SEFARI LIFE 153 
ing the night’s chill he invariably loaned it to the man whose 
duties kept him outside. He knew nothing of the Chris- 
tian doctrine of universal brotherhood, but a true giver of 
the cup of cold water, a true brother of his black fellow man, 
most surely he was. 
The extraordinary way in which the men carry all sorts 
of odds and ends round their ragged persons without los- 
ing them, on the most difficult and upsetting marches, is 
interesting. Call on them to produce them, and out they 
come from the most unexpected places. I was well accus- 
tomed to this proceeding, when we engaged some Kara- 
mojo* hunters to accompany us, for I had been many 
months on sefari, but these men puzzled me. They were 
quite naked, a few narrow iron chains and strings of beads 
their only drapery, yet they produced snuff and one or two 
other small luxuries on the march, like the rest. They 
carried no wallet or bag of any sort. Watching them 
closely, | saw them tuck their “what nots” into a little hol- 
low in the mud-plastered chignon, into which their hair 
was firmly made up at the back of their heads. This is 
the usual Karamojo custom. A Massai guide we had for 
some time, carried, as all self-respecting Massai who are 
not moran (warriors) do, an umbrella — among them 
the cotton umbrella seems the “cachet” of social impor- 
tance. It is the only thing they have borrowed from the 
white man. ‘They never put it up, so far as I could see. 
You see them running at a tremendous pace alongside a 
stampeding band of their excitable cattle to head them off 
when these are in danger of “rushing” a sefari’s line. A 
long spear in one hand, an umbrella tucked under the other 
arm, neither of these, to all appearance, awkward things, 
interferes with the splendid bounding stride that carries them 
over all inequalities of the ground, in a most different and 
thorny country. 
* An interesting tribe, as yet almost unknown. 
