“Yes, but it was the Wangoni, all the same.”
I thought it best for the moment not to confuse the old man, so made no further remark, and he went on: “When my beard was just beginning to grow”—Makachu’s short beard is now quite white—“the Wangoni came again, but that time they were as many as the locusts, and we were driven away as far as Namagone’s.”
VIEW FROM NCHICHIRA OVER THE ROVUMA, LAKE NANGADI, AND THE MAVIA PLATEAU
I always, of course, have my only and highly-prized map handy, and a glance at it shows me that such a chief as Namagone really exists, and that his village is on the right bank of the Rovuma, in 38° 26′ E. longitude, so that one troop of these Wangoni must at some time or other during their retreat have got as far east as this. This was confirmed by several other men sitting by. Kambale says that he, too, was at Namagone’s when a boy, and Liambaku, a younger brother of Majaliwa’s, states that he was born at the Lukimwa.
Makachu is just about to continue his narrative when Majaliwa, the senior of those present, opens his withered mouth, with its worn-down stumps of teeth, to say: “From the Lukimwa we went to Kandulu’s, the Yao chief; the Wangoni drove us away from there; first we went to Namagone’s, and then to Makachu’s, where we remained a year. But the Wangoni came again and drove us out once more, and we came to Nchichira. But even here they have attacked us once, and that was at the time when you Wadachi (Germans) built your boma at Lindi.”
No one else offers to speak, so that I can put in a word in my turn.
“You have so much to say of the evil the Wangoni have done you, but are they not your brothers?”
Lively gesticulation all round the circle. “No,” is the unanimous answer, “they are our worst enemies.”
“But surely you can understand and speak their language?” Again a most decided negative. Further cross-questioning elicited the following explanation:—