io THE LAND OF THE LION 



River where the sun shines full into it is a marvellous 

 bit of colour. But here the colours are as brilliant, and yet 

 have the softness that the chasm of our mountain river 

 lacks. One of Turner's magic sunsets, transferred from 

 sea to land, would alone give an idea of its iridescent 

 splendour. I fancy the clouds formed by the steep escarp- 

 ments that shut the valley in on either side are partly 

 the cause. 



During the night African forests breed clouds all their 

 own. The dense moisture floats off slowly in the morning 

 sun, clinging to the tree-tops as it rises, and forming clouds 

 heavy enough to hold together till almost midday. On 

 both sides of this glowing valley these cloud-forming 

 forest ridges rise for more than two thousand feet, and 

 from them, let the wind blow where it will, during the 

 morning hours at least, the drifting vapours will partly 

 shade the plain. Through these breaks, the sun, lighting 

 up broad stretches of corn yellow grass land, shining 

 on purple woods pushing down the steep incline, and on 

 all the tossed and broken masses of ridge and valley, 

 heaved up ages ago, when this vast chasm yawned open 

 in a cooling crust. 



Colour everywhere. Colour changing, shifting. Colour 

 on the red-brown cones of two long extinct volcanoes, 

 that must have bubbled forth lava thousands of years 

 after the valley's floor had grown firm. Colour on the great 

 volcanic rocks that seam their sides, and over which the 

 greenery of the tropics has not yet had time to weave its 

 mantle and colour at last far away down the glowing 

 valley, caught up and flashed upward from Naivasha 

 Lake. 



Up and down the Kedong Valley in pre-railroad days 

 that is to say, not ten years ago passed much 

 of such commerce as there then was between the great 

 lakes and the sea. Here tribe clashed with tribe. The 



