Cairo to Kisumu

by Frank G. Carpenter

CHAPTER XXXVI
WHERE THE MEN GO NAKED AND THE WOMEN WEAR TAILS

Unfurl your fans and take out your kerchiefs to hide your blushes. We are about to have a stroll among the Kavirondo, who inhabit the eastern shores of Lake Victoria on the western edge of Kenya Colony. These people are all more or less naked, and some of the sights we dare not describe. We have our cameras with us, but our Postmaster General would not allow some of our films to go through the mails, and no newspaper would publish certain pictures we take.

We are in the heart of the continent, on the wide Gulf of Kavirondo on the eastern shore of the second greatest fresh-water lake of the world. That island-studded sea in front of us is Lake Victoria; and over there at the northwest, less than a week’s march on foot and less than two days by the small steamers which ply on the lake, is Napoleon Gulf, out of which flows that great river, the Nile. With the glass one may see the hippopotami swimming near the shores of Kavirondo Bay, while behind us are plains covered with pastures and spotted with droves of cattle, antelope, and gnu, grazing not far from the queerly thatched huts of the stark-naked natives.

The plains have a sparse growth of tropical trees, and looking over them we can catch sight of the hills which steadily rise to the Mau Escarpment of the Great Rift Valley. Still farther east are the level highlands of Kenya Colony, the whole extending on and on to Mombasa and the Indian Ocean, as far distant from Kisumu as Cleveland is from New York. I have been travelling for days in coming the five hundred and eighty-four miles which lie between us and the ocean.

Kisumu, formerly known as Port Florence, is the terminus of the Uganda Railway, the principal port of Lake Victoria, and quite a commercial centre. Steamers sail from Kisumu weekly to Uganda ports and back, and fortnightly round the lake by alternate routes, i.e., north and south. The trade is greatly increasing, and ivory, hides, grain, and rubber from Tanganyika Territory, the Upper Congo, and the lands to the north of the lake are shipped through here to the coast. The cars come right down to a wooden wharf which extends well out into the Kavirondo Gulf. On the lake are several small steamers, brought up here in pieces and put together, which are now bringing in freight from all parts of this big inland sea.

At the custom house inside an enclosure close to the wharf the travellers had to pay a fee of fifty cents a package on all parcels except personal luggage. I was glad we got in before six-thirty, the closing hour for all custom houses in Uganda ports, for after that if I were carrying a parcel I should have to slip five rupees to the official in charge.

Kisumu is just a little tin town in the African wilds, yet there is a hotel where one can stay quite comfortably until he takes the steamer for the lake trip. There is an Indian bazaar near the station, but the post office, the few government buildings, and most of the residences are built on the hill to get the breeze from the lake. The Victoria Road and the Connaught Promenade are well laid out. Near the station there is a cotton ginnery where considerable quantities of cotton from Uganda are ginned and baled for export. A trail leads across country from Kisumu to Mumias, forty-eight miles away, and to Jinja, the source of the Nile.

The European population consists of some soldiers belonging to the King’s African Rifles, of the government officials, and of some employees of the railroad. The officials put on great airs. Among the passengers who came in with me yesterday was a judge who will settle the disputes among the natives. He was met at the cars by some soldiers and a gang of convicts in chains. The latter had come to carry his baggage and other belongings to his galvanized iron house on the hill and each was dressed in a heavy iron collar with iron chains extending from it to his wrists and ankles. Nevertheless, they were able to aid in lifting the boxes and in pushing them off on trucks, prodded to their work all the while by the guns of the soldiers on guard.

But let us “take our feet in our hands,” as Uncle Remus says, and tramp about. Later on we may march off into the country through which I travelled for about fifty miles on my way here. In the town itself we may now and then see a man with a blanket wrapped around him, and the men frequently wear waist cloths behind or in front. Outside of the town they are stark naked. All have skins of a dark chocolate brown. They have rather intelligent faces, woolly hair, and lips and noses like those of a Negro. They belong to the Bantu family and are among the best formed of the peoples of Africa. Some one has said that travelling through their country is like walking through miles of living statuary.