THE SEFARI 51 
great pile of baggage in front of the bwana’s tent has its 
green ground sheet covering removed, and the men’s loads 
are placed in a long line. The men like starting early, 
and camp should, if possible, be reached by midday. You 
hurry through your breakfast. But even if you are up 
as soon as your men, and you should be, for you take a 
much longer time to get ready than they do, you are aware 
of watchful eyes and waiting figures, ready to pounce on 
and carry away any and everything you are using. The 
table goes to one porter’s load, your chair to another, your 
second cup of coffee makes the man who carries the canteen 
shift uneasily from leg to leg. He is mentally calculating 
how long behind the others he will be, before that closed 
and locked canteen is handed over to his tender mercies 
for the day. 
Lay away in its chosen place the night before, every thing 
you want in the morning. If you do not, you will find the 
world locked up against you, and it is a hard-hearted 
bwana indeed who will make an anxious porter take off 
the many windings of his porter’s kamba (tying string), 
and stand over him while most unwillingly he pulls the 
whole wonderful conglomeration to pieces. To rearrange 
a load once it has been fastened up, is something the best 
porters thoroughly dislike to do; and now, each man 
taking up the box or bag assigned him, goes back to his 
own camp fire and fastens his day’s burden together with 
much coiling and twisting and tying of “granny knots.” 
Next, he deftly twists his scarlet cotton blanket round his 
head, in a compact turban, so that on it rests the weight 
of his load, and stands waiting the order bendika (load up). 
When this is shouted, up go a hundred bundles, and the 
porter, balancing the weight carefully, stretches out his 
foot for his porter’s stick (something none of them will 
travel without) which he grasps, yes, grasps, between his 
big toe and the next, and bending his knee, while he holds 
