AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



The Rift Valley is as though a strip of Africa — 

 extending half the length of the continent — had in 

 time past sunk bodily some thousands of feet, leaving 

 a more or less sheer escarpment on either side, and 

 preserving intact its own variegated landscape in 

 the bottom. We were on the Likipia Escarpment. 

 We looked across to the Mau Escarpment, where 

 the country over which our train had been travelling 

 continued after its interruption by the valley. And 

 below us were mountains, streams, plains. The 

 westering sun threw strong slants of light down and 

 across. 



The engine shut off its power, and we slid silently 

 down the rather complicated grades and curves of 

 the descent. A noble forest threw its shadows 

 over us. Through the chance openings we caught 

 glimpses of the pale country far below. Across 

 high trestle bridges we rattled, and craned over to 

 see the rushing white water of the mountain torrents 

 a hundred feet down. The shriek of our engine 

 echoed and reechoed weirdly from the serried trunks 

 of trees and from the great cliffs that seemed to lift 

 themselves as we descended. 



We debarked at Kijabe* well after dark. It is 

 situated on a ledge in the escarpment, is perhaps a 

 quarter mile wide, and includes nothing more elabo- 



*Pronounce all the syllables. 



2S8 



