a group of coconut trees. “Only that? Then go and look for porters where you can find them.”
There was a moment of silence among the porters, the silence in which one can hear a pin drop. Just as Hamisi was feeling very pleased with himself for having produced his little speech, he was thrown into confusion by a couple of vigorous slaps in the face—it seemed to me a case for obeying the biblical injunction, “Be angry and sin not.” Before he could come to his senses, we were standing before the worthy governor, with the whole group of porters, who shouted, “We shall all go, we shall all go.” I had not had the time to say what had happened. When the old Baluchi made a sign, his soldiers rushed for their weapons and, three minutes later all the porters found themselves in prison. Ah, dear European readers, if you find legal proceedings are slow, let me recommend the governor of Vanga for you.
But, frankly, I was the man most embarrassed by this display of energy; for if they all leave us, how could we replace them here, where there are no porters available? Mgr. de Courmont and Father Auguste were still at the camp. As there was nobody to give me advice, I tried to compose one of those speeches termed “Conciones,” which, it seems, the generals of the classical world used to enjoy composing when faced by a mutiny of their troops. Now that I am writing the story of my adventures, I have quite forgotten the exact text of my impromptu discourse, but I do remember vaguely that, having poured out bitter reproaches on poor Hamisi who had been rather stupid, I pretended to believe that the real conspirators were more or less innocent. I claimed to have the power to keep them in fetters for the rest of their days, and to let them die on the damp straw of their unlit dungeons, but, having received a magnificent sheep from the governor, I would not deprive all of them from eating it because of one man’s fault. That sheep was very influential!
Little words with individuals, friendly tellings off, jovial poking of the tummies of some leaders—these all helped to win over my rebellious listeners. There was Ali, a former sailor, who claimed to be a French citizen through having passed a fortnight at Mayotte. We had found him, completely destitute, on our way. He now swore that he was ready to follow us to the heights of heaven or the depths of hell, and everybody swore the same. But Hamisi had to pass, as was only right, a day in prison, so true it is that history repeats itself everywhere, and that, for someone who is a bit stupid, trying his hand at revolution is dangerous.
However, we did not enjoy a long peace. In the evening of this exciting day, there was, just when everyone in the camp was going to sleep and the campfires were going out, another uproar. We got up hastily and came out of the tents. This time, it was the governor in person coming to us, with all his soldiers, and a large crowd, shouting at the top of their voices. “Are they men?” shouted one voice, “They are dirty cows. I am tied up by cows! Ah! Sakerapoute!” And Ali, for it was our great Ali, with his hands tied behind his back, fell at our feet, crying, as though he were possessed by the devil. “A French citizen. Sakerapoute! Sakerapoute!” I said,
“What are you saying, Ali? Come on, calm down.”
“Oh, I express my feelings in French, just as at Mayotte. Sakerapoute! That is what the governor said when it happened to him.”
At this, the governor, that is to say of Vanga, not Mayotte, added that the aforementioned Ali is guilty of an offense, because he was found in town in a state of evident intoxication.
“But,” I said, “you should have put him in prison.”
“That was done.”
“Well, what happened?”
“A quarter of an hour after he had been put in prison, he removed the prison door and came and banged it against my door.”
The old Baluchi was extremely annoyed by this episode, which surely throws some light on what the Bible tells us about Samson. Life is certainly not all cakes and ale, surely, when one is where the action is, and has the moral responsibility for other people. Finally, a private house was found, safer than the official jail. Ali had to spend the night there, and, in the morning, when everything had settled down, we took leave of this conscientious governor and of his dangerous town.
3. Baron von der Decken, who was German, was the first to write Wanga (with a W), W being the German equivalent of the French V, and the German V being the equivalent of the French F. But after him, all the British and French mapmakers scrupulously write “Wanga.” British residents in the country pronounce it with an English “w,” thinking perhaps that the mapmakers are better informed than the indigenous inhabitants. This is just one example of the innumerable mistakes made with place names. What is worse is that the experts are not prepared to listen to criticisms.
Chapter 8: The First Mountains
on Our Route
The Course of the Umba. Another Kind of Landscape. Bwiti. Segeju and Taita. Up and Down the Mountain. The African Savannah. At Daluni. An Elaborate Funeral.
Scarcely two kilometers from Vanga, the river Umba runs flanked by high banks on either side, the result of the great quantity of sand and silt which the river has brought down. When we were there, there was not much water, but in the rainy season the river drains water from a very large valley on both its right and its left and overflows its banks, which therefore become, especially near the estuary, very fertile stretches of ground that the local people are very careful to cultivate.
We had thought that, in travelling from Vanga to Pare, we would simply have to follow the unexplored course of the river, which would have had the advantage of providing us every day with water and food, without any serious detours. But do not be too ready to accept geographical guesswork, or maps, or scientific theorizing. We discovered that after the village of Gonja, inhabited by the Digo, both sides of the Umba are completely uninhabited, the Maasai having developed a regular habit of plundering villages that had tried to settle there.
Moreover, on each side of the river, the strip of ground that can be cultivated is quite narrow. If we followed the line of the river, we would then have been obliged to make a path through the forest, and to live on clean water, which would not have satisfied either ourselves or our men. And so, we took a southwestern route to reach the foothills of the Sambara Mountains, and pass beside them as far as Pare. Our caravan moved on slowly, and we took three days to reach the first foothills at Bwiti. Before that we had passed through Dooga and Mikonde, going through a dry land, not very fertile, with occasional brackish streams, with some hills, with great, uninhabited woodlands with stunted trees, which just about managed to grow in red soil. Here and there, a thick gneiss and shale came to the surface.
There was a lot of brushwood, thorn bushes, acacias, euphorbias, wild vines, and, sometimes, some rather beautiful Egyptian palm trees. In the valleys, where there was water, big trees were growing, as well as creepers and wild date trees. We managed to find villages where we could encamp and get what we needed to live. These were Digo villages, built here on high ground, surrounded by stockades, made of solid pieces of wood. Generally, a sycamore or tamarind tree grows near the village, providing a friendly shade for villagers who wanted to sleep, or to do this or that. In these lands of sunshine, the house is really only a place for sleeping at night, and perhaps that is why it is so simply constructed. What good would be these immovable houses of stone when there is so little to keep there, when there is no winter, and the open air is so pleasant.
For our part, we had made a final and unpleasant march across a forest devoid of living creatures—except for two magnificent herds of antelopes. As for the antelopes, we had chased them unsuccessfully, and in the chase, I lost a straw skullcap which I had had for seven years. We felt really happy when suddenly we saw a valley where absolutely everything was green. Here there was plenty of water, fresh, clean, and flowing;
