No answer.
El Hakim (in raised accents): “Juma-a!”
Still no answer.
El Hakim (in a very loud voice): “Juma-a-a!” (Sotto voce): “Where the devil is that boy? Oh! here you are. Wapi viatu?” (Where are my boots?)
An interval of silence.
El Hakim (evidently getting angry, and alternating English with the vernacular): “Ju-ma-a! Have you got those boots yet? Eh? Wapi viatu? Eh? Wewi sedui? (You don’t know?) What the dickens do you know? Tafuta sana, maramoja!” (Search well at once!)
(A moment’s silence, broken by sounds of searching among kit-boxes, etc., followed by an indistinct murmur from the unhappy Juma.)
El Hakim: “You can’t find them, eh? Now, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you! I’m going to give you a hiding! Wewi sikia? (Do you hear?) Wha—at! They’re under my bed, where I put them last night! Hum—m—m! Nenda Kuleta maaji! Oopace! (Go and get some water, quickly!) If you don’t do better than this in future you shall carry a load!”
After we had washed and dressed, the tent-bearers, who were already waiting, pulled up the pegs, and in a trice the tents were lying flat on the ground, leaving the blankets and kit exposed, waiting to be packed up ready for the march by Ramathani’s deft fingers. Donkeys trotted skittishly round, colliding with everything and everybody, waywardly declining to be saddled and loaded by the perspiring Jumbi and his assistant, and skilfully evading all attempts at capture. The command, “Funga mzigo yako!” (Tie up your loads) having been given, the men selected their loads from the pile in which they had been stacked overnight, and proceeded to bind their effects to them with lengths of rope of native manufacture, either of skin or fibre. El Hakim, George, and I having finished our tea or coffee, and seen that the tents and kits had been properly packed and ready for the march, prepared in our turn. Ammunition was slipped into side pockets, water-bottles filled, and weapons examined. When Jumbi reported that the donkeys were ready, I raised my voice, “Watu wote tayire?” (Are all the men ready?) “N’deo! tayire, Bwana” (Yes, all ready, master!) would be shouted in reply. A last look round to see if anything had been forgotten or overlooked, a critical examination of the donkeys’ pack-saddles, or a dispute between two porters summarily disposed of by the judicious application of a boot, and “Chikua mzigo yako!” (Take up your loads) would ring out. Immediately after Jumbi, shouting “Haya! haya! safari twende!” (Hurry up! hurry up! go on your journey!) would “chunga” his donkeys, and El Hakim, mounting his mule, would set out, followed by the porters, George and I staying behind to see the last man out of camp, and safely on the road; thus another day’s march commenced.
We made up our minds to stop a day or two at this “Swamp Camp,” as we called it, in order to give the animals a much-needed rest; there were also sundry small matters which required attention, and which could not be done very well on the march.