LAKE ǰIPÉ AND THE ROAD TO GONǰA.
The time was now approaching when I should be obliged to leave Taveita
and return to the coast.
My six months on Kilima-njaro were coming to an end, and the funds for
the expedition also. Unless more money were granted me I should have to
discharge my porters, pay their wages, wind up my affairs, and return to
England, for living in Central Africa is no more possible without money
or money’s worth than it is elsewhere. Nevertheless, I could not bear to
think I was quitting the country, and felt so hopeful and convinced that
help in some shape or form would await me in Zanzibar, and that in a few
weeks I should be back in Taveita with renewed zeal for my work, that I
did not like to abandon my comfortable and well-ordered settlement to
the wild beasts and white ants, especially as the ground it was built on
was my own, purchased from the natives of Taveita. Therefore, after a
little deliberation, finding, moreover, that I had many goods and
implements of husbandry which I could neither carry to the coast, for
want of porters, nor bring myself to throw away; and disliking also to
abandon my goats, fowls, ducks, pigeons, and tame ostriches, I finally
decided to leave four men in charge of the settlement, who should await
my return during three months, and if I did not then arrive, pack up as
many of the things as they could carry, and accompany one of the Swahili
caravans returning to the coast.
[Illustration:
_H. H. Johnston, del._ _London; Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co._
_E. Weller._
]
These and other preparations made, I took a most reluctant farewell of
my pretty town, and also of the affectionate and friendly Wa-taveita,
who entreated me to return very soon and dwell amongst them. I then made
a short march of four hours to the northern corner of Lake ǰipé, and
camped out there, remaining a few days in the vicinity of this piece of
water in order to observe the denizens of its banks. Lake ǰipé is in
reality a shallow backwater of the Lumi river, which afterwards becomes
the Ruvu, and enters the Indian Ocean at Pangani. It is, in short, a
tiny edition of the Albert Nyanza, about twelve miles long by three to
four broad. On the southern bank the mountains of Ugweno rise grandly to
heights of 6000 and 7000 feet, contrasting markedly with the opposite
shore, whereon we were encamped, which is a flat plain, but little
raised above the lake.
Ugweno is a continuation of the long chain of high mountains which
border the northern aspect of the Ruvu valley, starting with Usambara on
the coast and continuing through the Pare and Ugweno range to the base
of Kilima-njaro. The countries of Ugweno and Usaṅga (a district lying
towards Pare) are rich in iron ore, which is smelted by the Bantu
inhabitants—Wa-gweno and Wa-saṅga—and sold to the Čaga smiths in the
shape of pig-iron. The Wa-gweno seem anciently a division of the Čaga
tribes, and their language is much the same. The country they live in,
being healthy and well supplied with water and very sparsely inhabited,
is well fitted for European settlements.
The vicinity of Lake ǰipé is much frequented by herds of game and its
waters are teeming with big fish, principally siluroids and cyprinoids.
Hippopotami and crocodiles are plentiful. Numbers of water-birds haunt
the reedy shores—storks, egrets, pelicans, spur-winged plovers, ducks,
and Egyptian geese. The country round this lake is a first-rate district
for sport, but hunters should camp near the River Lumi, for the water of
ǰipé is disgusting, and only drinkable after it has been well boiled and
skimmed. As there is no current through the lake—for the river that
flows in, turns round and flows out again—and as this stagnant pond lies
exposed to the continual rays of an ardent sun, and harbours, moreover,
large numbers of hippopotami, who make the lake like their tank at the
Zoological Gardens, the water drawn from it is a filthy fluid, warm,
green, and slimy. My men drank of it in large quantities, nevertheless,
without harm, but for myself I had it boiled and boiled for hours, and
the green scum or froth taken off. I was obliged to avail myself of this
liquid, as after leaving the lake we should be obliged to travel for
thirty-five miles without water.
[Illustration:
KILIMA-NJARO SEEN FROM LAKE ǰIPÉ
To face page 298.
]
From the southern borders of ǰipé we obtained our last view of
Kilima-njaro. The craterous shape of the larger peak, Kibô, was very
apparent. It was towards the close of a peaceful afternoon, just as I
was turning to quit the lake, that I had my farewell glimpse of this
king of African mountains. The sky had become a very pale blue with the
descending sun. The whole upper part of Kilima-njaro, with its double
peaks, was on view. Soft grey clouds slept on the middle slopes, and at
the base of the vast mountain lay the numberless hills and hillocks of
cultivated čaga. Then came the dense forests of the Ruvu and the Lumi,
the silver breeze-swept waters of ǰipé, a low promontory covered with
spear-grass, and in the foreground a muddy, oozy shore dotted with
egrets and plovers. Before turning away to commence a long stage in our
journey to the coast I hastily sketched in this picture on my
sketch-block.
The sudden change from the bracing climate of Kilima-njaro to the heat
of the plains had at first affected my health, much as a rapid
transition from the temperate regions to the tropics might do, and I had
a slight touch of fever at ǰipé, which laid me up. As this was, however,
an unpleasant locality in which to remain, my men proposed to carry me
in a hammock until I should have regained my strength. To that I
consented, and as the walk before us to the next camping-place was long
and waterless, it had been also determined that we should defer our
departure from the further extremity of the lake until five o'clock in
the afternoon, and take advantage of the brilliant moon to pursue our
course in the cool hours of the night. Accordingly an hour before
sunset, when I had finished my hasty sketch of Kilima-njaro, I got into
my hammock, which was carried by Faraǰi, the head-cook (an old Congo
man) and Hamis Hadi, a stalwart porter of the Yao tribe, and for a short
time went over the ground at a swinging pace, all the caravan keeping up
with me, for it was fine “going” country. We were directing our course
S.S.E. over a plain of great extent, absolutely level, without a rut,
and covered with fine turf, like a vast lawn. Here and there a bushy
tree broke the monotony. We saw a troop of young ostriches walking
quietly about like well-behaved children, unaccompanied by any parental
guardian, while herds of buffaloes and many beautiful antelopes were
grazing on the sweet short turf in this brief hour of waning sunlight.
Towards nightfall it began to rain, and the rising moon was hidden. I
had to leave my hammock and struggle along on foot, wading desperately
through slush and water, falling into ant-bear burrows, and weighed down
with my heavy, rain-soaked greatcoat, which I wisely wore to avoid a
wetting nearer the skin. We could not stop to rest until the rain should
cease, for the drenching was best undergone in motion; nevertheless, it
was dreary work pounding along up to our ankles in liquid mud, unable to
see more than a few yards ahead, and only knowing the path from what was
not path by its having become the bed of a torrent. The rain descended
in a terrific downpour, which nearly beat us to the earth, but amid all
my dreariness I felt thankful at reflecting that my baggage was safely
packed in air-tight cases which water could not penetrate. About eight
o’clock the worst of the storm seemed over, and though it drizzled a
little while longer, the clouds were rapidly dispersing and giving way
to the brilliant moon. We sought refuge under a low tree and camped out.
The men, although soaked and wearied, behaved very well, and tried to
cheer each other with small witticisms. All crowded anxiously round
Cephas, our clever second cook, who could make a fire when no one else
could, and who now had obtained a little dry wood by breaking in pieces
the various dead branches lying about and extracting the dry pith from
the centre. With this as a commencement he soon lit a fire, and when the
joyous flames leapt up from the crackling, spitting wood, exclamations
of glad relief burst from every one’s lips, and we all extended our cold
wet hands to the blaze. Soon my servant, Virapan, brought me a bowl of
hot and savoury soup, and after swallowing this I crept into my nice dry
bed and slept a delicious dreamless sleep until two in the morning, when
Kiongwe aroused me to go on. Then, with many a dismal yawn and sigh, we
struggled along towards a dome-shaped hill, principally of limestone,
and partially covered with forest. Reaching its base at about daybreak,
we then turned southward and walked over a low plateau, which shut out
Kilima-njaro and ǰipé for ever from our view, while, on the other hand,
we looked towards the hills of Ngurungani and the fine mountains of
Pare. The country on the northern slope and on the summit of the
tableland was exceedingly desolate and barren, but on the descent
towards the south, and in the basin-like hollow below, the soil was
rich, black, and alluvial, and green grass grew luxuriantly, together
with some lovely lilies, whose white blossoms starred the prairie in all
directions. Here I saw more game at once than I have ever seen in
Africa. It was a sportsman’s paradise—a delicious dream of happy
hunting-grounds hardly to be realized in this life. Hundreds and
hundreds of giraffes scudded before us; herds of elands (the bulls a
deep dun colour with glossy hides that looked like satin in the noonday
sun) sauntered along, now nibbling the sweet grass, now trotting off as
we advanced. Myriads of red hartebeests, sable antelopes, mpalas, and
zebras studded the undulating plain, while a small group of ostriches
might be observed on our left-hand side, and a rhinoceros stood under
the shade of a mimosa to the right of the path, flicking his short tail
from side to side, and watching the movements of our caravan with
suspicion. Alas! they had no reason to fear me. Waterless, deadbeat, and
sun-stricken, it needed all my resolution painfully to plod along the
path, and I was quite incapable of stalking big game when I doubted if I
should have sufficient force left to carry me to our camping-place.
About two o’clock we crossed the Ngurungani ridge, and arrived at a
stony river-bed, in which a little rainwater still remained. The men
drank greedily of it. Here in the middle of the road we saw a sheep
freshly killed, skinned, and cub up, all the gory remains being neatly
tied up in the skin. Various meanings were assigned to this unwonted
apparition; but as I once more took the road and saw the sandy path
marked with many footsteps, and with the impressions of oxen’s feet, I
said to myself, “The Masai!” The men also were of this opinion, but
thought they had passed early in the morning. Nearing our camping-place,
however, we saw smoke and heard voices, so we cautiously stopped and
waited for all the caravan to assemble. Then, united, we pressed boldly
on, although the hearts of many quaked at the thought of encountering
the most dreaded savages of Eastern Africa. Abdallah walked beside me,
and Virapan in front, and I heard the former gabbling prayers to Allah
and his Prophet as he shouldered his rifle and marched along. Virapan
and I were the first to see the Masai. We arrived at the bed of a broad
torrent, now dried up, save for occasional rock-pools, and there, in a
large basin-like hollow below the rocks on which we stood, were perhaps
a thousand men, some of whom were sitting gnawing half-cooked beef round
smouldering fires. As we emerged from the bush and our boots clattered
on the stones, they looked up, but without exhibiting any surprise or
even offering to move. I called out in lusty amiability, “Subai?” (their
form of greeting, to which the proper answer is “Iba!”), but no reply
came. The nearest among them motioned us back in a not discourteous
manner, and intimated they would come and talk to us anon. We marched
into a small enclosure of thorns and stones, overlooking the stony
hollow wherein the Masai were seated, and putting down the burthens, got
ready our twenty-eight guns for a desperate fight if necessary. Then the
Masai came, perhaps forty at once, with a leader. The leader called out
to us imperiously, “Tōtŏna!” (“Sit down!”), which we did. Then they
conferred among themselves. Some said, “Endara Elajomba!” (“Fight the
coast people”). Others said, “No, wait first.” Then they again withdrew,
and afterwards the captain and a few elder men returned bearing branches
in their hands (a sign of peace). They called on two or three of our men
to advance and confer with them, so Kiongwe, Ibrahim, and Bakari went.
After asking various questions as to who I was, where I came from, and
whither I was going, the Masai leader inquired “Had we any sickness?”
This query aroused a happy, but sadly unveracious, thought in my mind.
“Tell him,” I said to Kiongwe, in Swahili, a language the Masai did not
understand, “Tell him we have small-pox.” Kiongwe grasped the idea, and
said to the Masai captain, with well-feigned vexation, “Yes; we have got
a man suffering from the white disease” (the Masai name for small-pox).
“Show him,” the leader replied, at the same time moving several yards
off. I immediately dragged forward an Albino, who was a porter in my
caravan—a wretched pink-and-white creature, with tow-coloured hair and a
mottled skin. The Masai at once exclaimed, “Oh, this is a bad
disease—look, it has turned the man white!” Then he shouted out they had
no wish to interfere with us, nor would they take anything from our
infected goods. One concession alone they asked, and this we readily
granted, which was that we would not follow too closely on their
footsteps lest they might get our “wind” and catch the disease. And with
this they turned round, rejoined their fellows, called up their herd of
cows and their donkeys, and slowly wended their way up the hilly path.
In half an hour’s time the last Masai had disappeared, and, relieved
from our anxieties, we rushed to the water and drank.
The camp that these warriors had been occupying offered a most curious
aspect. The great baobab-trees, just coming into pale green leaf, were
crowded with birds of prey—or rather of carrion—vultures, crows, and
marabu storks. Under the sparse shade of this rather leafless forest of
grey boughs the Masai had made their camp, near the stones of the dry
torrent’s bed. They had killed many cattle, and cast the refuse and
offal into the low bushes. On this the vultures and storks had glutted
themselves to repletion, and now perched heavily and stupidly on the
tree-tops. The smoke of the cooking-fires rose still in white columns
into the air, and brought to our nostrils acrid odours of burnt fat.
Behind all was the blue wall of the Pare hills rising high against the
western heavens, which in the approaching sunset had turned to a clear
citron yellow.
[Illustration:
Fig. 62.—Masai Camp.
]
Strange to say, soon after the last of the Masai had disappeared from
the scene, all these heavy carrionbirds roused themselves and flapped
away to follow the retiring army of bandits. My men informed me that
whenever the Masai are on the march they are accompanied from place to
place by a flight of vultures, storks, and crows, whom they religiously
protect, for the services they render in removing offal from their
camps. Whenever in this country you approach a shady spot, and see the
branches of the trees loaded with vultures, be sure within that grove a
party of Masai are eating roast beef or sucking the blood from a
slaughtered ox, and if you are unprepared to encounter these gentry take
warning and turn away.
The next day three hours’ walking over a very heavy black soil—washed
down by the rains from the hills—brought us to Kisiwani, a dry river-bed
at the foot of the Pare hills. Here I was so utterly exhausted and faint
with the exertions and anxieties of the last few days, following my
touch of fever, that I had to spend half the day in complete repose in
order to recruit my strength. It was a charming spot in which to do so.
Magnificent forest trees towered high into the air; but higher still,
and cutting off half the heavens, as it were, rose the noble Pare
mountains. A soothing atmosphere of peace pervaded our camp. Hither came
no Masai, for they wisely kept aloof from the indignant attacks of the
Pare mountaineers, who had more than once given these freebooters a
sound thrashing. Nevertheless to honest men like us they were kind and
friendly. They brought us gourds full of ice-cold water from their
mountain streams, and ripe bananas, and funny little black sheep. Their
chief sent me a present and an invitation to come and see him in his
mountain home. I would have gladly done so, but I felt no confidence in
my walking powers, and I dreaded to bring on another attack of fever by
over-exertion. So I sent him several choice gifts and complimentary
messages, and said when I next came that way I would remember his
kindness to a passing stranger.
The Wa-pare, from what I have seen of them, seem a very amiable people,
like the Wa-taveita. I take a great interest in their country, because I
regard it as one of the links of healthy land uniting Kilima-njaro—the
future sanatorium of Eastern Africa—with the coast. Twenty miles beyond
Kisiwani we came to the pleasing and fruitful district of Gonǰa, a
settlement of Wa-zeguha, ruled by sons of Semboǰa, the chief of
Usambara, a vassal of the Sayyid of Zanzibar. Here signs of coast
influence were quite apparent, and for the first time since leaving
Mombasa at the commencement of the expedition, I knew I was not among
savages.
Gonǰa, with its clear, swift river, its splendid groves of forest trees,
its luxuriant plantations, reminded us of our favourite Taveita, and we
felt a keen sympathy with this place, which was the first inhabited spot
we had encountered in seventy miles of wilderness. At the back of Gonǰa,
in the Pare hills, the scenery was enchantingly lovely—wooded crags,
rich valleys, emerald-green banana groves, rippling streams, and
splendid waterfalls, one of which, another Staubbach, gave rise to the
river which encircles the town. We could see its grey-white shoot of
descending water in the distance, too far off to show the changing light
of motion, and apparently as unvarying and immobile as the blue
hill-side, just like a photographed waterfall. On a little peninsula
backed by hills, and nearly surrounded by a loop of the river, the
rambling village of Gonǰa is built, the whole congeries of houses being
encircled with a tall fence of euphorbias and other prickly shrubs. The
dwellings are fashioned much after the style of the native houses on the
coast—structures of wattle and clay, generally divided into several
apartments.
We found the chief and notables dressed like respectable Arabs, and they
greeted us with Arab salutations. I ascertained that not only they but
the people they governed were great linguists. They spoke Ki-zeguha,
Ki-pare, Ki-swahili, a little Arabic, and Masai. The latter language
they were quite versed in, and for some hours I sat down with my
note-book adding considerably to the information I had already amassed.
The upper classes in Gonǰa, and especially those connected with the
family of the chief Semboǰa, look like Arabs in their complexion and
physiognomy. They have, however, woolly hair. I questioned them as to
their origin, but they did not acknowledge Arab intermixture;
nevertheless, they are evidently a cross breed, though the intermixture
may be and probably is ancient. They are the outpost of—may I call it
civilization?—and Mohammedanism in this part of Africa. Here one’s life
is _quite_ safe; here no presents are asked for, and here money is taken
and understood. How curious is the spread of the influence of a strong
government! Since the days that India has been well governed under
British rule, her commerce and her currency have begun to extend
themselves widely over Eastern Africa, from Somali-land to Natal, and
here in the market-place of Gonǰa, nearly a hundred miles from the
coast, you will find the people talking of pice, annas, and rupees, and
see the image and superscription of her Majesty the Empress of India
circulating freely among the various tribes who come hither to trade.