Adventures in Swaziland: The Story of a South African Boer

by Owen Rowe O'Neil

MOTHER FEEDING HER BABY

MAIDEN SINGING TO THE CROWN PRINCE SEBUZA
She is playing on the native instrument which consists of a bow and one string

In spite of the picturesqueness of this camp, we were very glad to leave it. We were now in the wild country, with no farms, and the only break in the monotony was a little wild goose shooting shortly before we reached the Swaziland border. Our real troubles began about this time. The oxen began to die, and it was not long before we were absolutely stalled. We were then in camp on the border, and it looked as though we would stay there unless I was able to get some other animals to pull the wagon.

Finding further progress impossible, I scouted about and ran into a kaffir living on the border who had a horse. I hired this steed—a sorry one it was—and, following a tip given me by its owner, rode twelve miles to see if I could talk business with a small Swazi chief who was said to have a number of donkeys.

At first this old chief did not want to talk about donkeys at all, and it was not until I began to talk payment first and donkeys last that he consented to get down to business. We finally made a deal, and it was this: I was to pay him the equivalent of one pound sterling in gin for every day I used his donkeys. This was not such a bad bargain because I had to have about forty of the little animals to make up for the oxen I had lost.

The most interesting part of this transaction was to see the chief's men harness the donkeys to our big wagon. They used bits of weed-rope, rawhide, and a stout grass rope that they make themselves. The harnessing took a long time and we were delayed until I began to grow impatient, but there was nothing else to do but wait. Finally we were off, but it was a funny looking caravan. It had been raining hard for some days and we presently came to a little stream which was much swollen. Here we had a terrible time. The "harness" kept breaking, and the way the natives thrashed those poor donkeys was frightful. It seemed to be the only method, though, and eventually we took a hand in the punishment ourselves.

The night of the second day saw us camped at the foot of the mountain that leads to the village of Mbabane. We found several other transport wagons there, with three white traders whose occupation was to carry goods from Ermelo and Carolina, the two rail stations, to Mbabane and vice versa. These traders were much interested in our outfit, and by treating them to drinks, fresh food, and the payment of one pound sterling I was able to hire twelve donkeys from their caravans to assist us to the top of the mountain. We started at dawn next day, and by noon had reached the summit. There we rested for the balance of the day.

My object in delaying there all the afternoon was mainly on account of the great load of liquor in the big wagon. I did not want to bring this through Mbabane in daylight because I had no permit to bring it into Swaziland and I did not want to get caught doing so. I thought that I could get by practically unobserved if I waited until after dark and then went through the village with other wagons. Our camp at the top of the hill was about three miles from Mbabane, and I ordered Sibijaan to inspan and start on again at five o'clock. This would bring him to the village at about eight o'clock, or shortly after dark.