greenery. Mango trees (Mangifera indica) do equally well. There are custard-apple trees (anona sqamosa) to be seen, as well as orange trees (citrus aurantium), lemon trees (citrus limonum), and milk-trees (Artocarpus integrifolia); the cashew tree (anacardium occidentale) is used for its wood, its fruit, and its nuts. Where fruit trees can no longer grow in the harsh and stony plain, the doum palms (hyphaene Thebaica) take their place.
Here and there, small oblong houses are scattered under the green branches. Their occupants—a mixture of Swahili, Digo, and ex-slaves from all over, all more or less Islamized—seem to have little interest in world affairs. The children look after a certain number of cows, bringing them out into the unenclosed land, close to the sea; the women cultivate, apart from the ground around the coconut trees, little fields of cassava, sweet potatoes, beans, pistachio trees (harachys hypogoea), maize, guinea corn, and so on; the men are mainly interested in palm wine. It is generally known that this “wine,” which is produced by every variety of the palm tree, is simply the sap of the tree. With coconut trees, it is obtained by cutting the base of the branch which can produce flowers and fruit, and putting something there to receive the sap. The doum palm is less valuable; the branches are trimmed, leaving only one or two leaves on each, and afterwards abandoning it to its fate. Some die straightaway, others survive, though enfeebled. The sap is gathered three times in twenty-four hours, and each time approximately a glass of liquid is obtained. When it is fresh, it is whitish, sugary, and a bit cloying; after it has been left to ferment for a day, it acquires a sharp tang and can intoxicate. When it is left for a long time in the open air, it becomes really good vinegar.
Some of the local people are fishermen. Some of them go out to the open sea to fish with a line; others use a fishing basket or a net; others, finally, profit from the changes of the tides to build barrages with narrow rods, where the fish can enter when the tide comes in. When the tide goes out, the fish remain; all that is needed is to take them by hand.
Extracting wine from the doum
Strolling about the neighborhood, we were able to note that these rather simple people were not at all hostile. The children flocked around us, and when they had noticed that Father Auguste Gommenginger and I were looking for insects as a hobby, they brought us dung beetles, weevils and scarabs—everything was acceptable. But, among all these, there was one, found in great numbers, under the dried grass of a newly cleared field, which was of interest both to the children and ourselves. It was a little beetle of 0.015 to 0.020 meters in size, not brightly colored, whose outer wings showed part of the body. Zoologists call it brachine (brachinas crepitans) and ordinary mortals refer to it as “the bombardier.” This is because, when someone tries to get hold of it, it vigorously discharges through its anus some drops of a caustic liquid which immediately vaporizes, making a crackling sound which is enough to frighten a fly and astonish a man.
But we must come back to our caravan. On the morning of the 17th, the six porters who had disappeared during the night returned, with very red eyes, but walking normally. They claimed that their sense of duty had led them to say goodbye to their beloved families. This was a very suitable attitude; we said nothing, but insisted on starting as soon as possible.
Apart from Mgr. de Courmont, we were two missionaries, Le Roy and Gommenginger, and two young Christians. Old Selemani (this name, written Séliman in the course of this work, is read Selemani), our devoted and trustworthy servant, was with us. He did the cooking, and, whenever our watches stopped, it was he who decided what the time was. He had an extraordinary skill for that, and he was never as flattered as when you asked him where the sun was. As for the moon, he has a really personal knowledge of it. The poor old man was not in good health, but he had overcome all problems to follow us. What was his illness? He suffered, he explained in his kitchen French, from “a cold in his ham” (“un rhume à son jambon”). Informed people will realize that it was a case of rheumatism in his thigh [he had confused jambe, leg, and jambon, ham—translator].
Mombasa-fish barrages
The rest of the caravan was composed of forty porters, each in a section with its leader. If you want to find out how much these thirty men can carry, you have to understand that each man has not merely his cooking utensils, his personal luggage, and his rifle, but thirty kilos of luggage to be carried on his head or his shoulders according to his choice. There were three kinds of unbleached linen; two sorts of red linen, differing in quality; big and small sizes of calico; then printed calico and various cotton fabrics; linen clothes for whose shape and coloring I cannot find the correct words in any European language. There were also blankets, rolls of iron wire, both large and small, as well as rolls of copper wire, both red and yellow. Then there were glass pearls of varying colors, shape, and size—some like peas, some like a grain of hempseed, some like the head of a pin, some red, some yellow, some white, some blue, some rose-colored, and some green.
We must add pickaxes, axes, knives, soap, flutes, files (tools), small chains in gold and silver. Then there are household items, mirrors, thread, needles, small bells, necklaces, fishing hooks, paraffin, candles, and armchair nails which ladies use as ornaments on their noses. Finally, I have not included our provisions, medicines for different diseases, some pots of jam, coffee, oil, vinegar, tea, sugar, rice, beans, three tents, a portable altar, a hammock, three barrels of gunpowder, a hundred Gras cartridges, four bottles of rum, and a jug for water. This jug could be filled up at any river, stream, swift-flowing torrent, spring, lake, pond, or pool. We had materials for an excellent shop of which we were the shopkeepers.
From Zanzibar onwards, we had given ourselves different responsibilities. Mgr. de Courmont was to decide on the route, and where we should camp. Fr. Gommenginger was to look after the cooking, buy food, and work out with Selemani the important question of the daily menu. Fr. Le Roy was to keep the caravan in good order and to see that we moved together as a group.
Everything was ready. At nine o’clock, we took breakfast, the baggage was packed, and off we went.
Banana tree
Chapter 4: In Digo Country
From Mombasa to Vanga. The Layout of the Land.
The Digo People. With Chief Kubo.
Weapons and Poisons.
The country between Mombasa and Vanga is inhabited by the Wadigo, or, as one would say in English or French, the Digo. They are scattered more or less everywhere, but there is a Swahili colony established at Gasi, and the remaining groups of the earlier population who have been pushed into an area of the coast called Vumba. Our route was to pass through these three regions rarely visited by Europeans, incompletely explored, and yet rather interesting. From a geological point of view, the region consists of three levels, which can be clearly recognized from the sea: a low level, a medium level, and an upper level.
The first, the coastline, is composed of a bed of old coral covered by sand and humus, at many points too shallow to be fertile. It is then occupied by undergrowth, filaos (casuarina equisetifolia), deon palms, and pandanus trees (pandanus odoratissimus). A little behind this uncultivated ground, we get signs of human habitation in the form of coconut trees. There are a few small harbors on this coast, but they are only fit to be used by dhows and local boats. The names of these harbors are Tiwi, Gasi, Funzi, Pongwe, Chugu, Wasini, Vanga, and Mwoa. Going south along the coast, the sea cuts into the land and creates wide lagoons flanked by mangroves. Boats can come and leave on the high tide, carrying wood for fires to make lime and for beams and rafters. Except for Gasi, Pongwe, Wasini and Vanga, the coastline is thinly populated.
The
