I Have Not Been Lying Down Five Minutes On The Plank That
Serves For A Sofa By Day And A Bed By Night, When Charles Comes
Knocking At The Door.
He wants tobacco.
"Missionary man no fit to
let we have firewood unless we buy em." Give Charles a head and
shut him out again, and drop off to sleep again for a quarter of an
hour, then am aroused by some enterprising sightseers pushing open
the window-shutters; when I look round there are a mass of black
heads sticking through the window-hole. I tell them respectfully
that the circus is closed for repairs, and fasten up the shutters,
but sleep is impossible, so I turn out and go and see what those men
of mine are after. They are comfortable enough round their fire,
with their clothes suspended on strings in the smoke above them, and
I envy them that fire. I then stroll round to see if there is
anything to be seen, but the scenery is much like that you would
enjoy if you were inside a blanc-mange. So as it is now growing
dark I return to my room and light candles, and read Dr. Gunther on
Fishes. Room becomes full of blacks. Unless you watch the door,
you do not see how it is done. You look at a corner one minute and
it is empty, and the next time you look that way it is full of rows
of white teeth and watching eyes. The two mission teachers come in
and make a show of teaching a child to read the Bible. After again
clearing out the rank and fashion of Buana, I prepare to try and get
a sleep; not an elaborate affair, I assure you, for I only want to
wrap myself round in a blanket and lie on that plank, but the rain
has got into the blankets and horror! there is no pillow. The
mission men have cleared their bed paraphernalia right out. Now you
can do without a good many things, but not without a pillow, so hunt
round to find something to make one with; find the Bible in English,
the Bible in German, and two hymn-books, and a candle-stick. These
seem all the small articles in the room - no, there is a parcel
behind the books - mission teachers' Sunday trousers - make delightful
arrangement of books bound round with trousers and the whole affair
wrapped in one of my towels. Never saw till now advantage of
Africans having trousers. Civilisation has its points after all.
But it is no use trying to get any sleep until those men are
quieter. The partition which separates my apartment from theirs is
a bamboo and mat affair, straight at the top so leaving under the
roof a triangular space above common to both rooms. Also common to
both rooms are the smoke of the fire and the conversation. Kefalla
is holding forth in a dogmatic way, and some of the others are
snoring.
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