They were soft,
ill-disciplined and uncertain. For five or six hours they marched
well enough. Then the sun began to get very hot, and some of them
began to straggle. They had, of course, no intention of
deserting, for their only hope of surviving lay in staying with
us; but their loads had become heavy, and they took too many
rests. We put a good man behind, but without much avail. In open
country a safari can be permitted to straggle over miles, for
always it can keep in touch by sight; but in this thorn-scrub
desert, that looks all alike, a man fifty yards out of sight is
fifty yards lost. We would march fifteen or twenty minutes, then
sit down to wait until the rearmost men had straggled in, perhaps
a half hour later. And we did not dare move on until the tale of
our thirty was complete. At this rate progress was very slow, and
as the fierce equatorial sun increased in strength, became always
slower still. The situation became alarming. We were quite out of
water, and we had no idea where water was to be found. To
complicate matters, the thornbrush thickened to a jungle.
My single companion and I consulted. It was agreed that I was to
push on as rapidly as possible to locate the water, while he was
to try to hold the caravan together. Accordingly, Memba Sasa and
I marched ahead. We tried to leave a trail to follow; and we
hoped fervently that our guess as to the stream's course would
prove to be a good one. At the end of two hours and a half we
found the water-a beautiful jungle-shaded stream-and filled
ourselves up therewith. Our duty was accomplished, for we had
left a trail to be followed. Nevertheless, I felt I should like
to take back our full canteens to relieve the worst cases. Memba
Sasa would not hear of it, and even while I was talking to him
seized the canteens and disappeared.
At the end of two hours more camp was made, after a fashion; but
still four men had failed to come in. We built a smudge in the
hope of guiding them; and gave them up. If they had followed our
trail, they should have been in long ago; if they had missed that
trail, heaven knows where they were, or where we should go to
find them. Dusk was falling, and, to tell the truth, we were both
very much done up by a long day at 115 degrees in the shade under
an equatorial sun. The missing men would climb trees away from
the beasts, and we would organize a search next day. As we
debated these things, to us came Memba Sasa.
"I want to take 'Winchi,'" said he. "Winchi" is his name for my
Winchester 405.
"Why?" we asked.
"If I can take Winchi, I will find the men," said he.
This was entirely voluntary on his part. He, as well as we, had
had a hard day, and he had made a double journey for part of it.
We gave him Winchi and he departed. Sometime after midnight he
returned with the missing men.
Perhaps a dozen times all told he volunteered for these special
services; once in particular, after a fourteen-hour day, he set
off at nine o'clock at night in a soaking rainstorm, wandered
until two o'clock, and returned unsuccessful, to rouse me and
report gravely that he could not find them. For these services he
neither received nor expected special reward. And catch him doing
anything outside his strict "cazi" except for US.
We were always very ceremonious and dignified in our relations on
such occasions. Memba Sasa would suddenly appear, deposit the
rifle in its place, and stand at attention.
"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire.
"I have found the men; they are in camp."
Then I would give him his reward. It was either the word
"assanti," or the two words "assanti sana," according to the
difficulty and importance of the task accomplished. They mean
simply "thank you" and "thank you very much."
Once or twice, after a particularly long and difficult month or
so, when Memba Sasa has been almost literally my alter ego, I
have called him up for special praise. "I am very pleased with
you, Memba Sasa," said I. "You have done your cazi well. You are
a good man."
He accepted this with dignity, without deprecation, and without
the idiocy of spoken gratitude. He agreed perfectly with
everything I said! "Yes" was his only comment. I liked it.
On our ultimate success in a difficult enterprise Memba Sasa set
great store; and his delight in ultimate success was apparently
quite apart from personal considerations. We had been hunting
greater kudu for five weeks before we finally landed one. The
greater kudu is, with the bongo, easily the prize beast in East
Africa, and very few are shot. By a piece of bad luck, for him, I
had sent Memba Sasa out in a different direction to look for
signs the afternoon we finally got one. The kill was made just at
dusk. C. and I, with Mavrouki, built a fire and stayed, while
Kongoni went to camp after men. There he broke the news to Memba
Sasa that the great prize had been captured, and he absent. Memba
Sasa was hugely delighted, nor did he in any way show what must
have been a great disappointment to him. After repeating the news
triumphantly to every one in camp, he came out to where we were
waiting, arrived quite out of breath, and grabbed me by the hand
in heartiest congratulation.
Memba Sasa went in not at all for personal ornamentation, any
more than he allowed his dignity to be broken by anything
resembling emotionalism.
