A number of these drawings depict whole scenes from native life in the district I have traversed. Here we have the chain-gang (p. [26]), to the number of seven men, marching slowly through the streets of Lindi, five of the convicts with large tins on their heads, the last two without loads. They are going to fill the bath in some European’s house, an unpleasant task, because of the high ladder which has to be climbed, in doing which the heavy chain drags uncomfortably at the back of the man’s neck, but the soldier on guard behind is very strict, and there is no shirking.
It is true that the large whip is not really part of his insignia, being due merely to a stretch of the artist’s imagination, but he always carries a loaded rifle, I am told, since a recent mutiny, in which the guard was murdered. A likwata dance (p. [45]) appeals to us as a much more cheerful subject, especially when the Bwana picha is engaged in conjuring the scene on to one of those remarkable glass plates which are contained in his three-legged box, and on which all the black women are white and their white peleles jet black. The white man’s caravan, too, is a tempting subject. How proudly the two boys, Moritz and Kibwana, are carrying their master’s guns, while he, seated on his nyumbu, the old mule, is just turning round to survey the procession behind him. The Imperial flag flutters merrily in the morning breeze at the head of the long line of carriers laden with the cases and boxes on which they are beating time to the march with the sticks in their hands, all of them in the highest spirits, true to the character of Pesa mbili’s friends from distant Unyamwezi. (See p. [104].) Another pleasant subject is the hunt commemorated by Salim Matola (p. [77]). In the sportsman armed with a bow the artist has depicted himself striding along after his dog, in hot pursuit of a buffalo. Kwakaneyao, the brown dog, is a keen hunter by nature—his name means that he will drive away every other dog who may attempt to dispute the quarry with him. In spite of this, however, Salim Matola, by way of taking an extra precaution, before starting, rubbed his companion’s teeth with certain roots, and gave him a piece of the last-killed bush-buck to eat. Thereupon Kwakaneyao rushed off into the pori like an arrow, so that his master could scarcely keep up with him.
THE BUSH COUNTRY AND ITS FAUNA. DRAWN BY SALIM MATOLA
The same Salim Matola shows us this pori with its characteristic animals in another drawing which, sketchy as it is, reproduces the character of the country with the utmost accuracy:—the scattered, straggling trees, and the harsh, tall African grass between them,—the dark green tree-snake in the tamarisk on the left, a hornbill on the right, and in the background a small antelope. In short, this is in its way a little masterpiece.
The Makua Isaki illustrates the superstitions of his tribe in the little picture reproduced on p. [212]. The comical little bird there depicted is the ill-omened owl (likwikwi), which, crying night after night, brought death to Marquardt’s little daughter. No native likes to see or hear it.
The little sketch on p. [305] is a scene from Makonde life. Mtudikaye, “the hospitable,” and her daughter Nantupuli, who has not yet found a husband, though not for want of seeking, are taking their turn to fetch water, as all the men are busy breaking up ground in the bush, and, burdened with the carrying-poles and the great gourds, have just accomplished the long, rough walk to the stream at the foot of the plateau. The two banana-trees with their heavy bunches of fruit, mark the place for drawing water: from the stepping stones in their shadow one can get it much clearer than by standing on the trampled, muddy bank.
Now we come to science. My men must have a marked topographical instinct—otherwise it is difficult to explain the large number of maps with which they have overwhelmed me. I have reproduced only one of these (p. [9]) the first, which quite took me by surprise. The author is Sabatele, an unsophisticated child of nature from the far south-west of our colony—the southern end of Lake Tanganyika. He produced it at Lindi, quite in the early days of our expedition. It gave rise to a great discussion, carried on with the aid of Pesa mbili, the headman and other representatives of intelligence. In a quarter of an hour we succeeded in identifying all the mysterious signs, and I discovered to my astonishment that the orientation of this first cartographic attempt was quite correct, and the topography only wrong as regards some of the distances. Pointing to the curious object marked in my reproduction, I received the unhesitating answer “Mawo-panda”—Kinyamwezi for Dar es Salam. No. 2 is “Lufu”—the Ruvu of our maps, the large river always crossed by Wanyamwezi carriers on the main caravan road. No. 3 is explained as “Mulokolo”—that is to say, Morogoro, the present terminus of the great central railway, which will put an end once for all to the old caravan traffic of the Wanyamwezi and Wasukuma. The Wanyamwezi have a difficulty in pronouncing “r” and usually substitute “l” for it. The contrast between these sturdy fellows and the softness of their speech is a curious one.
No. 4 is “Mgata,” the Makata plain between the Uluguru and the Rubeho mountains, the whole of which is a swamp in the rainy season. “Kirosa” is the sound which greets me when I point with my pencil to No. 5. “Of course, where there is no ‘r’ they pronounce it,” I grumble to myself, delighted all the time with the splendid trill produced; “therefore we must set it down as Kilosa.” No. 6 is the “Balabala”—the caravan road itself. No. 7 is “Mpapwa,” the old caravan centre, once the last halt on the inland march before the dreaded Marenga Mkali, the great alkali desert, and hostile Ugogo. Conversely, on the march down to the coast, it meant deliverance from thirst and ill-treatment. Hesitatingly I place my pencil on No. 8, which according to the drawing, must mean a stream of some sort, though I know of none in that neighbourhood. In fact, the name Mutiwe, which Sabatele now mentions, is quite unknown to me; it is only on consulting the special map that I discover it, flowing past Kilimatinde—N.B., when it contains water, which, needless to remark, is not always the case. It must have impressed itself on Sabatele’s memory as a water-course—otherwise, why should so matter-of-fact a fellow have remembered the spot?
Now, however, we have reached the heart of German East Africa and find ourselves in regions well known to my followers. No. 9 is the lofty altitude of Kilimatinde, and No. 10 is called by Sabatele Kasanga. I take the name for that of Katanga, the copper district far to the south in the Congo basin, and shake my head incredulously,—it is impossible that the young man can have travelled so far. On cross-examination it comes out that he is from the Mambwe country at the south end of Tanganyika, and his Kasanga is identical with our station of Bismarckburg. No. 11 is my original goal Kondoa-Irangi, and No. 12 is the post of Kalama, in Iramba. At Tobola, as my map-maker calls Tabora, he even enters into detail. No. 13a is the present Tabora with the new boma,—No. 13b is “Tobola ya zamani,” Old Tabora, with the former boma. Nos. 14 and 15 are respectively Ujiji on Lake Tanganyika and Mwanza, on Lake Victoria; these two trading centres are Sabatele’s “farthest west” and “farthest north,” as he explains to me with proud satisfaction.