SECURITY IN THE MESHERA.
Protected by the endless ramifications of the marshes against any attacks of dangerous quadrupeds from the mainland, the sojourner here had only the most determined of all depredators to fear, namely, man himself. But even this fear was not really great. Nowhere on the face of the earth is a country more surrendered to robbery and lawlessness than this district of Africa; but still, as ever, one form of mischief balances another: man is a match for man; and so it results that the stranger may find repose and security here as much as elsewhere. The natives, who occupy the entire land in a wide circumference from the Meshera, form a portion of the great Dinka family, whose extreme outposts extend eastwards towards the Egyptian borders of Upper Sennaar, and whose tribes are counted by the hundred.
One of the most influential personages of the neighbouring race of the Lao was a woman, already advanced in years, of the name of Shol. She played an important part as a sort of chief in the Meshera, her riches, according to the old patriarchal fashion, consisting of cattle. As wealthy as cattle could make her, she would long since have been a prey to the Nubians, who carry on their ravages principally in those regions, if it had not chanced that the intruders needed her for a friend. They required a convenient and secure landing-place, and the paramount necessity of having this induced them to consider plunder as a secondary matter. They provided in this way, that single boats, even after all others had taken their departure, could safely remain in the Meshera throughout the rainy season without incurring any risk from the natives. The boatmen accordingly respect the bank of the river which is the resort of Shol’s herds; whilst Shol, on her part, uses all her influence to retain her tribe on friendly terms with the strangers. The smallest conflict might involve the entire loss of her property.
The old Shol did not delay, but the very first day came to my boat to visit me. On account of the colour of my skin, the Nubians had told her that I was a brother of the Sigñora (Miss Tinné). My pen fails in any attempt to depict her repulsiveness. Her naked negro skin was leathery, coarse, and wrinkled; her figure was tottering and knocked-kneed; she was utterly toothless; her meagre hair hung in greasy locks; round her loins she had a greasy slip of sheepskin, the border of which was tricked out with white beads and iron rings; on her wrists and ankles she had almost an arsenal of metal, links of iron, brass, and copper, strong enough to detain a prisoner in his cell; about her neck were hanging chains of iron, strips of leather, strings of wooden balls, and heaven knows what lumber more. Such was old Shol.
A soldier, who had formerly been a Dinka slave, acted as interpreter. For the purpose of impressing me with a due sense of the honour of the visit and in the hope of getting a present, he began to extol Shol and to enlarge upon the multitude of her cattle. All the sheep-farms, of which the smoke rose so hospitably to the stranger, were hers; hers were all the bullock runs along the river banks; the murahs which extended in every direction of the compass without exception, were hers; she had at least 30,000 head of cattle; in addition to which I could form no conception of the iron and copper rings and chains which filled her stores.
After this introduction the conversation turned upon Miss Tinné, who remained fresh upon the memory of all. Her liberality in making presents of beads had secured her a fame like Schiller’s “Mädchen aus der Fremde,” the spring, who brought a gift for every one. The old Shol could not refrain from expressing her surprise that Miss Tinné should be unmarried; as an African she could not comprehend how a lady that was rich could be without a husband.
THE OLD SHOL.
Very strange were the domestic and family relationships of Shol when considered in contrast with her public position, her present influence, and her excessive wealth. After the death of her first husband she had become the wife of his son by a previous marriage. She had thus raised this man, who was younger than herself, to the rank of prince consort. His name was Kurdyook. I had a visit from him on the following day. From his intercourse with the traders he could speak Arabic intelligibly. Like the rest, he was loud in his praises of Miss Tinné, and in her honour he had called the child of one of his concubines “the Sigñora.” Plainly there was a longing after the culture of European refinement, and let us hope that it will not stop at the name.
