Africa 277 



As I have said, my wife has the most complete control 

 over her emotions of any person whom I have ever known 

 and, by that same token, is not given to sentimental reflec- 

 tions, or even to reminiscence. So I was surprised the other 

 day when she said, "You must remember to write about 

 the time we met the locusts." 



This was indeed an extraordinary experience as we were 

 leaving the Transvaal at Komati Poort. We had heard of 

 the troubles that awaited us at the frontier, so I directed 

 our somewhat officious South African drivers to stay in 

 the cars and let me go into the customhouse and do the 

 talking, I had just received notice of my appointment as a 

 delegate of the United States Government to the Inter- 

 national Zoological Congress to be held at Lisbon, and I 

 told the customhouse officers that I was going to give them 

 the pleasure of being the first to offer us Portuguese hos- 

 pitality. My Portuguese is by no means fluent — indeed it 

 is badly mixed with Spanish, which is for me almost a sec- 

 ond mother tongue — but my bastard jargon is gUb and I 

 can pronounce the Portuguese words correctly and con- 

 vincingly. My speech worked hke a charm. At a signal 

 from the Collector of Customs, the tall, dignified black 

 askari swung wide the barrier over the road and we rolled 

 into another world. 



Komati Poort is a sleazy little town of galvanized iron, 

 mostly unpainted. Step over to Ressano Garcia and you 

 step straight into Portugal — stucco houses painted in bril- 

 liant colors, shady arcades about the plaza, a cafe with Httle 

 round tables on the sidewalk, a bandstand, and wide, clean, 

 well-paved streets with shade trees. Portuguese East Africa 

 was a most complete eye-opener and the drive down to the 



