72 THE ODYSSEY OF AN ANIMAL COLLECTOR 
rhythm. This was often accompanied by a chant, as is so often 
the case when natives are performing any sort of manual labor. 
The finely ground meal is finally winnowed, and it is. only 
natural that in the various processes—all very primitive—a certain 
amount of meal should be spilt. The smaller seed-eating birds like 
this, and here the charming and tiny firefinches (in southern 
Africa called Ruddy Waxbills) had built up a camaraderie with 
the native women. They hopped around almost between the legs 
of the millers, and sometimes went right inside their huts, but 
were never molested. There is probably some superstition or 
legend about them, for when I asked a woman the native name 
of these confiding midgets her reply, translated, was “God’s 
children.” 
In spite of the intense heat and other things beyond our control, 
we both remained fairly healthy, which speaks well for our con- 
stitutions at that time. The cook knew only. the rudiments of pre- 
paring food and nothing whatsoever of hygiene. Peters insisted 
on having boiling soup, even when the temperature was 110°F. 
in the shade, and this invariably contained a few well-fed house 
flies, though the monotony was broken occasionally by a blue- 
bottle or an assortment of ants. Only twice did Peters suspect 
that there was something amiss with the cuisine, though he was 
usually philosophical over such things. The first occasion was 
when the cook produced a salad of oranges, bananas and onions, 
which merely caused our host to remark dryly, “When the devil 
are we supposed to eat this; as an hors d’ocuvre or a dessert?” The 
second was at breakfast, and this time he became quite belligerent 
and threatened to sever certain parts of the cook’s anatomy with 
the bread knife. It has been said that time is of no consequence 
in Africa, but time had now changed Peters’ breakfast egg from 
a tasty snack to a miniature gasometer. When he smote the top 
with his spoon the gas escaped and we made a quick getaway 
from the table. Peters was furious and let off a flow of swear 
words quite startling in view of his usual placid nature. 
As we left for Beira in a special truck that was hitched to the 
mail train, Peters stood on the hill by his house and waved— 
