158 TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 



piqued my curiosity naturally, and I gave him no 

 peace until I extracted what I wanted to know more 

 than anything else just then. Prepared for any mortal 

 thing, for the Somali nicknames are nothing if not 

 deadly descriptive, I learned I was called by the men 

 " Daga-yera," small ears. This was not so bad, and 

 at least not uncomplimentary. Clarence looked at me 

 keenly to see if he noted any signs of offence but I 

 was smiling broadly, so he smiled too. I told him 

 that with us small ears are not considered a drawback, 

 whatever they may be in Somaliland. 



Almost on every march we came on graves, some 

 together, here and there one alone, marking the spot 

 where some traveller had fallen by the way. An 

 important head-man, or chief, has a perfect stockade 

 of thorn bushes and stones piled atop of him to keep 

 off the jackals and hyaenas. The women, however, 

 less important in death as in life, have merely thorn 

 piled casually on their tombs with some such relic as 

 a bit of an old shield or worse for wear harn strung 

 aloft to act as a deterrent to the scratchings of wild 

 beasts. When we passed by graves the men would 

 cross their hands and say a prayer, whether for them- 

 selves or for the dead I do not know. They would 

 be solemn for a moment, brooding, and then set off 

 a-chanting again. They are a strange romantic people, 

 whose sun ever follows on the silver mist of rain. 



A perfect avalanche of water fell after this for two 

 whole days and kept us in our drenched tents. And 

 again everything was wet through. Rain is a very real 

 terror to the poor camper out. Fires are off and 



