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.