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.