Travelling through this broom-jungle and crossing grassy plains, over paths where the slides of elephants’ feet upon the last year’s muddy clay showed that the land was not always dry, we halted after 11 A.M. for about an hour at the base of a steep incline, apparently an offset from the now distant Rubeho Range. The porters would have nighted at the mouth of a small drain which, too steep for ascent, exposed in its rocky bed occasional sand-patches and deep pools; Kidogo, however, forced them forwards, declaring that if the asses drank of this “brackish water,” they would sicken and die. His assertion, suspected of being a “traveller’s tale,” was subsequently confirmed by the Arabs of Unyanyembe, who declared that the country people never water their flocks and herds below the hill; there may be poisonous vegetation in the few yards between the upper and the lower pools, but no one offered any explanation of the phenomenon.
Ascending with difficulty the eastern face of the step, which presented two ladders of loose stones and fixed boulders of grey syenite, hornblende, and greenstone, with coloured quartzes, micacious schistes, and layers of talcose slate glittering like mother-o’-pearl upon the surface, we found a half-way platform some 150 feet of extreme breadth. Upon its sloping and irregular floor, black-green pools, sadly offensive to more senses than one, spring-fed, and forming the residue of the rain-water which fills the torrent, lay in muddy holes broadly fringed with silky grass. Travellers drink without fear this upper Marenga Mk’hali, which, despite its name, is rather soft and slimy, than brackish, and sign of wild-beasts—antelope and buffalo, giraffe and rhinoceros—appear upon its brink. It sometimes dries up in the heart of the hot season, and then deaths from thirst occur amongst the porters who, mostly Wanyanwezi, are not wont to practise abstinence in this particular. “Sucking-places” are unknown to them, water-bearing bulbs might here be discovered by the South African traveller; as a rule, however, the East African is so plentifully supplied with the necessary that he does not care to provide for a dry day by unusual means. Ascending another steep incline we encamped upon a small step, the half-way gradient of a higher level.
The 24th Sept. was to be a tirikeza: the Baloch and the sons of Ramji spent the earlier half in blowing away gunpowder at antelope, partridge and parrot, guinea-fowl and floriken, but not a head of game found its way into camp. The men were hot, tired and testy, those who had wives beat them, those who had not “let off the steam” by quarreling with one another. Said bin Salim, sick and surly, had words concerning a water-gourd with the brave Khudabakhsh, and the monocular Jemadar, who made a point of overloading his porters, bitterly complained because they would not serve him. At 2 P.M. we climbed up the last ladder of the rough and stony incline, which placed us a few hundred feet above the eastern half of the Lesser Desert. We took a pleasant leave of the last of the rises; on this line of road, between Marenga Mk’hali and Western Unyamwezi, the land, though rolling, has no steep ascents nor descents.
From the summit of the Marenga Mk’hali step we travelled till sunset—the orb of day glaring like a fireball in our faces,—through dense thorny jungle and over grassy plains of black, cracked earth, in places covered with pebbles and showing extensive traces of shallow inundations during the rains; in the lower lands huge blocks of weathered granite stood out abruptly from the surface, and on both sides, but higher on the right hand, rose blue cones, some single, others in pairs like “brothers.” The caravan once rested in a thorny coppice, based upon rich red and yellow clay whence it was hurriedly dislodged by a swarm of wild bees. As the sun sank below the horizon the porters called a halt on a calabash-grown plain, near a block of stony hill veiled with cactus and mimosa, below whose northern base ran a tree-lined Nullah where, they declared, from the presence of antelope and other game, that water might be found by digging. Vainly Kidogo urged them forwards declaring that they would fail to reach the Ziwa or Pond in a single march; they preferred “crowing” and scooping up sand till midnight to advancing a few miles, and some gourdsfull of dirty liquid rewarded their industry.
On the morning of the 26th of September, I learned that we had sustained an apparently irreparable loss. When the caravan was dispersed by bees, a porter took the opportunity of deserting. This man, who represented himself as desirous of rejoining at Unyamyembe, his patron Abdullah bin Musa, the son of the well-known Indian merchant, had been engaged for four cloths by Said bin Salim at Ugogi. The Arab with his usual after-wit found out, when the mishap was announced, that he had from the first doubted and disliked the man so much that he had paid down only half the hire. Yet to the new porter had been committed the most valuable of our packages, a portmanteau containing the Nautical Almanac for 1858, the surveying books, and most of our paper, pens and ink. Said bin Salim, however, was hardly to be blamed, his continual quarrels with the Baloch and the sons of Ramji absorbed all his thoughts. Although the men were unanimous in declaring that the box never could be recovered, I sent back Bombay Mabruki and the slave Ambari with particular directions to search the place where we had been attacked by bees; it was within three miles, but, as the road was deemed dangerous, the three worthies preferred passing a few quiet hours in some snug neighbouring spot.
At 1.30 P.M. much saddened by the disaster, we resumed our road and after stretching over a monotonous grassy plain variegated with dry thorny jungle, we arrived about sunset at a waterless kraal where we determined to pass the night. Our supplies of liquid ran low, the Wanyamwezi porters, who carried our pots and gourds, had drained them on the way, and without drink an afternoon-march in this droughthy land destroys all appetite for supper. Some of the porters presently set out to fill their gourds with the waters of the Ziwa, thence distant but a few miles; they returned after a four hours’ absence with supplies which restored comfort and good humour to the camp.
Before settling for the night Kidogo stood up, and to loud cries of “Maneno! maneno!”—words! words!—equivalent to our parliamentary hear! hear! delivered himself of the following speech:—
“Listen, O ye whites! and ye children of Sayyidi Majidi! and ye sons of Ramji! hearken to my words, O ye offspring of the night! The journey entereth Ugogo—Ugogo (the orator threw out his arm westward). Beware, and again beware (he made violent gesticulations). You don’t know the Wagogo, they are ——s and ——s! (he stamped.) Speak not to those Washenzi pagans; enter not into their houses (he pointed grimly to the ground). Have no dealings with them, show no cloth, wire, nor beads (speaking with increasing excitement). Eat not with them, drink not with them, and make not love to their women (here the speech became a scream). Kirangozi of the Wanyamwezi, restrain your sons! Suffer them not to stray into the villages, to buy salt out of camp, to rob provisions, to debauch with beer, or to sit by the wells!” And thus, for nearly half an hour, now violently, then composedly, he poured forth the words of wisdom, till the hubbub and chatter of voices which at first had been silenced by surprise, brought his eloquence to an end.
We left the jungle-kraal early on the 26th September, and after hurrying through thick bush we debouched upon an open stubbly plain, with herds of gracefully bounding antelopes and giraffes, who stood for a moment with long outstretched necks to gaze, and presently broke away at a rapid, striding, camel’s-trot, their heads shaking as if they would jerk off, their limbs loose, and their joints apparently dislocated. About 9 P.M. we sighted the much-talked of Ziwa. The Arabs, fond of “showing a green garden,” had described to me at Inenge a piece of water fit to float a man-of-war. But Kidogo, when consulted, had replied simply with the Kisawahili proverb, “Khabari ya mb’hali;” i. e., “news from afar;”—a beau mentir qui vient de loin. I was not therefore surprised to find a shallow pool, which in India would barely merit the name of tank.
The Ziwa, which lies 3,100 feet above the sea, occupies the lowest western level of Marenga Mk’háli, and is the deepest of the many inundated grounds lying to its north, north-east, and north-west. The extent greatly varies: in September, 1857, it was a slaty sheet of water, with granite projections on one side, and about 300 yards in diameter; the centre only could not be forded. The bottom and the banks were of retentive clay: a clear ring, whence the waters had subsided, margined the pool, and beyond it lay a thick thorny jungle. In early December, 1858, nothing remained but a surface of dry, crumbling, and deeply-cracked mud, and, according to travellers, it had long, in consequence of the scanty rains, been in that state. Caravans always encamp at the Ziwa when they find water there. The country around is full of large game, especially elephants, giraffes, and zebras, who come to drink at night; a few widgeon are seen breasting the little waves; “kata” (sand-grouse), of peculiarly large size and dark plumage, flock there with loud cries; and at eventide the pool is visited by guinea-fowl, floriken, curlews, peewits, wild pigeons, doves, and hosts of small birds. When the Ziwa is desiccated, travellers usually encamp in a thick bush, near a scanty clearing, about one mile to the north-west, where a few scattered villages of Wagogo have found dirty white water, hard and bad, in pits varying from twenty to thirty feet in depth. Here, as elsewhere in eastern Africa, the only trough is a small ring sunk in the retentive clayey soil, and surrounded by a little raised dam of mud and loose stones. A demand is always made for according permission to draw water—a venerable custom, dating from the days of Moses. “Ye shall buy meat of them (the Edomites) for money, that ye may eat; and ye shall also buy water of them for money, that ye may drink.”—Deut. ii. 6. Yet as thirsty, like hungry men, are not to be trifled with, fatal collisions have resulted from this inhospitable practice. Some years ago a large caravan of Wanyamwezi was annihilated in consequence of a quarrel about water, and lately several deaths occurred in a caravan led by an Arab merchant, Sallum bin Hamid, because the wells were visited before the rate of payment was settled. In several places we were followed upon the march lest a gourd might be furtively filled. To prevent exhaustion the people throw euphorbia, asclepias, and solanaceous plants into the well after a certain hour, and when not wanted it is bushed over, to keep off animals, and to check evaporation.