THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



taining hand. Yet he almost never attempts to 

 copy the white man's appearance or ways of doing 

 things. His own savage customs and habits he ful- 

 fils with as much pride as ever in their eternal fit- 

 ness. Once I was badgering Memba Sasa, asking 

 him whether he thought the white skin or the black 

 skin the more ornamental. "You are not white," 

 he retorted at last. "That," pointing to a leaf of my 

 notebook, "is white. You are red. I do not like 

 the looks of red people." 



They call our speech the "snake language," be- 

 cause of its hissing sound. Once this is brought to 

 your attention, indeed, you cannot help noticing the 

 superabundance of the sibilants. 



A queer melange the pigeonholes of an African's 

 brain must contain — fear and respect, strongly 

 mingled with clear estimate of intrinsic character of 

 individuals and a satisfaction with his own standards. 



Nor, I think, do we realize sufficiently the actual 

 fundamental differences between the African and our 

 peoples. Physically they must be in many ways as 

 different from our selves as though they actually be- 

 longed to a different species. The Masai are a fine 

 big race, enduring, well developed and efficient. 

 They live exclusively on cow's milk mixed with 

 blood; no meat, no fruit, no vegetables, no grain; 

 just that and nothing morel Obviously they must 



220 



