42 THE BONDS OF AFRICA 



shaped rock, seared and furrowed by the rains 

 of countless centuries, towered up. All over 

 this part of Mashonaland huge granite masses, 

 enormous as half the abbeys and cathedrals of 

 England built into one, are scattered like colossal 

 marbles, that the gods had tired of and hurled 

 in their weariness away from them. Some were 

 ill-shaped and resembled nothing save " tors," 

 or "cairns," others took on vague likenesses to 

 churches and lighthouses. All, according to 

 native superstition, were the abode of evil spirits, 

 gnomes of wicked impulse, and earth-bound 

 ancestors. But despite such gruesome repu- 

 tations the M'Swina huddled around these rock 

 masses in thousands. In the forests surrounding 

 their bases they found weird shells which were 

 worn round the necks of the youngsters as love 

 charms, and were greatly treasured. The soil 

 round the bases of these granite giants was good 

 and kindly, and so the natives tilled their crops 

 and lived that life of happy idleness which is 

 their heritage. 



On the road we met scores of blacks bound 

 for the mines, escorted by tall, athletic-looking 

 " boys " who bore the letters R.N.L.B. (Rhode- 

 sian Native Labour Bureau) on their blue jerseys. 

 Once we met a bronzed native labour recruiter 

 and his wife returning to civilization after a 

 sojourn in the wilds in the interests of the golden 

 holes of the South. 



This human driving power that whirls the 

 wheels of the great industries was drafted from 

 the various corners of South Central Africa — 

 from " M'Pezeni " (Fort Jameson), from N'Ungwe 

 (which is the native name for Tete), from the hot, 

 sweltering banks of the Zambesi, and from the 

 cool highlands of Angonia. They were marching 



