FOOTNOTES:
[13] The rinderpest has all but exterminated the buffalo and the eland in British East Africa, as elsewhere on the African continent.
CHAPTER XII.
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.”
1. Brindled Gnu.
2. Waterbuck.
3. Oryx Beisa.
4. Congoni.
5. Rhinoceros skull.