WHAT THE COUNTRY LOOKS LIKE 
2 3 
In front of the house, in the open public square, is a fine cocoanut tree 
which has been planted from a cocoanut brought from the East Coast of Africa. 
Across the square a ramshackle building is pointed out as the Mosque, and 
Arabs of all shades—of negro blackness and of European whiteness—are 
walking backwards and forwards through the blazing sunshine to perform their 
ablutions in the court of the Mosque, or to enter the building to pray. 
The Sultan of the place, in one of whose houses we are tarrying (in 
imagination) is about to have his noontide meal, and asks us to join. He 
himself is seated on a mattress placed on a mud bench against the wall under 
the verandah, and is clothed in a long, white garment reaching down to his heels, 
over which he wears a sleeveless, orange-coloured waistcoat richly embroidered 
with silver, a shawl-sash wound round his waist, and over one shoulder a light 
Indian cloth of chequered pattern brightly fringed. Through the shawl 
waistband peep out the hilt and part of the scabbard of one of those ornamental 
curved daggers which are worn at Zanzibar and in the Persian Gulf; this hilt 
and scabbard are of richly-chased silver. 
The Sultan has a face which in some respects is prepossessing. It is 
certainly not cruel though he is known to have done many cruel things. The 
once fine eyes are somewhat clouded with premature age and the exhaustion of 
a polygamist; but there are a sensitiveness and refinement about the purple¬ 
lipped mouth and well-shaped chin, the outlines of which can be seen through 
the thin grey beard. The hands have slender, knotted fingers and the nails are 
short and exquisitely kept. 
The taking of food is preceded by the washing of hands. Attendants— 
who are either black coast Arabs, gorgeously habited in embroidered garments 
of black, silver and gold, or else dirty, blear-eyed, negro boys, scarcely clothed 
at all and with grey, scurvy skins (the dirtiest and stupidest-looking of these 
boys is the Sultan’s factotum in the household and carries his keys on a string 
round his lean neck) come to us with brass ewers and basins. The ewers are 
long-spouted, like coffee pots. Water is poured over our hands, which after 
rinsing we dry as best we can on our pocket handkerchiefs, while the Sultan 
wipes his on his Indian cloth which is slung over his shoulder and is used 
indifferently as napkin and handkerchief. Then a brass platter of large 
size, covered with a pyramid of steaming rice, is placed on the dais and 
alongside it an earthenware pot (very hot) containing curried chicken. The 
Sultan having rolled up a ball of rice between his fingers and dipped it into the 
curry, invites us to do the same. Our fingers are scalded by the rice; but it 
must be admitted that the flavour of the curry is excellent. When this course 
is finished a bowl of pigeons stewed with lentils is brought on, and this also 
is eaten by the aid of our fingers. For drink we have cold, pure water from 
an earthenware cooler, and the milk of unripe cocoanuts. 
The meal finishes with bananas and roasted ground nuts. Then more 
washing of hands and we recline on some dirty cushions or on lion skins, whilst 
the Sultan gives audience to messengers, courtiers and new arrivals. Some of 
these last-named glance suspiciously at us and are not disposed to be very 
communicative about their recent experiences in the presence of Europeans. 
The Sultan sees this and enjoys the humour of the situation. He is himself 
indifferent to the slave trade, having secured his modest competence years ago 
and now caring for nothing more than the friendship of European potentates, 
which will enable him to finish his days in peace and tranquillity. After he 
is gone he knows that in all probability there will be no other Sultan in his 
