160 AFRICA SPEAKS 



over a lonely part of the trail. Suddenly, upon turn- 

 ing a sharp corner, we beheld a very exciting scene. 

 Two impalla rams were engaged in a fierce conflict. 

 They paid not the slightest attention to us, and for a 

 few moments we were treated to a wonderful show. 

 With their horns interlocked, they savagely butted 

 and shoved each other around. While they seemed 

 so intent on the battle, I tried to stalk them with one 

 of the small motion-picture cameras, hoping to secure 

 some movies of this extraordinary scene, but just as 

 I got ready to press the button they gave a loud snort 

 and bounded away. 



We arrived at Narok just before dark, to find awaiting 

 me the permits necessary to assure success of my plans 

 with the Nandi. Next evening, after dinner at a little 

 hotel in Gilgil, the mechanic took my camera apart. 

 When I saw all the screws and springs and gears laid 

 out, I thought that the expedition was sure enough at 

 an end, but my friend informed me he could fix it 

 okeh, although it might take him three or four days. 

 This was the best news I had heard for some time. I 

 drove into Nairobi next day, or as I had renamed it, 

 the city of *'Bardo Kidogo." 



In the Swahili tongue, bardo kidogo is the expression 

 perhaps most frequently heard. It is the shibboleth 

 of the native, be he Swahili, Wakamba, Ikoma, Masai, 

 Nandi, Turkhana, Suk, Lumbwa, or N'jemps. It is the 

 African equivalent of the Mexican's ever-recurring 

 manana, and to its lazy rhythm Africans Uve and have 

 their being. Freely translated, it means ' ' wait a while, ' ' 

 and it is the ever-present answer, plea, or excuse of the 

 natives when asked to do anything. Africa truly is 

 the Land of Bardo Kidogo. 



