk,
whom one cannot help liking.
Of the many tribes which are to be seen about
the railway on the way up from the coast, perhaps
the most extraordinary-looking are the Wa Nyika,
the people who inhabit the thorny nyika (wilderness)
which borders on the Taru Desert. They
are exceedingly ugly and of a low type. The men
wear nothing in the way of dress but a scanty and
very dirty cloth thrown over the shoulders, while
the women attire themselves only in a short kilt
which is tied round them very low at the waist.
Both men and women adorn themselves with brass
chains round the neck and coils of copper and iron
wire round the arms.
The nearest native inhabitants to Tsavo are
the Wa Taita, who dwell in the mountains near
N'dii, some thirty miles away. My work often
took me to this place, and on one of my visits,
finding myself with some spare time on my hands,
I set out to pay a long promised visit to the
District Officer. A fairly good road ran from
N'dii Station to his house at the foot of the
mountains, about four miles away, and on my
arrival I was not only most hospitably entertained
but was also introduced to M'gogo, the Head
Chief of the Wa Taita, who had just come in for
a shauri (consultation) about some affair of State.
The old fellow appeared delighted to meet me,
and promptly invited me to his kraal, some way
up the hills. I jumped at the prospect of seeing
the Wa Taita at home, so presently off we
started on our heavy climb, my Indian servant,
Bhawal, coming with us. After a couple of hours'
steady scramble up a steep and slippery goatpath,
we arrived at M'gogo's capital, where I was
at once introduced to his wives, who were busily
engaged in making pombe (a native fermented
drink) in the hollowed-out stump of a tree. I
presented one of them with an orange for her
child, but she did not understand what it was
for on tasting it she made a wry face and would
not eat it. Still she did not throw it away, but
carefully put it into a bag with her other treasures
- doubtless for future investigation. As soon as
the women saw Bhawal, however, he became
the centre of attraction, and I was eclipsed.
He happened to have on a new puggaree, with
lots of gold work on it, and this took their fancy
immensely; they examined every line most
carefully and went into ecstasies over it - just as
their European sisters would have done over the
latest Parisian creation.
We made a short halt for rest and refreshment,
and then started again on our journey to the top
of the hills. After a stiff climb for another two
hours, part of it through a thick black forest, we
emerged on the summit, where I found I was well
rewarded for my trouble by the magnificent views
we obtained on all sides. The great Kilima
N'jaro stood out particularly well, and made a
very effective background to the fine panorama.
I was surprised to find a number of well-fed cattle
on the mountain top, but I fancy M'gogo thought
I was casting an evil spell over them when he
saw me taking photographs of them as they
grazed peacefully on the sweet grass which
covered the plateau.
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