CHWAKA, DUNGA AND THE WAHADIMU 



Dunga, about half-way ; and the fresh mules galloped 

 the rest of the way on an uneven road, getting us 

 in about 5.30 p.m. The first set of mules I thought 

 got more than their share of beating — they either 

 galloped or stopped altogether ; I think they had 

 had a lot of work the day before. When we were 

 going up a steep hill, walled each side, we saw in 

 front a hand-cart full of heavy sacks, with several 

 attendant Indians. One ran in front holding the 

 guiding handle, as it, the cart, raced away with 

 the man down the hill at a furious pace, with us at 

 the bottom. During a moment of excitement when 

 the man did not know which side to pass us, I feared 

 it would plunge into us. Our syce waved him aside, 

 and it dashed by us, quite near, the guiding man 

 running off his legs, with a very agonised look on 

 his face, as he had absolutely no power to stop the 

 thing ; the other men followed more leisurely, but 

 yelling their loudest. By the road, the farther side 

 of Dunga, there were lovely primrose-coloured wild 

 lilies, but as a rule in Zanzibar wild flowers are con- 

 spicuous by their absence. We passed huge gro- 

 tesque baobab trees, which give us cream of tartar 

 from their long pods. Directly we had passed 

 through the native village we saw the lovely 

 sapphire sea shining through the trees — palms, 

 figs and other kinds ; we also smelt the fresh 

 salt air, a thing one rarely does in Zanzibar. 

 Our bungalow was on the sea front with only 



289 19 



