_THE RENDILI AND BURKENEJI._
The Burkeneji—Their quarrelsome disposition—The
incident of the spear—The Rendili—Their
appearance—Clothing—Ornaments—Weapons—Household utensils—Morals and
manners.
This chapter contains a short account of the Rendili and Burkeneji,
compiled from a series of disconnected and incomplete notes taken on
the spot. They will, however, serve to give the reader some idea of
that peculiar people, the Rendili. Their utter dissimilarity from those
tribes hitherto encountered, such as the A’kikuyu, Wa’kamba, and Masai,
is very striking. Who and what they are is a problem the solution of
which I leave to abler and wiser heads than mine.
The Rendili and Burkeneji are two nomad tribes, the units of which
wander at will over the whole of Samburuland. They have, nevertheless,
several permanent settlements. Von Hohnel speaks of Rendili inhabiting
the largest of the three islands in the south end of Lake Rudolph,
the other two being occupied by Burkeneji and Reshiat. He also speaks
of settlements of mixed Rendili and Burkeneji in the western portion
of the Reshiat country, at the north end of the lake, though very
possibly the latter were only temporary settlements. The Burkeneji
also inhabit the higher portions of Mount Nyiro, where they have
taken refuge from the fierce attacks of the Turkana. With the single
exception of Marsabit, a crater lake situated about sixty miles north
of the Waso Nyiro which is always filled with pure sweet water, there
is no permanent water in Samburuland. Elephants were at one time very
numerous at Marsabit, but we learnt from the Rendili that they had
disappeared during the last few years. The lake is the headquarters of
the Rendili, from whence they move south to the Waso Nyiro only when
the pasturage, through the scarcity of rain or other cause, becomes
insufficient for the needs of their vast flocks and herds.
At the time of our visit there had been no rain during the previous
three years, and in consequence the pasturage had almost entirely
disappeared. Even on the Waso Nyiro it was very scanty.
We found the Burkeneji a very sullen people. The young men especially,
very inclined to be pugnacious, and, not knowing our real strength,
were haughtily contemptuous in their dealings with us. The majority
were apparently unaware of the power of our rifles, though one or two
of the old men had seen shots fired at game. The Burkeneji and the
Rendili together had, some time before, fought with the Ogaden Somalis,
many of whom were armed with old muzzle-loading guns, using very
inferior powder and spherical bullets. The Rendili declared that they
were able to stop or turn the bullets with their shields. The following
incident shows the serio-comic side of their belief in their own native
weapons.
A party of Burkeneji warriors were in our camp one day when I returned
from an unsuccessful search for game. They noticed my rifle, and
one of the party put out his hand as if he wished to examine it. I
handed it to him, and he and his friends pawed it all over, commenting
on its weight; finally it was handed back to me with a superior and
contemptuous smile, while they balanced and fondled their light spears
with an air of superiority that was too ludicrous to be offensive.
The Burkeneji are very like the Masai or the Wakwafi of Nyemps in
appearance, wearing their hair in a pigtail in the same manner, while
their clothing and ornaments are very similar. Owing probably to long
residence with the Rendili, however, they are gradually adopting the
dress and ornaments of the latter, a large majority of them having
already taken to cloth for everyday wear. They appeared to be very
fond of gaudily coloured “laissos,” quite unlike the Rendili, who will
wear nothing but white. The Burkeneji speak Masai, but most of them
understand the language of the Rendili.
They own large numbers of good cattle and grey donkeys, and also large
flocks of sheep and goats, the latter mainly looted from the Rendili.
This little failing accounts for the nickname “dthombon” (robbers)
given them by the latter. Their donkeys were beautiful animals, in
splendid condition, being sleek, glossy coated, and full of fight. It
was risky for strangers to approach them while they were grazing. They
seemed inclined to take the offensive on the one or two occasions on
which I endeavoured to get near enough to examine them; and to have
had to shoot one in self-defence would probably have led to serious
trouble with its owner. Besides which, such a course seemed to me to
savour too much of the ridiculous. They were more than half wild, and
many were wearing a particularly diabolical twitch, otherwise I suppose
even their owners would have had some difficulty in handling them.
This cruel instrument consisted of a piece of flexible wood a foot in
length thrust through the cartilage of the nostrils, the ends being
drawn together with cord, so that the whole contrivance resembled a bow
passed through the nose.
The Burkeneji were very unwilling to trade; in fact, they refused to
have anything to do with us. On one occasion this bad feeling led to
friction between some of our men and the young warriors of one of
their villages. We had sent a small party of five or six men to this
particular village with a supply of cloth, wire, and beads for the
purpose of buying sheep. Our men were from the first badly received,
and after a while the warriors commenced to hustle them. They put
up with it for some time, but presently a spear was thrown, happily
without fatal result, as the M’kamba at whom it was launched received
it on the butt of his Snider, where it made a deep cut in the hard
wood. Our men, with commendable prudence, refrained from using their
rifles, and returned to camp amid the jeers of their assailants.
On their return El Hakim decided that it was absolutely necessary
that the matter should be stringently dealt with, and to that end
issued orders that on the following morning a party of our men were
to hold themselves in readiness to accompany us to the village for
the purpose of demanding a “shaurie.” These preparations, however,
proved superfluous, as at sunrise we were waited upon by a deputation
of elders from the village in question, who had come to try to square
matters. As a sign of our displeasure, we kept them waiting for some
time, and after the suspense had reduced them to a sufficiently
humble frame of mind, we condescended to appear and listen to their
explanation.
They prefaced their apology by a long rambling statement to the effect
that “the Burkeneji were the friends of the white man.” “It was _good_
to be friends,” said they, “and _very bad_ not to be friends,” and so
on. After they had quite exhausted their limited powers of rhetoric, we
put in a few pointed questions.
“Do friends throw spears?” we asked.
“Oh, _that_!” said they, in tones of surprise that we should have
noticed such a trivial occurrence, and they forthwith plunged into a
maze of apologies and explanations to the effect that young men _would_
be young men. It was, of course, extremely regrettable that such an
unpleasant incident should have occurred to mar our friendly relations,
but they trusted we would take a lenient view of the conduct of the
foolish young man, the more so as he had already been driven away from
the village as a punishment for his offence. “And,” they added, with a
charming naïveté, “would we give them a present and say no more about
it?”
El Hakim declined to take such a lenient view of the case. To have
done so would have been construed into a confession of weakness, and
probably have led to more serious complications. He therefore demanded
that the young man should be delivered up to him for punishment, or,
failing that, a fine of ten sheep should be paid by his father.
They answered solemnly that the white men had very hard hearts;
furthermore, the young man, having already been driven out of the
village, could not now be found, and they were in consequence quite
unable to give him up.
“Then,” said El Hakim, “his papa must pay the fine.”
They protested that the wicked young man had no papa, or, indeed,
any relatives whatsoever; in fact, that he was an outcast whom, from
charitable motives, they had allowed to stop in their village. We
declined to believe such a preposterous story, and remained firm on the
subject of the fine. After a time, finding remonstrance useless, the
elderly deputation sorrowfully withdrew, after promising that the fine
should be paid.
The next day six sheep were driven into our camp, and the old gentleman
in charge stated that they were all he could afford, and would we
consider the matter settled. We were inexorable, however, so soon
afterwards the balance of the fine was brought into camp and handed
over.
It was the old, old story, which can be paralleled in any town in the
civilized world. The story of a young man sowing his wild oats, who,
for some breach of the peace or other, comes within the grasp of the
law, when ensues the police court, and the fine paid by papa, anxious
to redeem his erring offspring.
We were truly sorry for the good old Burkeneji gentleman, who paid
the fine in order to keep the peace which his son had so recklessly
endangered; but our sympathy did not prevent our sense of justice—in
this case more than usually acute, as the safety of our own persons was
threatened—nor did it prevent us from exacting the full penalty.
The Rendili we found to be of very different behaviour, though they
have a very bad character from Mr. Chanler. He describes them as
overbearing, quarrelsome, treacherous, and haughtily contemptuous
towards strangers. He met them at Kome in 1893, and stayed with them
two or three days. Since his visit, however, they have been, as I have
already remarked, terribly decimated by small-pox, and possibly that
has toned them down somewhat.
They are tall and well built, with slim and graceful figures and
light, clear skins. They have an appearance of cleanliness and
wholesomeness which was altogether wanting in the other natives whom
we had previously met. Their distinctly Semitic features bear little
resemblance to those of the typical negro, with his squat nose,
prognathous jaws, and everted lips. There were many members of the
tribe with good clean-cut features, well-shaped jaws and chins, and
pronounced aquiline noses. They somewhat resembled high-bred Arabs
in general appearance, and, if clothed in Arab dress, they, with
their fine, straight, close-cut jet black hair, could not be easily
distinguished from that aristocratic race.
At one time they wore a rough, coarsely woven garment of sheep’s wool,
but at the time I saw them they had entirely taken to trade cloth to
the exclusion of the home-made article. They then wore large mantles of
this cotton cloth, made by sewing together two three-yard lengths of
cloth, thus forming a large square piece. The edges of this are then
unravelled to form tassels, which are further ornamented with small red
and white beads. This they draped round them somewhat in the manner of
a Mexican “serape.” They and their clothes were always scrupulously
clean. Unlike the Burkeneji they will never wear anything but white
cloth. “Coloured cloths,” they remarked contemptuously to us on one
occasion, “were only fit for women and Masai.” They prefer the English
drill, called “Marduf” by the Swahilis, to the lighter and commoner
“Merikani” (American sheeting).
They wear a good many beads as ornaments, which are carefully worked
into necklaces and armlets of artistic design, and not put on
haphazard, as is the custom of the surrounding tribes, and of those
south of the Waso Nyiro. The beads are usually strung on hair from the
tail of the giraffe, which is as stiff as thin wire. With this they
make broad collars and bands for the arms and ankles, the beads being
arranged in geometrical designs, such as squares and triangles, of
different colours, red and white being the favourites. The demand for
_seninge_ (iron wire) was extraordinary, though _serutia_ (brass wire)
ran it a close second. Copper wire, strange to say, they would not look
at.
They are circumcized in the Mohammedan manner, and, in addition, they
are mutilated in a most extraordinary fashion by having their navels
cut out, leaving a deep hole. They are the only tribe mutilated in this
manner with the exception of the Marle, who inhabit the district north
of “Basso Ebor” (Lake Stephanie), and who are probably an offshoot of
the Rendili.
The Rendili women are singularly graceful and good looking, with
arch, gentle manners and soft expressive eyes. They wear a good many
ornaments, principally bead necklaces and armlets of coloured beadwork.
Their hair is allowed to grow in short curls. One or two I saw wore it
cut very close, with the exception of a ridge of hair on the top of
the head, extending from the centre of the forehead backwards over the
crown to the nape of the neck, which was left uncut. Whether they were
Turkana women who had intermarried with the Rendili or not, I am unable
to say, it being the custom of the Turkana women to dress their hair
in that manner; though, on the other hand, the fashion might have been
merely copied from them by the Rendili women.
The Rendili women also wear cloth. Their garments were of much less
generous proportions than those of their lords and masters; but they
wore more ornaments, the Venetian beads we carried being in great
demand for that purpose. They also wore armlets and leg ornaments
of brass and iron wire, the iron wire especially being much sought
after. They do not use skins for clothing, though they cure them and
use them for sleeping-mats, and also for trading with the Reshiat and
Wa’embe. The skins are cured by the women, who, after the skin is
sufficiently sun-dried, fasten it by the four corners to a convenient
bush, and scrape the hair from it with a broad chisel-shaped iron tool,
afterwards softening it by rubbing it between the hands.
El Hakim bought several cornelian beads from the women, evidently of
native manufacture. They were roughly hexahedral in shape, and were
cleanly pierced, with no little skill, to admit of their being strung
on a thread. We could not discover from whence they had obtained them.
It is possible that they may have filtered through from Zeila or
Berbera on the Somali coast, where they had been brought by Arab or
Hindoo traders.
The Rendili women, unlike the Masai, are remarkably chaste, the morals
of the tribe as a whole being apparently of a comparatively high
standard. Polygamy is practised, but it is not very much _en évidence_.
A point which struck me very much was their fondness for children.
For some reason, perhaps on account of the small-pox, the birth-rate
by no means equalled the deaths, and children were consequently very
scarce. What children they possessed they fairly worshipped. Everything
was done for their comfort and pleasure that their adoring parents
could devise. This love of children extended to the offspring of other
tribes, and they were perfectly willing to adopt any child they could
get hold of.
Both Lemoro and Lokomogo—two of the principal chiefs—asked us on
several occasions to sell them two or three of the boys who acted as
servants to our Swahilis, but we declined to do so, as it was, to our
minds, too much like slave dealing. We gave some of the boys permission
to stop with the Rendili if they felt so inclined, but only two of them
tried it; and they came back a few days later, saying the life was too
quiet for them.
Ismail Robli, we had good reason to believe, sold some boys to Lemoro,
and we were afterwards the means of rescuing one little chap, who came
into camp saying that Ismail had sold him to that chief, though he did
not want to stop with the Rendili. We protected him during a somewhat
stormy scene in our camp with old Lemoro, who said he had given Ismail
two camels for the boy. When we taxed Ismail, he, of course, denied
it, saying that the boy had deserted to the Rendili, and that the two
camels were only a present from Lemoro. However, we kept the boy, who
belonged to M’thara, and had left there with Ismail’s safari as a
servant to one of his porters, and on our return to M’thara sent him
to M’Dominuki with an account of the affair, and he was ultimately
restored to his home. After this incident Ismail tried to do us what
mischief he could by causing friction between ourselves and the
Rendili, but was happily unsuccessful, though he nevertheless caused us
some anxious moments.
The Rendili have no definite religion so far as I could ascertain. Mr.
Chanler mentions a story current among them about a man and a woman who
settled somewhere in the north of Samburuland a very long time ago,
and from whom the Rendili are descended; very similar to the Biblical
story of Adam and Eve. They show traces of contact with Mohammedans by
their use of the word “Allah” as an exclamation of astonishment, though
seeming not to know its meaning.
They have apparently no regard for the truth for its own sake, lying
appearing to them to be a most desirable form of amusement. It is on
this account rather difficult to obtain information about themselves
or of their country, as in answer to questions they will say only what
they think will please their questioner, whether it is right or not.
When one finds them out they do not betray the slightest embarrassment,
but regard the matter rather in the light of a good joke.
They will tell the most unblushing lies on all and every subject
under discussion, and if, as sometimes happened, circumstances
disproved their words to their very faces, they would smile an amiable
self-satisfied smile as of one who says, “See what a clever fellow I
am.”
On one occasion I inquired of the people of a certain village some
two hours’ march from our camp if they wished to sell any sheep. I
was informed that the inhabitants of the village in question were
simply yearning to sell their sheep. I came down to plain figures, and
inquired how many they would be likely to sell.
“Very many, quite as many as that,” said my informant, indicating a
passing flock of sheep that numbered some hundreds.
Knowing the vast numbers of sheep possessed by the people of that
particular village, I thought it not unlikely that I should be able to
buy at least a hundred. However, when I went to the village, joyfully
anticipating a good market, I found that they did not wish to sell any
sheep whatever, and, moreover, never had wished to. I was eventually
compelled to return disappointed—not having secured more than two
or three—and very much annoyed with the elderly gentleman who had
so deliberately misled me. He knew at the time that the people of
the village did not wish to sell any sheep, but being unwilling to
disappoint me by telling me so, he lied, with the laudable but mistaken
idea of sparing my feelings.
They are probably the richest natives in Africa, calculated per head of
population. Some of them own vast numbers of camels, sheep, and goats,
and since the small-pox has nearly exterminated this once powerful
and numerous tribe, it is not uncommon to find a village of eight or
ten families, numbering not more than thirty persons all told, owning
flocks of over 20,000 sheep and goats, and large numbers of camels. Old
Lubo, the _doyen_ of the Rendili chiefs, personally owned upwards of
16,000 camels, besides over 30,000 sheep and goats. The Rendili live
almost entirely on the vast quantities of milk they obtain from their
flocks and herds, for they milk their camels, goats, and sheep with
equal impartiality. They do not hunt as a rule, but sometimes the young
men spear small antelope. They are very unwilling to slaughter any of
their animals for food. They must do so occasionally, however, as I
have once or twice seen them eating meat. Furthermore, the old women
of the tribe used occasionally to bring a grilled bone, or a bladder
of mutton fat into camp, for sale to our men. Meat would seem to be
quite a luxury to them, as a bone to which a few scraps of meat were
adhering was offered for sale at an exorbitant price, with an air as of
conferring a special favour.
We ourselves lived almost entirely on milk during our six weeks’ stay
among the Rendili, with the exception of the twelve days occupied by
our journey down the river in the search for Lorian. El Hakim, George,
and I drank nearly two gallons per day each. It formed a pleasant and,
from a dietetic point of view, a useful change from the exclusively
meat diet on which we subsisted, from the time of our arrival at the
“Green Camp” till our return to M’thara, a period of over two months.
The camel’s milk was very salt, which to some extent compensated for
the absence of that mineral in the ordinary form. El Hakim informed me
that a little to the east of Maisabit a large extent of the country is
under a layer of salt, two or three inches in thickness. It required
one day’s journey to cross it, which represents a vast quantity of pure
salt, and it was principally from this that the animals of the Rendili
obtained such salt as they required.
The milk we required for our own use we bought with the Venetian beads.
We, of course, boiled every drop before using it, and rendered it still
more palatable by the addition of a tabloid or two of saccharin from
the medicine chest, so long as they lasted. The milk often curdled in
boiling, owing to the vessels it had been brought in not having been
cleaned since the milking the night before, and we were compelled
to eat the solid curds with a spoon. We served out an allowance of
beads to the men every day, with which they bought milk, fat, and
occasionally meat.
El Hakim heard that many years before, the sheep and goats of the
Rendili, with the exception of Lubo’s, which were camped in another
place at the time, had been swept away by a pestilence. In such cases
the custom of the tribe appears to be that the owner of the surviving
flocks must give the others sufficient animals to enable them to
recommence breeding; but he has the right to take them back, together
with their progeny, provided that his own needs require it. Old Lubo,
therefore, was practically the owner of all the vast flocks of the
Rendili, which could only be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The
confidence between the animals and their owners was very noteworthy,
even the sheep allowing themselves to be handled freely for milking,
and for purposes of examination. They are of the fat-tailed variety,
some of the tails weighing as much as thirty pounds. This fat tail is
another object lesson of the way nature provides her creatures against
all emergencies. The Rendili sheep in times of plenty develop and store
a large reserve of nourishment in the fat of their ponderous tails,
so that when, as often happens, their pasturage becomes exhausted
through want of rain or other causes, they have a store to draw upon,
sufficient for their needs for a considerable period. Another store of
fat is also formed, in the case of the Rendili sheep, in a large pouch
or dewlap under the throat, and also on the breast-bone, where the fat
is often a couple of inches in thickness.
As an instance of the ignorance and denseness of the average Swahili,
as regards anything outside his own particular sphere, I will mention
a little incident which occurred one day. El Hakim sent Jumbi and
three or four men with a supply of cloth and beads to buy sheep at a
Rendili village. He was instructed to buy “soben,” _i.e._ ewes, in good
condition. He returned next day with a dozen or so of the raggedest
scarecrows that the Rendili had been able to rake out. El Hakim
reprimanded him, and asked why he had not obtained better animals, as
those he had brought had no fat tails at all, but merely shrivelled-up
skin. Jumbi answered that it was true that the Rendili had brought
sheep with much fatter tails to him, but he had rejected them, their
tails being so large that _he thought the sheep would not be able to
travel_!
The Rendili own donkeys, but not so many as the Burkeneji. They also
own horses, which the Burkeneji do not, and which they probably procure
from the Borana, who are reported to own vast numbers of them. The
Borana are a very powerful and numerous tribe living in north-east
Galla-land. They are fierce fighters, and it was formerly quite the
correct thing for any warrior among the Rendili who yearned for
distinction to lead a raiding party against the Borana, who as often
returned the compliment.
The Borana fight with two short, broad-bladed spears, while for
defensive purposes they carry a small round shield made from the skin
of the hump of the oryx. They wear cloth—a small cloth round the loins
and a larger one thrown over the shoulders completing their costume.
They possess large numbers of cattle, sheep, and goats, and vast
herds of half-wild horses. They are a sullen, inhospitable people,
very unwilling to receive strangers. They, like the Rendili and
Burkeneji, wear sandals, the thorny acacia, so plentifully distributed
thereabouts, being even too much for the naked feet of savages.
The Rendili ride their horses with a saddle something like the native
Somali saddle. It is made of wood, covered with sheepskin, and is
fastened by a girth knotted to rings in the saddle. The stirrups are
similar to those of the Somali, consisting merely of two iron rings,
into which the rider thrusts his big toe, his sandals having been
previously removed. A breast-plate and crupper are used to keep the
saddle in place. They use a very crude iron bit, of a particularly
cruel form, attached to strips of undressed leather which do duty for
reins.
The Rendili are among the most persistent beggars that I have ever met
with. The Egyptian beggar, with his oft-reiterated “backshish,” is hard
to beat, but the average Rendili could easily give him long odds and
a beating. It grew to be quite a fashionable amusement with them to
come down to our camp, often some hours’ journey, and spend the day in
begging for small articles. When El Hakim, who slept outside his tent,
awoke in the morning, he would find a number of them squatted round his
bed, and as soon as he opened his eyes a murmur of “Mate serutia?” (Is
there no brass wire?) greeted him. He would answer “Mate! mate!” (No!
no!) and retreat hurriedly to the interior of the tent. But it was of
no use; a moment later he would be again approached by his questioners,
who would softly inquire, “Mate serutia?” having apparently forgotten
his emphatic negative to the same inquiry five minutes before. Again
El Hakim would answer, “Mate serutia!” (There is no brass wire!). So,
gazing reproachfully at him, his tormenters would leave him and come to
me.
The same succession of beseeching inquiry and stony refusal would be
gone through, and when they were convinced that I was as hard-hearted
as El Hakim, they would leave me and try George. He also was adamant;
but they were not discouraged. Back they would go to El Hakim, and
repeat the whole performance.
This happened every hour of every day during the whole period of our
sojourn among them; it almost drove us frantic on occasions. To do
them justice, the cry was sometimes varied; sometimes it was “Mate
serutia?” and other times “Mate tumbao?” (tobacco), of which they are
inordinately fond, probably because they can obtain it only on the rare
occasions when they come in contact with the Wa’embe, and the Reshiat
at the north end of the “Basso Norok” (Lake Rudolph).
Lubo himself often sat for hours in front of the temporary hut of palm
leaves we had erected as a council house, begging for a few beads or a
small piece of brass wire. We ridiculed him once, saying that we were
surprised that he, who was such a wealthy man, should beg for a few
beads. He was amazed!
“Is it not good to give?” he said.
“Well, then, why do you not give us something?” we inquired.
“You have never asked me!” he answered simply.
If we had been a wealthy exploring caravan, rich enough to have
bestowed munificent gifts on the Rendili on our arrival, doubtless
their value, or near it, would have been returned to us in kind, but
we could not then have been certain of getting what we needed, as the
return gift might have consisted of camels or some other commodity
which we did not require, and which we would be unable, from the nature
of the case, to refuse. We preferred, therefore, the slower and more
sordid process of bartering for what we wanted. We had, of course,
bestowed presents on arrival, but nothing large enough to warrant the
gift of perhaps half a dozen camels in return.
Their begging was at times particularly aggravating; for instance,
after a hot and weary morning passed in trade “shauries” and
discussions with the various elders respecting presents to be given
and received. Having lunched on a quart of milk or so, we would
retire for a smoke and a siesta. Just as we were dropping off into a
delicious doze, a dusky countenance would be thrust into the hut, and
a gentle voice would softly utter, “Mate serutia?” accompanied by
a touching smile and insinuatingly outstretched paw. At such times
language failed us, and we could only glare. But glaring did not seem
to have any effect; the intruder did not mind it in the least, so
the services of Ramathani had to be requisitioned, and as he led the
culprit gently away, we would compose ourselves once more to sleep to
the accompaniment of the plaintive murmur of “Mate serutia” sandwiched
between the voluble remonstrances of our faithful henchman.
But five minutes later, the whole performance would be repeated!
The Rendili villages consist of low, flat-topped huts constructed of
bush and reeds arranged in a circle a hundred yards or so in diameter.
In the centre they construct a circular enclosure for their flocks.
Outside the whole a strong thorn “boma” is built, with generally two
gateways on opposite sides, which are closed at night. In consequence
of the great reduction in their numbers by small-pox, most of the
villages were very short handed. Women and little children acted as
shepherds in place of the now extinct warriors, whose duty it had been
before the scourge removed them. So much was this the case that in
some villages the inhabitants, even when reinforced by the women and
children, were still too few to be able to drive all their animals to
water daily. They were therefore reduced to the expedient of driving
their sheep and goats down one day, and the camels the next, and so on
alternately.
Their household utensils were few, and simple in construction. Their
milk-vessels were either of wood, hollowed and shaped, or of plaited
string, made watertight with gum. Some of the vessels of plaited
string were further strengthened by a covering of raw hide stitched
with gut. They were made in all sizes, ranging from a tiny measure
holding scarcely a pint to large vessels holding two or three gallons.
They also construct a rude spoon from plaited string. They possess a
few gourds, doubtless obtained by barter from other tribes. They use
the bladders of animals for the purpose of holding fat, and for other
purposes, such as satchels and bags.
The pack-saddles for their camels and donkeys are made of wickerwork.
They are very light and strong, and answer the purpose admirably.
The donkey pack-saddle consists of two elongated oval frames of bent
wickerwork laced with strips of hide in a similar manner to the gut in
a tennis racquet. These frames are then connected with two broad bands,
which are fastened to their lower edges and pass over the donkey’s
back. The forage or household effects, or whatever has to be carried,
is packed on the donkey, being kept from slipping by the frames, which
are then tied with cords on their upper edges, one to the other, thus
making the package complete and snug.
Their weapons consist of spears, shields, and bows and arrows. The
spears are very light, and do not look at all dangerous. The blade is
of the usual laurel-leaf shape, common to the Suk, Turkana, and Kamasia
tribes, though one or two of Somali pattern are occasionally seen.
Their shields are also of the shape peculiar to the Suk and Turkana.
Made of buffalo-hide, they are of a very narrow oblong shape, with a
peculiar curve when seen in profile. They are ornamented with a tuft of
feathers at the top. They are now usually constructed of ox-hide, as,
since the rinderpest, the buffalo is very scarce, and a buffalo shield
is valued accordingly. There are also a few of the wickerwork shields
of the Reshiat in use among them.
Their bows differ in shape from those of the A’kikuyu and Wa’kamba, in
that they are turned forward at the ends, in a similar manner to the
conventional Cupid’s bow. So far as I could ascertain, their arrows are
not poisoned.
They do not use clubs as weapons; at least, I saw none that could be
used as such. The only club they carried consisted of the kernel of the
doum nut fastened on to the end of a slight stick some eighteen inches
in length, a hole being bored longitudinally through the nut, and the
stick inserted. The kernel was in many cases ornamented with small
coloured beads, which were inlaid when it was new and comparatively
soft, the whole then finished off by being covered with a thin layer of
gum.
That the reports of the powers of the Rendili in warfare were not
devoid of foundation was borne out in a striking manner by facts
which came under our observation. Many of our visitors showed livid
scars on the left forearm and breast. Inquiry revealed the fact that
the warriors who wished to be accounted brave in warfare dispensed
with their shields altogether, receiving on their left forearm those
spear-thrusts they were unable to avoid. This is, as far as I know,
a unique characteristic among African savages, though I am open to
correction on that point. The fact that the Rendili, besides attacking
the Borana, have also successfully raided the Wa’embe and the A’kikuyu
of north-east Kenia speaks well for their courage and enterprise. Most
of the elders we met showed great scars on the arms, breasts, and
thighs—relics of spear-thrusts received in the sanguinary conflicts of
their hot-blooded youth. The tribe now shows only the merest traces of
its former greatness, depending mainly on the Burkeneji for protection
from outside interference, though they are still by no means to be
despised.
The Burkeneji, noting the ravages of the small-pox on their once
all-powerful neighbours, were not slow in profiting by the lesson. When
the scourge appeared, they sent their young men away to separate camps,
and so preserved them. They were able to do so without inconvenience,
as they did not own such numbers of animals as the Rendili, who would
not send their youths away, as they wanted them to look after their
flocks and herds—a short-sighted policy which cost them very dearly.
Now, the Burkeneji were perfectly willing to protect the Rendili, but
in return they considered that they ought to be allowed the right to
help themselves from the Rendili flocks whenever they felt so disposed;
and to do them justice they fully acted up to this idea, without fear
of reprisals. It seemed to me a very peculiar state of affairs. The
two tribes lived together, that is, their villages were intermingled,
and they travelled together; yet the Burkeneji constantly raided the
Rendili, and though the Rendili did not seem to like it, they never
openly resented the depredations.
Old Lubo once complained to us that he had been raided during the
afternoon—as a matter of fact, the raid took place not five minutes’
walk from our camp—and a few score of sheep and two women had been
looted from him. We inquired why he made no attempt to recapture them.
He opened his eyes widely at the novelty of the idea.
“We do not fight between friends,” he said.
Notwithstanding their fighting qualities, both the Rendili and
Burkeneji were very anxious about the Masai. They seemed to live in
dread of them. We were frequently asked if we had seen any Masai on our
march up, and whether we thought they were coming to the Waso Nyiro.
Large parties of Masai “elmoran” (warriors) had occasionally attempted
to raid the Rendili, but were almost always unsuccessful, the principal
reason being the inaccessibility of the country and the nomadic habits
of the tribe.
On the march the Masai elmoran carries next to nothing in the way of
provisions, trusting to find cattle on the road, which he can use for
food, after massacring the owners. Thompson describes the ceremony of
the departure of a Masai war-party thus—
“For a month they devoted themselves to an indispensable, though
revolting preparation. This consisted in their retiring in small
parties to the forest, and there gorging themselves with beef. This
they did under the belief that they were storing up a supply of muscle
and ferocity of the most pronounced type. This strange process being
finished and the day fixed on, the women of the krall went out before
sunrise, with grass dipped in the cream of cow’s milk. Then they
danced, and invoked N’gai for a favourable issue to the enterprise,
after which they threw the grass in the direction of the enemy. The
young men spent several hours at their devotions, howling out in the
most ludicrous street-singer fashion, ‘Aman N’gai-ai! Aman M’baratien!’
(We pray to God! We pray to M’baratien!). Previous to this, however,
a party had been sent to the chief ‘lybon’ of the Masai—M’baratien—to
seek advice as to the time of their start, and to procure medicines to
make them successful. On their return the party mustered and set off!”
[Illustration: MASAI ELMORAN IN WAR ARRAY.]
It will be seen that under these conditions it was a very difficult
matter to successfully raid a tribe like the Rendili, to reach whom
they had to cross uninhabited and desolate country for ten days
or more, and generally to arrive at their prospective victims’
camping-ground starved and emaciated with their rapid and difficult
march, to find that the Rendili had withdrawn with all their flocks
and herds still further into the depths of the wilderness. Weakened
by want of food, and fatigued almost beyond endurance, there would be
nothing for the war-party but to retrace their steps, it being quite
hopeless to attempt to find the Rendili in the desert, in which they
were quite at home. So, sadder and wiser, the crestfallen elmoran would
return, many dropping by the way from hunger and exhaustion, till a
pitiful remnant of the once proud and arrogant war-party would totter
home, to rest and recuperate before starting on another raid on the
A’kikuyu, where the prizes, if few in number, did not entail so much
inconvenience in the collection.