The March to Banza Nkulu. 277 
The grateful tamarind grows everywhere, but no¬ 
where so gloriously as on the lower elevations. The 
only true sycomores which I saw were stunted speci¬ 
mens near the Yellala. They contrasted poorly 
with the growth of the Ugogi Dhun, a noble pa¬ 
triarch, whose circle of shade under a vertical sun 
was 500 feet, and which I thought worthy of a por¬ 
trait in “ Lake Regions of Central Africa” (p. 195, 
vol. i.). I need hardly warn the reader that, pro¬ 
perly speaking, it is the “ Sycamine which produces 
the fruit called Sycomorus or fig-mulberry but we 
apply the term “ Sycomore” to the tree as well 
as to its fruit. 
After three hours of actual marching (= seven 
miles) in an east-north-easterly direction, we as¬ 
cended a path greasy with drizzle, parquetted by 
negro feet and infested with “ drivers,” which now 
became troublesome. It led to Banza Nkulu, a 
shabby settlement of unclean plantations and 
ragged huts of far inferior construction : stacks of 
grass were piled upon the ground, and this new 
thatch was greatly wanted. Here the lands of the 
“ bush-men” begin : instead of marching directly 
to the chiefs house, we sat in our wet clothes 
under a friendly wild fig. The women flocked 
out at the cry of the hammock-bearers and, nursing 
their babies, sat down to the enjoyment of a 
stare ; they had lost, however, the merriment of 
their more civilized sisters, and they hardly ever 
vouchsafed a laugh or a smile. The curiosity of 
