These native habitations have with them a certain human homeliness, a certain attractiveness, that is altogether foreign. Picture a group of tall, full-bodied trees with thick foliage, dark and green, from which issues the pensive, melodious “co-coo-oo” of African doves toward the eve of a throbbing, sun-scorched day, when the air is cooling, and you are fortunate to have leisure to notice that the scenes and the sounds are pleasant and restful. These are the mango tree (Mwembe)—trees of blessed shade against the hot sun, and trees that, when the leaves are ready to fall, in October or November, give a rich harvest of delicious mango fruit.
It is here, close to their sheltering shade, that the native huts are grouped; huts with a great proportion of steep roof of weather-darkened grass, and with low squat walls of baked reddish mud. Here naked children play around the tree-trunk roots, in the shade, while old shrivelled-up women, or labouring wives, together under the hut-eaves, croon their soft Swahili folk-songs, in tune with the doves in the trees, in tune, indeed, with all that is African. About the habitations are some patches of cultivation—a not extensive irregular area of ground cleared, without choice of fair angles or straight lines, in any old haphazard way, wherever the bush could most easily be cleared, or where the soil held most richness and moisture. Here and there in the clearing stands a great wintry looking, sparsely leaved wild fig tree (Mcuyu), a landmark to the eyes of all. On those clearings are grown millet (Mtama) and maize (Mahindi), which is the harvest of the native—his bread, as it were, his chief staple food. Part of the crop is standing, twice the height of man, tall, clustering reed-canes with long ribbon leaves and bending, burdened seed-heads, caught into motion, and rustling in the light, undulating wind. Here, moreover, from the neighbouring bush, numerous doves fly, swift-winged and grey, to feed on the ground among the stems; to search out the broken heads that have fallen, or to perch, with some effort to balance, on swinging plant top to plunder the ripened head. Part of the crop has been cut as need required, and, in the open, the stem-strewn stubble lies, straw brown, and level, and tinder dry.
Such is the common aspect of the native habitations in this neighbourhood.
Within the compound we built our huts of shelter—for owing to transport difficulties we never had tents—and strongly entrenched the perimeter against attack. Water we carry from the river, which is about half a mile south down a dusty track between bushes; and since this same water is essential to existence here, vigilant pickets guard the river drift, day and night.
Here at Camp A, as the old fort was designated, we had a period of heavy duties, busily fortifying the position, while rations became shorter and shorter.
UNDER-FED, UNDERCLOTHED SOLDIERS
On 3rd October I record:
Another day of fatigues. Every one more overstrained than usual, for we are now in low country that is excessively hot and relaxing. It is difficult to keep up good spirits all round. Unfortunately there is no ration improvement, and no word of fresh kit coming, of which all are much in need. Notice shirtless men in camp, with badly sun-burned backs, and men on the march without socks. One sees, in the brave suffering of men, many things in these days to make one’s heart sore and sad. To-day General Sheppard, the man who has won the popularity of our men, and of all, visiting the camp from Dakawa, paraded the remnant of our force and spoke encouragingly of the ration shortage, thanking all for enduring the hardships so cheerfully, and promising at least some improvement in four days’ time.
At this time, too, most men are without even the solace of tobacco, having run completely out of it, though some tackle the crude native stuff, and make of it cigarettes by rolling it in paper or in dry mealie-cob sheaths. At best this was a hot, rank smoke which some could put up with, but which many had to forgo, after a brave trial or two.