382 AFRICA SPEAKS 



Along this trail of sand and dancing heat waves, we 

 encountered these villages of primitive life, where we 

 would stop for a cooling drink of water drawn from 

 deep wells and kept in earthen jars. Then we would 

 again plow along in low gear, deeper and deeper into 

 the silence of the endless waste. 



This was not yet the true desert, for we were some 

 of the time in groves of stunted trees, where often a 

 buck would start up at our approach, while always 

 thousands of guinea fowl ran noisily from us, or with 

 a mighty whirring of wings take to the air for a short 

 flight. My shotgun came in handy here and it was 

 not long until we had plenty of these game birds stuck 

 away in the cook's box. Ah asked me if I preferred 

 fried kanga — guinea fowl — for breakfast, or would I 

 have it curried? I told him I would much rather 

 have it shredded and served with sugar and cream I 



It was many hours after sunset when our guide 

 finally pointed to a cluster of fires that bhnked afar 

 and stated that there was the village of Kiya Be. 

 With the aid of the headlights and a lantern our boys 

 made us comfortable in a large hut, while the cook 

 busied himself getting something ready for us to eat. 

 Black bodies are hard to see on a black night, but our 

 sense of smell told us that we were encircled by a 

 curious group, and shortly the noise made it evident 

 that the crowd was growing. As we sat down to eat 

 they closed right in upon us. This proximity was not 

 very appetizing, but it would not have been wise to 

 order them away. 



After the meal, the chief arrived with his lesser 

 chiefs, whereupon I called Ah to find if his knowledge 

 of Arabic would help us. It did, for the chief himself 



