_IN THE RENDILI ENCAMPMENT._
Narrow escape from a python—Arrival among the Burkeneji and Rendili—No
ivory—Buying fat-tailed sheep instead—Massacre of the Somalis’ porters
by the Wa’embe—Consternation of Ismail Robli—His letters to Nairobi.
At sunrise next morning we were awakened by the twittering of
innumerable song-birds, and by the raucous screams of the guinea-fowl
and francolins calling to their mates. It was a perfect morning, the
bright, clear sunshine and soft balmy atmosphere reminding one of a
summer morning in the Mediterranean. Our spirits responded instantly to
the cheering influence of the soft sunshine, which quickly dispelled
the gloomy spectres of famine and desolation which had haunted us for
so long. We resumed our journey with a cheeriness and sprightliness to
which we had long been strangers.
On the road I had a good time among the guinea-fowl, which here were of
the Vulturine variety. They were exceedingly plentiful, and I managed
to bag five in a very few minutes, all large and very handsome birds,
with long tails and beautiful light blue breast feathers. They are at
times most difficult birds to shoot, as they will very seldom rise, but
run over the sand at a great rate, keeping just out of effective range.
In the absence of a dog, the only way to shoot them is to run after
them at full speed, till, by gaining on them—no easy task—they are
compelled to rise. The moment they get up, one has to stop instantly
and let drive at them. Even then they will not always rise together,
but in groups of two or three, necessitating very accurate shooting
if a bag is to be obtained; which is not always possible when one is
puffed by a two hundred yards’ sprint, and consequently panting heavily.
Yellow-throated francolins were fairly plentiful. They dodged in
and out of the roots of the shrubbery with great agility, and were
correspondingly difficult to hit. Pigeons also were very numerous.
While following the guinea-fowl I had rather a narrow escape. I was
crossing a patch of long, dry, coarse grass, which grew in a small
depression. As I forced my way through, my eyes upon the birds, I heard
a rustle at my feet. I instantly looked down, and, quick as a flash,
jumped back three or four feet, shivering violently. A large bright
yellow snake, mottled with gamboge, about ten feet in length and as
thick as my arm, glided away into the tangled grass and disappeared. I
supposed it was a python, though I did not see much of it, nor was I
anxious to investigate.
We halted for breakfast at ten o’clock. At half-past twelve El Hakim
went on ahead with four men and his tent, as we were only one march
from the Rendili, and he was anxious to meet them. George and I were to
stay behind with the men and animals and start later, as they were not
sufficiently rested. We waited till half-past two, and then followed
him.
Soon after starting we lost his tracks, but pushed on nevertheless,
following the course of the river. We soon reached the point where the
Waso Nyiro divided into the numerous channels we had observed from the
hilltop the previous evening, and there we first met the Burkeneji. We
had temporarily lost sight of the river, and, striving to regain it,
we struggled through a dense belt of Doum palms, eventually emerging
to find ourselves in the bed of a sand river. We followed its course,
and in a few minutes reached one of the channels of the Waso Nyiro.
It was not more than a foot deep at this place, flowing smoothly over
a soft bed of sand. We stopped to drink, and while in the act were
confronted by a few natives, who suddenly emerged from the bush on the
other side. I put on my most amiable smile, and walked into the river a
little way. After a moment’s hesitation one or two of the Burkeneji—for
it was indeed they—did likewise, and we met in midstream. I held out
my hand and said “yambo,” on the chance that it would be understood.
My _vis-a-vis_ answered immediately “serian” (peace), shaking my hand
vigorously. I repeated the word after him in a very hearty manner, not
at all assumed. This appeared to be precisely the right thing to do, as
other natives now came across the river and fraternized with our men.
They were fine, clean, wholesome-looking negroes, very much resembling
the Masai in appearance, but, unlike them, were habited in cloth
instead of skins. A chorus of “serian” resounded on all sides.
One of our Wakamba named Mumbo could speak a little Masai, and through
him we learned that El Hakim had passed near there an hour or two
before. We left our new-found friends, and departed amid another chorus
of “serian,” well pleased at our first meeting with the tribes we had
braved so much to find.
We went on in the direction pointed out to us by the Burkeneji as the
path taken by El Hakim, but saw no traces of him. Keeping to the
river as being the best possible guide, we travelled another eight or
nine miles. Just before sundown we reached an acacia thicket, where
I decided to camp, continuing the search for El Hakim on the morrow.
The donkeys were off-loaded, and Ramathani busied himself in preparing
a meal. George strolled out of camp, and while “fossicking” round
discovered a Burkeneji village in the acacia forest about three hundred
yards away. Taking Mumbo with us as interpreter, George and I went
over to the village. No one appeared to meet us, as the men were out
bringing in the cattle and sheep for the night. Two or three young
women stood about with empty milk-vessels, evidently waiting for the
herds to come in. They were quite fearless, and approached us, laughing
merrily at the curious figures George and I must have cut in our
tattered shirts and trousers and clumsy boots covered with zebra-skin.
They were well built, plump, very pretty, and undeniably saucy, and
were clothed with a small, very small, piece of cloth about their
middles, and numerous small bead necklaces and brass wire armlets. They
stood a yard or so away, and discussed our personal appearance with
great freedom and animation, now and then pointing out to one another
some new item in our make-up not previously noticed, and breaking into
a hearty laugh. George came in for more than a fair share of their
attention. He is a fine, big chap, and the girls always do pay him more
attention than he deserves; both white and black, though, to do him
justice, he was never conceited in consequence.
As we stood there waiting for the return of the Burkeneji men, the
description of the Anglo-Saxon as the “heir of all the ages” occurred
to me, and I chuckled inwardly at the spectacle of two ragged “heirs of
all the ages” standing outside a little negro village, the helpless
butts of the saucy tongues of a group of little negresses of a tribe
who have no ambitions beyond their daily wants, and no ideas beyond
supplying them; and who, as far as I know, are not yet definitely
classified by ethnologists.
Presently a tall, dignified native strode up, followed by several
others. He was certainly not less than six feet in height, and proved
to be the chief of the village. At his approach the women ran away—not
very far, however, but remaining in the background, they continued
their frivolous remarks. The chief did not seem at all respectful
either; in fact, he appeared rather bored than otherwise. We exchanged
the usual “serian,” and then, through the medium of the interpreter, I
inquired the location of the Somalis’ camp. The reply was that it was
“quite near.” I suggested that the chief should guide us thither. He
acquiesced, and returning to the camp we loaded up the donkeys again,
much to their disgust, and followed our new-found guide.
In half an hour, when it was quite dark, the guide halted, and said
that we had better camp, as the Somalis’ camp was “quite far.” I was
very annoyed at this turn of affairs, and expressed my intention of
going on whether it was dark or not. We started once more, but I could
see that the guide was very unwilling and sulky. Presently I heard
the bleating of sheep and goats in the darkness to the left, and
ascertained from the guide that the sound came from a Rendili village.
I resolved to camp there; but he objected. I insisted, however, and
finally he reluctantly led the way. I pitched the camp just outside the
village, so that I might be sure of obtaining a guide in the morning.
The Rendili in the village then came out to us, and offered fresh
goat’s milk for sale. We bought about a gallon for a few red beads, and
in exchange for five yards of merikani I also procured two sheep, which
were immediately slaughtered for the men, who raised a hearty cheer
thereat, as, with the exception of the tiny portion of Waller’s gazelle
the night before, it was their first regular meal for four days. The
milk we boiled, and George and I partook freely of it, too freely
perhaps, considering the state of our stomachs, as, after drinking
about a quart each, we both felt very queer. Our heads swam, and we
were very dizzy and weak, the effect being similar to that produced by
alcohol.
At daybreak we secured a couple of Rendili youths as guides, and
proceeded through a belt of bush on our way to the Somalis’ camp, near
which I felt convinced we should find El Hakim.
This bush belt was quite a mile wide, and owed its existence to the
large proportion of earth that the desert sand had not yet thoroughly
covered, coupled with the close proximity of the Waso Nyiro. The bushes
grew in clumps, with smooth patches of ground between. They were a
beautiful vivid green, thickly covered with longish narrow leaves and
blue-black berries, and averaged eight feet to ten feet in height.
These berries greatly resembled black currants in appearance. They
contained a large, smooth spherical seed, covered with a layer of
glutinous pulp, which was hot to the palate, and something similar to
nasturtium seeds in flavour. The guinea-fowl were particularly fond of
these berries, and were in consequence to be found in large numbers in
the bush. Every few yards little ground squirrels, like the American
chipmunks, darted across our path; while the tiny duiker—smallest of
the antelopes—now and again scurried hurriedly away to the shelter
of a more distant bush. Little naked sand-rats were very numerous,
the tiny conical heaps of excavated sand outside their burrows being
scattered everywhere. At intervals, clumps of acacias of large size
afforded a certain amount of shade from the vertical rays of the sun, a
fact fully taken advantage of by the Rendili, as we noticed that where
such a clump existed we were certain to find a village.
After tramping for about an hour through this charming and refreshing
scenery, we arrived at Ismail Robli’s boma. El Hakim’s tent was pitched
two or three hundred yards away from it on the left. A moment later
El Hakim himself appeared to welcome us. We did not build a boma, but
pitched our camp under the shade of the palms some two hundred yards
from the river.
During the morning George and I went down to bathe in the river.
Divesting ourselves of our clothing, we ventured into the shallow water
near the bank, keeping a sharp look-out for crocodiles meanwhile. I
had not advanced many steps before I uttered a yell, and jumped wildly
about, to the intense astonishment of George. He was about to inquire
the reason of my extraordinary conduct, but when he opened his mouth,
whatever he intended to say resolved itself into a sudden sharp “Ouch!”
and he commenced to dance about as wildly as myself. Something (which
I afterwards found to be leeches) had attempted to bite our legs,
and especially our toes, causing anything but a pleasant sensation.
Bathing, consequently, was only indulged in under difficulties. We were
compelled, for fear of crocodiles, to bathe in but a foot of water,
and even then our ablutions were only rendered possible by keeping
continuously in motion, so that the leeches were unable to fasten on
to our persons. The instant we discontinued jumping and splashing,
half a dozen nibbles in as many places on those portions of our anatomy
which happened to be under water, would remind us of their presence,
and we would either make a dash for the bank or recommence jumping. The
spectacle of two white men endeavouring to bathe in water a foot deep,
and at the same time performing a species of Indian war-dance, would
doubtless have been extremely diverting to spectators of our own race,
had any been present; but the Rendili and Burkeneji, who also came
down to bathe, merely eyed us in astonishment, probably considering
our terpsichorean efforts to be a part of some ceremonial observance
peculiar to ourselves; or they might have put it down to sunstroke. The
Rendili and Burkeneji bathe with frequency and regularity, seeming to
derive great enjoyment from the practice. This is another very marked
characteristic which distinguishes them from the other tribes we had
met with—the A’kikuyu and Masai, for instance. Parties of the young men
would go down to the river and run about, splashing and shouting in the
shallow water for an hour or two, with every manifestation of pleasure.
When we returned to camp we found several of the Rendili elders
visiting El Hakim, chief of whom was an old man named Lubo, who is,
probably, at present the most influential as well as the most wealthy
man among the Rendili. There were also two other chiefs named Lemoro
and Lokomogo, who held positions second only to Lubo.
In his account of Count Teleki’s expedition, Lieutenant Von Hohnel
gives a short description of the Rendili, which he compiled from
hearsay, which, as far as it goes, is remarkably correct. Von Hohnel
is a very exact and trustworthy observer; his maps, for instance,
being wonderfully accurate. I carried with me a map issued in 1898 by
the Intelligence Department of the War Office, which contained several
inaccuracies and was therefore unreliable, and consequently useless.
Unfortunately, I did not at that time possess one of Von Hohnel’s maps,
or we should have been saved many a weary tramp.
In 1893 Mr. Chanler found the Rendili encamped at Kome, and stayed with
them two or three days. He appears to have found them overbearing and
intolerant of the presence of strangers, and inclined to be actively
hostile. He made an extremely liberal estimate of their numbers, as he
says that they cannot amount to less than two hundred thousand, and
that he had heard that if the Rendili were camped in one long line,
it would take six hours’ march to go down the line from one end to
the other. He considered, moreover, that a large force was necessary
if a prolonged visit was to be made to the Rendili; but we found that
our small party was quite sufficient for our purpose. Since his visit
the tribe had suffered severely from small-pox, which may have curbed
their exuberant spirits somewhat, as we found them, apart from a few
little peculiarities hereafter described, an amiable and gentle people
if treated justly; very suspicious, but perfectly friendly once their
confidence was gained.
We did nothing in the way of trade that morning, but spent most of the
time in satisfying our neglected appetites by regaling ourselves upon
boiled mutton, washed down by draughts of camel’s milk. Afterwards
we held a consultation to decide on the best way of disposing of our
goods. To our great disappointment we learnt that ivory was out of the
question, as we were informed a Swahili caravan, which had accompanied
a white man from Kismayu, had been up some two months before, and had
bought up all the available ivory.[14] We decided, therefore, to invest
in sheep, and proceeded to open our bales of cloth, wire, and beads,
in readiness for the market. I returned to the village at which George
and I had camped with the safari on our arrival the preceding evening,
taking with me half a dozen men and some cloth, wire, etc. When I
arrived there everybody was away bringing in the flocks, so I was
compelled to wait for a while till they returned.
It was most interesting to watch the various flocks come in at sundown.
Till then the village is perfectly quiet, but soon a low murmuring
is heard some considerable distance away, which gradually swells as
the flocks draw nearer, till it becomes at last a perfect babel of
sound with the baaings and bleatings of sheep, and the beat of their
countless little hoofs. They presently arrive in flocks numbering two
or three thousand each, kicking and leaping, and raising a vast cloud
of dust. The women of the village, who have been waiting, then come out
with their milk-vessels, each with a kid or a lamb in her arms, which
she holds on high at the edge of the flock. The little animals bleat
loudly for their mothers. Those mothers, far away in the body of the
flock, in some marvellous manner each recognize the cry of their own
particular offspring among the multitude of other and similar cries,
and dash towards it, leaping over the backs of the others in their
eagerness to reach their little ones. The woman restores the youngster
to its mother, and it immediately commences its evening meal, wagging
its little tail with the utmost enjoyment. The woman then goes to the
other side of the mother, and draws off into her milk-vessels as much
of the milk as can be spared.
The price of a good “soben” (ewe) was six makono of cloth, or about
one and a half yards; but the market was not very brisk, as there was
such a great amount of haggling to be gone through before the bargain
could be considered satisfactorily completed. A man would bring round
an old ram and demand a piece of cloth. When I gently intimated
that I required a “soben,” he would scowl disgustedly and retire.
In a few minutes he would be back again, dragging by the hind leg a
_female goat_, and demand the piece of cloth once more. An animated
discussion on the difference between a sheep and a goat would follow;
my prospective customer maintaining that for all practical purposes a
female goat and a female sheep were identical, while I contended that
if that was the case he might as well bring me a sheep, as under those
circumstances it would make no difference to him, and I myself had a,
doubtless unreasonable, preference for sheep. Finally a very sick and
weedy-looking ewe would be brought, and again the same discussion would
go merrily on. I would not give the full price for a bad specimen,
and my customer would persist that it was, beyond a doubt, the very
best sheep that was ever bred—in fact, the flower of his flock. “Soben
kitock” (a very large sheep) he would observe emphatically, with a
semicircular wave of his arm round the horizon. I would point out that
in my humble opinion it was by no means a “soben kitock” by shaking my
head gravely, and observing that it was “mate soben kitock.” Finally
he would bring a slightly better animal, and I would then hand over
the full price, together with a pinch of tobacco or a few beads as a
luck-penny. I returned to camp the next morning, having bought about
a dozen sheep. In this manner we spent some days buying sheep. It was
very tiring work, but I varied the monotony by building a large hut,
heavily thatched with the fan-shaped leaves of the Doum palm. It was
open at both ends, and served as a capital council chamber and market
house.
There was a great demand for iron wire, and El Hakim and I discussed
the advisability of my journeying up the Waso Nyiro to a spot two days’
march beyond the “Green Camp,” where El Hakim had some twenty loads of
iron wire buried. We eventually decided that it was not worth while,
and the matter dropped.
Some days after our arrival among the Rendili, Ismail Robli came into
our camp, bowed almost to the ground with grief. His tale was truly
pitiful in its awful brevity. I have mentioned the party of eighty of
his men whom we had met five days up the Waso Nyiro, and who had lent
us a guide to bring us to the Rendili. It appeared that after they
left us they lost their way somewhere on the northern borders of Embe,
and were three or four days without water. Eventually they found some
pools, at which they drank, and then, completely exhausted, laid down
to sleep. While they slept, the Wa’embe, who had observed them from
the hills, descended, and, taking them by surprise, pounced upon them
and literally cut them to pieces. Only sixteen men, who had rifles,
escaped; the rest, numbering sixty-four in all, being ruthlessly
massacred. We were horrified at the news; and as for Ismail, he seemed
completely prostrated.
As a result of the massacre, he had not nearly enough men remaining to
carry his loads, and he was therefore compelled to considerably alter
his plans. He now intended to buy camels from the Rendili, and thus
make up his transport department.
We were really grieved about the men, but felt no pity for Ismail,
because, as we took care to point to him, if he had only gone back
to Embe with us after our first reverse, we should have so punished
the Wa’embe as to have precluded the possibility of such a terrible
massacre. As it was, the unfortunate occurrence was the very worst
thing that could have happened for all of us, as such a signal success
would without a doubt set all North Kenia in a ferment, which would
probably culminate on our return in an organized attack by all the
tribes dwelling in the district. The surmise proved to be only too
well founded, and, as will be seen, it was only by the most vigorous
measures on our part on the return to M’thara that the danger was
averted.
As it was no use worrying ourselves at the moment over what _might_
happen in the future, we once more turned our attention to our
immediate concerns. El Hakim thought it possible that there might
be elephants down the river, and I agreed that it would be a better
speculation for me to go down-stream on the chance of meeting them,
leaving El Hakim to buy the rest of the sheep, than to occupy a
fortnight in journeying up the river after the twenty loads of iron
wire, which might possibly have been dug up by Wandorobbo in the mean
time.
On the following day Ismail Robli came to see us again, bringing with
him a present of a little tea, and a little, very little, salt. The
object of his visit was to get me to write a letter for him to his
partner in Nairobi. I insert it as I received it from his lips, as an
object lesson in the difficulties encountered even by native caravans
in the search for ivory.
“Waso Nyiro, August 26th, 1900.
“TO ELMI FAHIER, NAIROBI.
“Greeting.
“Mokojori, the head-man, said when we started, that he knew the road,
and took us to Maranga. After we left Maranga he said that he did not
know the road, and took us to some place (of which) we do not know the
name. Our food was finished (meanwhile). We asked the head-man if he
knew where Limeru was, and he answered that he did not. We packed up
and followed the mountain (Kenia)—not knowing the road—till reached
Limeru, where we found Noor Adam, who had reached there before us. He
had been into Embe, and was beaten by the Wa’embe. He came back and
asked us to go into Embe with them. We went, and Jamah was killed. In
Limeru we did not get much food, but the head-man said, ‘Never mind, I
know the road, and I will take you to the Wandorobbo, and in fifteen
or sixteen days you will be able to buy all the ivory you want.’ When
we left Limeru to find the Wandorobbo, the head-man took us eight days
out of our road to the north of the Waso Nyiro. On the eighth day
we found some Wandorobbo, who said they had no ivory. We waited and
looked about, and found what they said was true. We then asked the
head-man where the ivory was, and he said he did not know; so we came
back south to the Waso Nyiro, having to kill three cows on our way for
food. When we reached the Waso Nyiro we found the Rendili camped. Then
we asked the head-man where was the food and the ivory, and he said,
‘You are like the Wasungu. You want to buy things cheaply and then go
away. When Swahili caravans come here, they stop a year or more....
But I know where there is food. If you give me the men and the donkeys
I can get food in twelve days.’ We gave him eighty men and seven
donkeys, with six and a half loads of trade goods, and they went away
to get food. They followed the river for three days, and then went
across country southwards. There was no water, and after going one day
and one night without water, the head-man halted them, and told them
to wait where they were for a little time while he went a little way
to see if there was any water in a certain place he knew of. He went
away, and did not come back. The other men then went on for three days
without water, and on the afternoon of the fourth day after leaving
the river they found water. They drank, and then laid down to sleep.
While they slept the Wa’embe attacked them, and killed nearly all of
them, only six Somalis and ten Wa’kamba coming back. The donkeys and
trade goods and seven guns were taken by the Wa’embe. Now all the
Somalis are together in one safari—except Jamah, who was killed—and
are with the Rendili trading for ivory. Salaam.
“(Signed) ISMAIL ROBLI,
“Faragh.”
[Illustration 1. Brindled Gnu.
2. Waterbuck.
3. Oryx Beisa.
4. Congoni.
5. Rhinoceros skull.]
FOOTNOTES:
[14] We found afterwards that the caravan referred to was that under
Major Jenner, Governor of Kismayu. It is now a matter of history how,
in November, 1900, the caravan was attacked during the night by Ogaden
Somali raiders, and the camp rushed, Major Jenner and most of his
followers being murdered.