CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 



THE STRANGE VILLAGE 

 OF KIYA BE 



FORT ARCHAMBAULT is noted mostly for heat. 

 From near its portals the desert sweeps to the 

 horizon — an ocean of sand, empty and silent except 

 for the gentle murmur of caressing winds. The croco- 

 dile-and-snake-infested River Chari, which is here 

 shallow but very wide, flows slowly around the north 

 end of the post, and its other sides are Jiemmed in by 

 native viUages, built within inclosures of grass matting. 

 Back of these frail stockades, as beyond the river, Hes 

 the mystery that is Africa. 



It is a French administration point and mihtary 

 headquarters set deep in the very heart of Equatorial 

 Africa. There is a large parade ground where black 

 troops step and march to commands in French, while 

 interested wives and concubines sit under shady trees, 

 smoking pipes, laughing and jesting, and sometimes 

 fighting. A few squat buildings of red brick and 

 white plaster, where dirty half-castes barter and sell 

 in the interests of their lords and masters, who are 

 sometimes their fathers as well, are clustered near 

 the barracks. 



Cool and neat bungalows nestle in wonderful gardens 

 behind brick walls that hide them from easy view. 

 There are wide sandy avenues Hned with rows of flam- 

 boyant trees and another species which I named the 



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