32 AFRICA SPEAKS 



dates piled up together, with an old black hen and 

 several chickens making the most of the opportunity. 

 The hen was quite excited; she couldn't decide which 

 she liked best, the shark or the dates, while she seemed 

 to be fascinated by the eyes of the barracuda. While 

 she stood there clucking, scratching, and picking, an 

 old Arab rushed up and with much spluttering and 

 waving of arms shooed her away. 



At the edge of the water several native dhows were 

 resting in the mud while a string of husky porters 

 carried large blocks of coral ashore. Each load weighed 

 from eighty to one hundred pounds. With these on 

 top of their heads they would stalk through the mud 

 and make their way up the steep embankment where 

 the coral was loaded on donkeys to be distributed 

 throughout the island. Most of the building on Mom- 

 basa Island is done with coral blocks. 



As a guest of Mr. Doherty and his good wife, we 

 were driven about the island in their Austin; down 

 through the native bazaar where Hindu and Arab 

 owners sat cross-legged in long rows of little stalls, 

 surrounded by their wares. Ready to their hands was 

 one of those ancient balancing scales, pictured being 

 held by Justice. They sold a penny's worth of ground 

 corn, of betel nuts, salt, tea, rice, shredded coconut, 

 sugar, tobacco, and dried shark. Small bottles con- 

 tained Uon oil and ghee. Hucksters mingled with the 

 crowds crying their wares — fried fish, African dough- 

 nuts, greasy looking cakes of all sizes and descriptions. 



Boys in flowing kanzus; turbaned Arabs; hawk- 

 faced Persians in silken robes carrying jeweled dag- 

 gers; seamen from the dhows, cruel, rough-looking men 

 who might have stepped out of the Arabian Nights; 



