It Was, I Fancy,
The Remains Of The Village Club-House.
It had a certain amount of
palm-thatch roof and some of its left-hand side left, the rest
Of
the structure was bare old poles with filaments of palm mat hanging
from them here and there; and really if it hadn't been for the roof
one wouldn't have known whether one was inside or outside it. The
floor was trodden earth and in the middle of it a heap of white ash
and the usual two bush lights, laid down with their burning ends
propped up off the ground with stones, and emitting, as is their
wont, a rather mawkish, but not altogether unpleasant smell, and
volumes of smoke which finds its way out through the thatch, leaving
on the inside of it a rich oily varnish of a bright warm brown
colour. They give a very good light, provided some one keeps an eye
on them and knocks the ash off the end as it burns gray; the bush
lights' idea of being snuffed. Against one of the open-work sides
hung a drum covered with raw hide, and a long hollow bit of tree
trunk, which served as a cupboard for a few small articles. I
gathered in all these details as I sat on one of the hard wood
benches, waiting for my dinner, which Isaac was preparing outside in
the street. The atmosphere of the hut, in spite of its remarkable
advantages in the way of ventilation, was oppressive, for the smell
of the bush lights, my wet clothes, and the natives who crowded into
the hut to look at me, made anything but a pleasant combination.
The people were evidently exceedingly poor; clothes they had very
little of.
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