56 SAFARI 



like a plague of Kansas seventeen-year locusts, 

 settled on otir windshields, swanned over our food, 

 covered every inch of our faces and actually made 

 the groves as dark as night. 



Down to the river brim the Samburu women drove 

 their donkeys, laden with gourds for water, where 

 they filled these natural urns, meanwhile screaming 

 at and tongue-lashing each other, while their 

 ferocious-looking helpmates stood around us, many 

 files deep and bristling with spear-heads. 



At first the encounter seemed very ominous. A 

 stranger to the desert would have been apprehensive 

 for his life. But impressive as was that bristling 

 ring, we knew we had little to fear. The black 

 seldom attacks a white man. In Africa it just isn't 

 done. Every tribe seems to take for granted Cau- 

 casian superiority. Indeed, so thoroughly is it 

 recognized that the native is just a little scornful 

 when the white man fails in anything he tries to do, 

 though none of the miracles his master performs seem 

 to impress him. I have taken boys from the frontier 

 down to the station and waited for the reaction when 

 they saw their first locomotive. They never gave it 

 a second look. Perhaps this was because they had 

 seen my motor cars and electrical equipment and 

 were so impressed by our witchcraft that after that 

 anything was possible for Bivana. Not being inter- 

 ested in machinery for its own sake, the locomotive 



^A 



