Why didn't you
tell me?"
"Memsahib," he smiled politely, "I think perhaps you move some
time!"
On another occasion she was trying to tell the cook, through
Mahomet as interpreter, that she wanted a tough old buffalo steak
pounded, boarding-house style. This evidently puzzled all hands.
They turned to in an earnest discussion of what it was all about,
anyway. Billy understood Swahili well enough at that time to
gather that they could not understand the Memsahib's wanting the
meat "kibokoed"-FLOGGED. Was it a religious rite, or a piece of
revenge? They gave it up.
"All right," said Mahomet patiently at last. "He say he do it.
WHICH ONE IS IT?"
Part of our supplies comprised tins of dehydrated fruit. One
evening Billy decided to have a grand celebration, so she passed
out a tin marked "rhubarb" and some cornstarch, together with
suitable instructions for a fruit pudding. In a little while the
cook returned.
"Nataka m'tund-I want fruit," said he.
Billy pointed out, severely, that he already had fruit. He went
away shaking his head. Evening and the pudding came. It looked
good, and we congratulated Billy on her culinary enterprise.
Being hungry, we took big mouthfuls. There followed splutterings
and investigations. The rhubarb can proved to be an old one
containing heavy gun grease!
When finally we parted with our faithful cook we bought him a
really wonderful many bladed knife as a present. On seeing it he
slumped to the ground-six feet of lofty dignity-and began to
weep violently, rocking back and forth in an excess of grief.
