Mkushi to Broken Hill 



course of the big Mkushi river in the first instance, 

 or at any rate the little Mkushi, we never made out. 



To add to our annoyance, the main road we 

 had now reached proved worse than the previous 

 tracks. Whenever a delay had occurred we had 

 always said : *' Well, at any rate, on nearing Mkushi 

 we shall be able to get along in fine style." Here 

 at last was the road, and we found it in no better 

 order than the paths. The forest had, of course, 

 been cleared to the breadth of the roadway, but the 

 road itself was overgrown, all in ruts, and far harder 

 to follow than the tracks we now regretted. 



We chose a camp not far from a village on the 

 outskirts of a dambo. The night was very wet. 

 These villagers evidently disliked travellers, possibly 

 because they saw too many of them. No flour 

 was brought for sale, and when morning came, 

 the guide, promised by the chief, failed to appear; 

 but as we had to get on, the old chief was sent 

 for and told that he would have to show us the 

 way himself. This produced the desired effect, for 

 before we had gone a quarter of a mile several 

 volunteers overtook us, one of whom conducted us 

 safely to our destination. 



We reached the Mkushi in due course, to find it 

 a broad river filling rapidly. However, aided by a 

 number of rocks which came in as stepping-stones, 

 we got over without great difficulty, and ascended 

 the hill leading to the boma. Here we suffered a 

 great disappointment. The place was like Nawalia, 

 a city of the dead. It was empty, the houses in 

 ruins — not even a cat to be seen. 



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