MASHONALAND 49 



where amidst this wild jumble of Nature's, we 

 should find a village, and that our only way to 

 the border lay past it. So we began to descend, 

 and a terrible descent it was, too. Before long 

 loads began to roll off, and the donkeys were 

 sliding and tumbling down the sides of giant 

 rocks as steep as the sides of houses. In places 

 the animals had literally to be dragged down, 

 and we had to carry the loads ourselves. It 

 was a long and tiring task, but at length we espied 

 a cluster of huts far away down below us. Late 

 in the afternoon we reached this kraal, known 

 as Chafiga's, and certainly one of the most 

 picturesque native villages I have ever set eyes 

 on. To the north-west the great wall of granite 

 that we had clambered down soared upwards 

 with crests all castellated and forbidding. At 

 the foot of the wall a little stream coursed past 

 trees all gold and brown with the glory of their 

 winter garments. And then came the clearing 

 in which the people of Chafiga's lived their life 

 of lazy luxury. They had crops and grass roofs, 

 and good water in abundance, and what more 

 does the African native desire? Yet it is for 

 these happy children of savagery that they rave 

 for funds in the pulpits of England, what time 

 the Thames Embankment and the East End are 

 crying out for bread and a stitch of clothing ! 



We pitched camp on beyond the village. A 

 woman was crying for her dead child on the 

 threshold of a hut, and far into the night her 

 wails made pitiful music. My night's slumbers 

 were further disturbed by one of the donkeys 

 nibbling at my blankets in the darkness. An 

 owl, too, hooted mournfully from the kopjes 

 behind our little tent. The " Bo'sun " gravely 

 informed me that it was an " m'zeze," or evil 



