TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 247 
only knows why, or where the men had dropped 
from. With as good grace as we could, and a cup of 
tea in hand, we went outside the zareba to see a crowd 
of Somalis, mounted, in the usual lively get-up, khaili 
tobes, shields, spears, and the other necessaries of 
performers of the dibaltig. The ponies were so be- 
tasselled on a bright red band over the eyes, I don’t 
know how they were to see the way at all. One 
stalwart, the head-man of the party, had decorated his 
steed with a frill of lion’s mane around its neck, fasten- 
ing in front with a large bunch of yellow ribbons. 
Very hot and uncomfortable for the pony, but very 
effective and circus-like. 
“ Salaam aleikum,” and “ Mot ! Mot ! io Mot ! ” 
Then the chorister-in-chief (these dibaltig performances 
are somewhat like the “ waits ” at Christmas) began 
a long song, all — Clarence said — about us, wishing 
us health, happiness, and many wives. 
“ Wives, Clarence ? ” 
“ So says the song.” 
“ Then say we can’t have wives, because we are not 
sahibs, and some day we shall be wives ourselves.” 
“ With luck ! ” ejaculated Cecily. 
Clarence translated, and a perfect tremor of excite- 
ment shook the whole team. The horsemen pressed 
closer, and gazed at us until their eyes nearly dropped 
out of their heads. Laughing at the intensity of the 
inspection, we took our hats off and bowed. Our hair 
might be considered adequate proof of Mem-sahibdom. 
Goodness knows what the team considered it. They 
drew back and talked and jabbered and discussed. 
