Each tribe took a
turn before us, only to give way to the next. We had leisure to
notice minutiae, such as the ingenious tail one of the "lions"
had constructed from a sweater. As time went on, the men worked
themselves to a frenzy. From the serried ranks every once in a
while one would break forth with a shriek to rush headlong into
the fire, to beat the earth about him with his club, to rush over
to shake one of us violently by the hand, or even to seize one of
our feet between his two palms. Then with equal abruptness back
he darted to regain his place among the dancers. Wilder and
wilder became the movements, higher rose the voices. The mock
lion hunt grew more realistic, and the slaughter on both sides
something tremendous. Lower and lower crouched the Monumwezi,
drawing apart with their deep "goom"; drawing suddenly to a
common centre with the sharp "zoop!" Only the Kikuyus held their
lofty bearing as they rolled forth their chant, but the mounting
excitement showed in their tense muscles and the rolling of their
eyes. The sweat glistened on naked black and bronze bodies. Among
the Monumwezi to my astonishment I saw Memba Sasa, stripped like
the rest, and dancing with all abandon. The firelight leaped high
among the logs that eager hands cast on it; and the shadows it
threw from the swirling, leaping figures wavered out into a
great, calm darkness.
The night guard understood a little of the native languages, so
he stood behind our chairs and told us in Swahili the meaning of
some of the repeated phrases.
"This has been a glorious day; few safaris have had so glorious a
day."
"The masters looked upon the fierce lions and did not run away."
"Brave men without other weapons will nevertheless kill with a
knife."
"The masters' mothers must be brave women, the masters are so
brave."
"The white woman went hunting, and so were many lions killed."
The last one pleased Billy. She felt that at last she was
appreciated.
We sat there spellbound by the weird savagery of the
spectacle-the great licking fire, the dancing, barbaric figures,
the rise and fall of the rhythm, the dust and shuffle, the ebb
and flow of the dance, the dim, half-guessed groups swaying in
the darkness-and overhead the calm tropic night.
At last, fairly exhausted, they stopped. Some one gave a signal.
The men all gathered in one group, uttered a final yell, very
like a cheer, and dispersed.
We called up the heroes of the day-Fundi and his companion-and
made a little speech, and bestowed appropriate reward. Then we
turned in.
XVI. FUNDI
Fundi, as I have suggested, was built very much on the lines of
the marabout stork.
