_FROM THE TANA TO M’BU._
We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food thereof—We
open a market—We treat the Maranga elders to cigars, with disastrous
results—Bad character of the Wa’M’bu—We resume our journey—A
misunderstanding with the A’kikuyu—We reach M’bu.
Early the following morning we struck camp and travelled due north,
following native paths. Ascending a low hill, we were unexpectedly
greeted by the paramount chief of the district, who rejoiced in the
name of Kinuthia, and several of his elders. He presented us, by way
of an introduction, with a gourd containing about half a gallon of
fresh milk, which we much appreciated, signifying the same in the usual
manner. When we regained our breath once more, Kinuthia handed us a
note given him by Mr. Hall, a Government officer, who had been up there
a month before in order to select a site for the new Government station
for the Kenia district; which stated that Kinuthia was a friendly
chief, and desired to be recognized as such. We immediately recognized
him as such by enlisting him as our guide to the Sagana, which we
expected to be able to cross that day.
After a short conversation he took the lead, and on we marched again.
He led us across some very rough country for an hour and a half,
when we reached a small, swift river, an affluent of the Sagana. We
crossed without much trouble by the timely aid of the ragged-looking
A’kikuyu noblemen in attendance on their chief. Another two-hour tramp
followed, when we at last reached the Sagana, which is really a noble
river, abounding in hippo here, as indeed it does everywhere. We saw no
crocodiles, though we inquired most anxiously after them.
Kinuthia informed us that the Somalis’ safari had crossed three weeks
or a month before. One of Jamah Mahomet’s cows, while fording the
river, had been seized by a crocodile and the poor beast’s shoulder
torn right out. We did not feel more comfortable on receipt of this
intelligence, but we were assured by the natives that they had since
poisoned all the crocodiles for a distance of half a mile or so each
side of the ford, though they thought it likely that a stray reptile
or two might have escaped the general poisoning. We had no choice,
however; so we stripped and waded, chin-deep, to the opposite side,
about eighty yards distant.
The current was immensely powerful, and the bottom very pebbly and
slippery; but we were assisted by some of Kinuthia’s aristocracy, and
made the passage in safety. Our men were tired and rather nervous of
the current, so for three “makono” (about 1½ yards) of cloth each, we
induced fifteen of the aforesaid A’kikuyu noblemen to carry their loads
across for them—a task they successfully accomplished, Kinuthia himself
not disdaining to discard his royal robes (a goatskin) and earn his
piece of cloth.
We breakfasted on the bank, and then made another move, as Kinuthia
impressed upon us the fact that an hour’s journey further on was
situate the village of Manga, the chief of the Maranga, whose people
had an abundance of food for sale, and where we should be able to
buy all the supplies we needed without any trouble. He said he would
accompany us and introduce us, which we thought was very good of him.
Our way lay through dense plantations, which fully bore out friend
Kinuthia’s assertions as to the richness of the district in
food-stuffs. In an hour we reached a gently sloping hill, covered with
short green grass, on which we pitched our camp. We sent for the chief,
who shortly afterwards made his appearance. He seemed a very decent
old fellow, and anxious to assist us. We stated our requirements, and
he immediately commanded his people to bring us food for sale, and did
everything in his power—short of giving anything away himself—to show
us that he was friendly and well-disposed towards us.
His son, Koranja, a rather good-looking young fellow for a native, had
been down to Mombasa with a safari, and spoke Kiswahili fairly well. He
seemed very intelligent. Some of the old men of the tribe also spoke
Kiswahili, which, we presumed, they had picked up from passing Arab or
Swahili safaris. Kinuthia bade us adieu and returned to his own village
the other side of the Sagana, having received from us a suitable
present of beads, etc., to gladden his heart, or rather the hearts of
his wives.
Large quantities of food then began to arrive, and we decided to stop
where we were for a day or two, and buy at least ten days’ rations for
the men, before resuming our journey northwards. We retired that night
a great deal easier in our minds about the commissariat than we had
been for some days.
Next morning the camp was fairly buzzing with natives of all ages and
both sexes. Most of them had brought food to sell, but many of them
came merely to look at us. Not that we were much to look at; in any
civilized community we should have run a great risk of being arrested
as vagrants and suspicious characters. El Hakim and George both wore
embryo beards, and our appearance generally was rather that of tramps
than otherwise. El Hakim had a great affection for a pair of moleskin
trousers and a leather jacket, both of which had seen much service.
His hat, too, had known better days; but it was an idiosyncrasy of his
to wear his clothes on safari work till they were absolutely beyond
further mending and patching. On one occasion he was reported to have
tramped about the Lykipia plateau for months, clad only in a coloured
cloth and a pair of brown boots, with a towel twisted round his head
turban-wise, he having lost his only hat. I can vouch for the comfort
of such a dress in a good climate such as obtains on the Waso Nyiro, as
I tried the experiment myself.
[Illustration: THE CAMP AT MARANGA.]
[Illustration: BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA. (See page 54.)]
As soon as we had breakfasted, we went about the important business
of marketing. Maranga, as is Kikuyu generally, is extraordinarily
rich and fertile. All kinds of grain are exceedingly plentiful. Among
those brought to us for sale were millet (_Panicum Italicum_), called
by the natives “metama;” _Pennisetum spicatum_, known as “mwele,” a
seed resembling linseed, which grows on a close spike like a bulrush
flower; _Eleusine corocana_, known as “uimbe;” and “muhindi,” or
“dhurra” (maize). A large variety of edible roots is also cultivated,
the most common being “viazi” (sweet potatoes), “vikwer” (yams), and
“mahogo” (manioc). Sugar-cane was very largely grown, and is known to
the natives as “mewa.” The stalks of metama, which are called “kota,”
are also chewed by the natives on account of the sweetish sap. The
half-grown stalks of the same plant are known as “metama m’tindi.”
“N’dizi” (bananas) are also extensively cultivated, but we never ate
any, as they are never allowed to ripen. The natives pluck them while
they are green and hard, and roast them in hot ashes. When cooked
they have the appearance and taste of a floury potato, though with a
slightly astringent flavour. Wild honey was procurable in moderate
quantities. It is called “assala,” evidently derived from the Arabic
word for the same substance, “assal.” The Masai name for honey is
“naischu,” the word generally used in Kikuyu. At certain seasons of the
year the staple diet of the natives is “kundu” (beans), of which we
saw two varieties, viz. “maragua,” a small white bean like a haricot,
and “baazi,” a black bean which grows in pods on a small tree like a
laburnum. They also grow several kinds of gourds, named respectively
“mumunye,” which resembles a vegetable marrow in size and appearance,
“kitoma,” a small, round kind, and “tikiti,” a small water-melon. It
will be observed that we did not lack variety.
We bought large quantities of m’wele, which our Swahilis at first
refused to eat: they said it was “chickens’ food.” They knew better
afterwards. We also procured some “mazewa” (fresh milk) for ourselves.
Food was comparatively cheap. A “makono” of cloth or a handful of beads
bought several “kibabas” of grain or beans. A kibaba equals about a
pint. The term “makono” (meaning, literally, a hand) is applied to the
measure of the forearm from the tip of the elbow to the end of the
second finger, generally about eighteen inches. Four makono equal one
“doti” (about two yards), and twenty-five yards or so make a “jora” or
“piece” of cloth.
The beads most in demand were the small red Masai beads known as
“sem-sem.” We did not part with any wire, as we wanted it for the
districts farther north.
George and I went out in the forenoon to try and shoot hippo in the
Sagana, which was only an hour’s walk from the camp. On reaching a
likely pool, I sat down on the bank to watch. George had turned very
sick again on the way, and laid down under a shady tree. I shot two
hippo in the water, but they sank, and though I sent men down the river
to watch the shallows, I never saw any more of them.
There were a lot of guinea-fowl about, so I sent back to camp for my
shot-gun. George was feeling so queer that he went back also. When my
gun arrived, I had a good time among the guinea-fowl, securing eight
in an hour or so. I also got a partridge, which turned up in a—for
it—inopportune moment.
When I got back to camp, I found that El Hakim had been highly
successful in his marketing, and had obtained a large quantity of food,
mostly mwele, muhindi, and some viazi. For our own consumption we had
laid in a stock of muhindi cobs, maragua beans, and some butter. The
butter was snow-white, but, being made from curdled milk, was very acid
and unpalatable.
The natives always drink their milk sour; they do not understand our
preference for fresh milk. Another thing that tends to make their milk
unpopular with European travellers is the dirty state of the vessels it
is kept in. They are made from gourds which have had the inside cleaned
out by the simple process of burning it out with hot ashes, which gives
the milk a nasty charred flavour. The finished milk vessel is called a
“kibuyu.” I have been told that they stir the freshly drawn milk with
a charred stick from the fire, to preserve it, but I never saw it
done. The Masai especially are very bad offenders in this respect. The
old women who milk the cows invariably wash out the empty vessels with
another fluid from the same animal, certainly never intended by nature
for that purpose. If the milk is intended for sale to the “wasungu”
(white men), it is more often than not adulterated in the same nauseous
manner.
We lunched on some of the guinea-fowl I had shot in the forenoon.
Ramathani somehow boiled them tender. Afterwards we held a “shaurie”
(council), at which old Manga and many of his elders attended. We
wanted all the information we could obtain about our road northward,
the districts we should have to pass through, and the position of the
various streams and camping-places.
We were smoking Egyptian cigarettes, a box of which we numbered among
our most precious possessions, and it was rather a nuisance to have to
pass a freshly lighted cigarette round the circle of natives squatted
in front of El Hakim’s tent for each to take a whiff. They could not
properly appreciate them, and it seemed to me very much like casting
pearls before swine. In addition, when the cigarette was returned,
the end was chewed about, and a good smoke thereby spoiled. If we lit
another, the same process was repeated. The native gentlemen called it
etiquette. I considered it downright sinful waste, an opinion in which
El Hakim evidently concurred, as, after we had had several cigarettes
spoiled in this provoking manner, he turned to me and said, “Get out
your box of ‘stinkers,’ Hardwick, and let’s try the old gentlemen with
those.”
I thought it was a splendid idea, so I brought out two of them, and,
lighting one myself, handed the other to old Manga. He glanced at it
suspiciously, turning it over and over in his grimy paws. He had
apparently never seen a cigar before, but seeing me smoking a similar
specimen, he at last ventured to light it. It seemed to grate on him a
little, but he said nothing, and puffed stolidly away for a moment or
two, though I could see his powers of self-control were being exerted
to the utmost. After a game struggle the cigar scored a distinct
success, and Manga, deliberately passing it on to the elder on his
right, rose slowly, and, stalking with great dignity out of camp,
disappeared behind a clump of bushes.
The old man to whom he handed it gazed wonderingly after him for a
moment, then, placing the fatal weed between his aged lips, he took a
long pull and inhaled the smoke. A startled look appeared in his dim
old eyes, and he threw a quick glance in my direction; but I was calmly
puffing away at mine, so _he_ said nothing either, and took another
whiff. In a few short moments he in his turn was vanquished, and,
handing the cigar to his next neighbour, retired with great dignity to
the clump of bushes, where he and old Manga offered up sacrifices to
the goddess Nicotina with an unanimity that was as surprising as it was
novel.
It was only with the very greatest difficulty that we managed to
control our risible faculties. We were inwardly convulsed with laughter
at the facial expressions of the old gentlemen before and after
tasting the fearsome weed. The looks of delighted, though timorous,
anticipation, the startled realization, and the agonized retrospection,
which in turn were portrayed on the usually blank and uninteresting
countenances of Manga’s Ministers of State, was a study in expression
that was simply killing. One by one they tasted it; one by one they
retired to the friendly clump of bushes that concealed their exaltation
from prying eyes; and one by one they returned red-eyed and shaky, and
resumed their places, inwardly quaking, though outwardly unmoved.
We also had to get up and go away, but not for the same purpose. If
we had not gone away and laughed, we should have had a fit or burst a
blood-vessel. It was altogether too rich. _We_ returned red-eyed and
weary also, and I believe that the old gentlemen thought that we had
been up to the same performance as themselves, though they could not
understand how I resumed my cigar on my reappearance, and continued
smoking with unruffled serenity. I made a point of finishing my smoke
to the last half-inch, and all through the “shaurie” that succeeded I
became aware that I was the recipient of covert glances of admiration,
not unmixed with envy, from the various members of that little band of
heroic sufferers in the cause of etiquette.
When the “shaurie” was at length resumed, we gained a lot of
interesting information. We found that the people who had attacked
Finlay and Gibbons were the Wa’M’bu, who live two days’ journey to the
north of Maranga, on the south-east slopes of Mount Kenia. They had
a very bad reputation. The Maranga people spoke of them with bated
breath, and remarked that they were “bad, very bad,” and that if we
went through their country we should certainly be killed.
Jamah Mahomet’s safari, numbering nearly 100 guns, had refused to go
through M’bu, and had turned off to the west from Maranga, to go round
the west side of Mount Kenia and thence northward to Limeru, as the
district north-east of Kenia is called by the Swahilis.
There are many different peoples between Maranga and M’thara, the most
northerly inhabited country, though they are all A’kikuyu in blood.
Beyond M’thara the desert stretches away to southern Somaliland and
Abyssinia, with Lake Rudolph in the foreground about twelve days’ march
north-west of M’thara.
The Maranga elders entreated us very urgently to go round west of Kenia
by the same route as Jamah Mahomet and Co., but we did not see things
in the same light at all. We were three white men with twenty-five
guns; and, as El Hakim observed, we were “not to be turned from our
path and our plans disarranged by a pack of howling savages, however
bad a reputation they might have”—a decision we conveyed to our Maranga
friends forthwith. They heard it with much raising of hands and rolling
of eyes, and clearly regarded us as persons of unsound mind, who
really ought to be kept in confinement; but still, they said, if we
were determined to court a premature end in M’bu, why, they would do
all in their power to help us—an ambiguity we indulgently excused in
consideration of the evident sincerity of their wish to advise us for
our good.
We were informed that all the people northward were “kali sana” (very
fierce), and we should do well to use the utmost precaution in passing
through the various districts—a piece of advice we did not intend to
disregard. To go round the other way meant quite a fortnight more on
the road to M’thara, in addition to which El Hakim was very anxious
to see Mount Kenia from the east side, as, indeed, were we all, as no
white men that we knew of had been round that way before. Perhaps the
fact that the Somalis funked the M’bu route had something to do with
our decision also.
We gathered what information we could of the topography of M’bu and
the adjacent countries, which afterwards proved exceedingly useful.
We packed up our goods and chattels, and made our preparations for
a start on the morrow. One of our men, Hamisi, had a severe attack
of dysentery, and we made arrangements with the old Manga to leave
him behind with enough cloth for his keep for some months. Manga’s
son Koranja and some of the old men signified their intention of
accompanying us part of the way. It appeared that for two days’ journey
we should be among friendly tribes. After that, the Wa’M’bu!
We started the following morning as soon as Koranja appeared. The
country was extraordinarily rich and fertile. The soil is bright red,
and produces, in conjunction with the constant moisture, a practically
unlimited food-supply. The ground was very hilly and well watered—too
well watered for our comfort. There were no large trees, but the
undergrowth was very rank and dense. We saw large quantities of the
castor-oil plant (_Ricinus communis_) growing wild. The natives press
the dark-coloured oil from the seeds and smear their bodies with it.
Several times on that morning’s march we saw Koranja, who was leading,
dart hurriedly to one side, and, leaving the path, plunge into the
undergrowth, making a devious détour round something, followed, of
course, by the safari. We asked the reason of his strange conduct,
and the answer more than satisfied us. It was the single word “ndui”
(small-pox). We passed quite half a dozen villages which were entirely
depopulated by the scourge. Now and again we saw a solitary emaciated
figure, covered with small-pox pustules, crouching on the side of the
path, watching us with an uninterested and vacant stare. On a shout
from Koranja and a threatening motion of his spear, it would slink
mournfully away into the deeper recesses of the jungle.
We reached a small clearing about midday, and camped. We were unable
to build a boma round the camp, owing to the absence of thorn trees,
or any reliable substitute; so that we were in a measure defenceless
against a sudden attack. Large numbers of armed natives soon put in
appearance, and swaggered in and out with great freedom, and even
insolence. We cleared them out politely, but firmly, and they then
congregated outside and discussed us. They talked peacefully enough,
but it was more like the peaceful singing of a kettle before it boils
over. We ate our lunch, and retired to our tents. George and I went
to our own tent, and, taking off our boots, laid down on our blankets
for a quiet smoke. Our men seemed very much upset by the stories they
had heard in Maranga concerning the warlike qualities of the Wa’M’bu,
and their condition could only be described as “jumpy.” To put it
plainly, they were in a pitiable state of fright, and needed careful
handling, if we were to avoid trouble with the natives through their
indiscretion; as trouble would come quite soon enough of its own accord
without that.
[Illustration: GROUP OF A’KIKUYU.]
To resume, George and I had lain down, perhaps, half an hour, and were
quite comfortable and half asleep, when a terrific altercation caused
us to jump up and rush outside. We were just in time to assist El Hakim
in forcibly disarming our men. Some of them were placing cartridges in
the breeches of their rifles; a few yards away a vast crowd of natives
were frantically brandishing their spears and clubs and yelling like
demons. If a shot had been fired, we should have been in rather a tight
place, for, as I have said, the camp was quite open, and practically
defenceless. If the A’kikuyu had rushed us, then the chances are that
another fatality would have been added to Africa’s already long
list. As it was, by much shouting and punching, we induced our excited
and frightened men to put down their weapons in time, and so regained
control over them.
Koranja, shaking visibly, went up to the Kikuyu chief and smoothed
matters down, after which mutual explanations ensued. It appeared that
an M’kikuyu warrior had indulged too freely in “tembo” (native beer),
and had run amuck through our camp. Our men, in their already fidgety
state, jumped to the conclusion that they were being attacked, seized
their rifles, and were about to use them, when our timely appearance on
the scene prevented a very pretty butchery. The natives professed to be
very sorry for what had occurred, and, seizing their drunken companion,
hurried him away, and peace, if not harmony, was restored.
We did not trust them, however, as they seemed very sullen over the
whole business. Koranja was also very nervous, and showed it, which
did not tend to reassure our men. We ate our dinner at dusk, to the
accompaniment of howling and shouting from A’kikuyu concealed in the
surrounding bush. We doubled the guard at sundown, just before we went
to dinner, giving them the most precise instructions in the event of
an alarm. At the conclusion of the meal we were startled by a volley
from the sentries. The whole camp was immediately alarmed, and symptoms
of a panic manifested themselves. We restored order with a little
difficulty, and, on investigation, found that the sentries had fired on
some natives skulking round in undue proximity to the camp.
We now made every preparation for attack, and made arrangements for one
or the other of us to be on guard all night. I took the first watch
from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m., and El Hakim the second from 10 p.m. to 12
a.m.; but everything remained quiet, and El Hakim did not think it
necessary to call George at midnight, the rest of the night proving
uneventful, with the exception that our fox-terrier gave birth to six
puppies, of which she seemed very proud.
At daylight we struck camp, and were away before the sun was fairly
up. The country was much the same as on the day before, though, if
anything, the jungle was more dense. The shambas were filled to
overflowing with unripe muhindi and pumpkins, while sweet potatoes and
beans were growing in great profusion on every side. Travelling in the
early morning was decidedly unpleasant, as the dew collected on the
shrubbery was shaken down upon us in showers, wetting us through to the
skin. We crossed two or three small rivers, and at midday reached and
camped at a place called Materu.
The chief soon put in an appearance, and we purchased a further supply
of food, in the shape of potatoes, beans, muhindi, and a little honey.
We also obtained further information of the road through the notorious
M’bu country which, I must confess, did not seem to have any better
reputation the nearer we approached it.
Our Maranga friends, under Koranja, appeared very frightened at their
close proximity to the dreaded Wa’M’bu, and intimated their intention
of returning to Maranga. We answered that they might go when we gave
them permission, but for the present we required their services; with
which answer they had perforce to be content.
The next morning we again travelled through much the same densely
populated and cultivated country as that hitherto passed, though it
seemed to get more mountainous. We had not as yet got a view of Mount
Kenia, as the sky had been for days covered with a thick curtain of
grey clouds. Koranja informed us that two hours after starting we
should reach a river called “Shelangow,” which was the boundary of
M’bu. We said the sooner the better.
At midday, after some hours’ steady march, we appeared to be as far
from the “Shelangow” as ever, though we had been informed that it was
“huko mbeli kidogo” (only just in front) for over three hours. As the
men were very tired, El Hakim decided to camp, in spite of Koranja’s
energetic protests that the Shelangow was “karibu kabissa” (very near).
The country was very wet with the constant drizzle and mist, which made
the steep clayey paths exceedingly slippery, while between the shambas
the way led through thickets of brambles and stinging nettles, which
caused the porters endless discomfort. On halting, we built a boma
of shrubs; not that we thought it would be of any use in case of an
attack, but to give the men confidence. We wrote letters and gave them
to Koranja, on the remote chance that they would get down to Nairobi,
and thence to England. (They did get down four months later, and were
delivered in England five months after they were written.)
In the evening Koranja and his friends then bade us an affectionate
and relieved farewell. They remarked in parenthesis that they would
never see us again, as the Wa’M’bu would certainly kill us all; a
belief that probably explained why they helped themselves to all our
small private stock of sweet potatoes before they left; a moral lapse
that—luckily for them—we did not discover till next morning. Our men
sent a deputation to us during the evening, pointing out the perils of
the passage through M’bu, and saying that we should of a certainty be
killed, and most likely eaten. This statement we received with polite
incredulity, and dismissed the deputation with a warning not to do it
again.
Next morning I was very queer, a large lump having formed in my groin.
This is a very common complaint in East Africa and Uganda, supposedly
due to over-fatigue and walking, though I think climate and diet have
something to do with it. George had two very bad ones on his way down
from Uganda. It was my second experience of them, and the oftener I
suffered from them, the less I liked them, as they are exceedingly
painful. The only cure seems to be complete rest, and hot fomentations
applied to the swelling.
We did not travel that day in consequence, but occupied ourselves in
buying a little food and getting what further information we could
about the road ahead. There were not many natives or villages about—a
fact easily explained by the contiguity of the M’bu border. The place
where we were camped was a sort of neutral territory, or “no man’s
land.”
Next day, soon after daylight, we set out for the Shelangow, which was
reached after a couple of hours’ march over very steep country. It
proved to be merely a mountain torrent, which we easily crossed. On the
other side rose a very steep hill, to the top of which we climbed, and
found ourselves at last in the country of the dreaded Wa’M’bu.