172 THE BONDS OF AFRICA 



composed of huts and hovels all jumbled 

 together, with narrow paths and ditches sepa- 

 rating the various dwellings. The smell here 

 is not particularly pleasant, and unless you are 

 very curious, or are going to write a book, it is 

 likely that you will soon be gharry- bound for 

 the Club and anticipating the joy of a long and 

 cooling glass. 



Few visitors to our East African Empire 

 sojourn long in Mombasa; there is so much to 

 do and so much to see in the fascinating lands 

 that lie " up country." But if you ever have to 

 wait for a ship in the seaport of the East African 

 Protectorate, there is a great deal to interest 

 and much to ponder on in this town, which has 

 come down in the world. It is not even to-day 

 the capital of a peace-seeking Crown Colony, for 

 Nairobi wrested from it that distinction a few 

 years ago. It is merely a companion of Mozam- 

 bique in the misfortune of having seen the pomp 

 and circumstance of plunder and conquest in the 

 days that are beyond recall. 



There is to my mind something infinitely 

 sad about the East Coast of Africa. Mombasa 

 and Mozambique are surely entitled to weep 

 for the past, as much so as Athens or Jerusalem. 

 One can forgive them if they look with scorn 

 on the modern bricks of Dar-es-Salaam and the 

 tin palaces of Nairobi. Their's is a memory 

 saddened by a mildewed magnificence, and every 

 new railway shed that is built in Nairobi, and 

 every new residence that is raised to grace 

 Dar-es-Salaam, must make their grief more 

 poignant. But cities, like humans, must accept 

 the decree of Fate. At even when the sun is 

 low and the waving palms bow their heads to 

 the windless dusk, it has seemed to me that the 



