THE SEFARI 47 
of the East can cook it, and since you eat rice twice a day, 
that is something to begin on. 
My cook Peter was a friend of three years ago. I had 
suffered at his hands and in consequence he had, on at 
least one occasion, suffered at mine, or, rather, at the hands 
of my official representative, the askari.* Peter knew he 
deserved it, and so bore no grudge. Indeed, had I defrauded 
him of his just dues, I should have fallen greatly in his 
estimation. When he heard, therefore, that I had returned 
to the country, he at once sought me out and begged for 
his old job. His weak point, I well remembered, had been 
his bread, and good, well baked, well raised, yeast bread 
(not baking-flour abominations), is one of the few things 
absolutely necessary to health. Many who do not know 
fitica, nor realize that they are under the equator, eat 
little rice, or fruit, or vegetables, and do eat large quantities 
of the very stringy game meat which is the only flesh 
usually obtainable. ‘They are very likely to take trouble 
home with them. I made immediate inquiries as to 
whether Peter had been to a baking school. He assured 
me he had, and that by now his productions were un- 
rivalled. His poverty-stricken appearance certainly belied 
his optimism, and I pointed this out to him. But he was 
prodigal of excuses, said he had lost my “‘chits,” and had been 
out of a job for a long time. I sent him off under John’s 
charge to bake a loaf. While his guardian looked on to 
make sure that he had no unfair assistance, and as the 
result proved fairly satisfactory, I reéngaged him. 
Little Peter was really not a bad cook, and he was quite 
willing to learn, which is more than you can say about 
all cooks, out of Africa as well as in it. His things, if he 
was constantly looked after, improved. He made ad- 
mirable soup. His curries were excellent. With the 
aid of a mincing machine (make a note of this and always 
* When men have to be punished, the sefari askaris, superintended by the headman, inflict it. 
