Читать книгу Mission to Kilimanjaro - Alexandre Le Roy - Страница 11

How we Broke the Law. New Recruits.

Let’s Go. Our Route.

July 10, 1890

Since Mombasa became the capital of the British Protectorate of Zanzibar, the residence of the Administrator General of the Imperial British East African Company, and the point of departure for the railway line, this old and unpretentious town has known a new lease of life. The railway line linked the Indian Ocean to Lake Victoria Nyanza and was intended as tradesmen’s entry to Upper Egypt. There are, facing the dark and solid Portuguese fortress inherited from the distant past, small new buildings scattered beneath the green coconut palms of English Point, whose style tells us that the Europeans have returned. This was brought home to us in a straightforward, down-to-earth manner. We did not want to burden the town with our baggage and porters, nor did we have the intention, the time, or the opportunity to find a house. We went straight to a place outside the edge of the city, where nobody was living, and where big mango trees offered their branches as protection. And so we made our camp. But, in the evening shadows, when the flames had just begun to flicker around the cooking pots, we saw a Sudanese soldier, a member of the Imperial British East African Company police, running up with a letter from the Administrator General. We began to wonder if we had been taken for a gang of pirates and if we would have to go and sleep at the post. I squatted down and read the letter by the light of the cooking fires. The message was simply this: our caravan had piston rifles, hunting rifles, military rifles of good quality, and revolvers, and that if we took these dangerous inventions into the interior without their being marked with the Company’s special (and profitable) sign, we would have to pay a fine, big enough to frighten explorers richer than us.

The next day, I went to see the Secretary General of the Imperial British Company who had been so kind as to send me this warning. I assured him on my conscience and my soul that we did not wish to engage in arms smuggling nor slave raiding, nor violate the laws of civilized conduct. Finally, our guns were marked with the sacramental stamp, which made them harmless in the future. We were given a document as proof. But while the guns were being stamped, I could not stop myself pointing out that we had the honor of being given the number one and to be the first to have our guns stamped, although before us, plenty of guns had been taken into the interior, perhaps for purposes less peaceful than our own.

During the day, Mgr. de Courmont paid a visit to Sir Francis de Winton, who received him very well. He invited us to dinner. While he had the chance to see that our intentions were entirely honorable, we, on our side, concluded that there are some people who are much less frightening at table than when in their office. The next day, Mgr. de Courmont celebrated mass in a new house which he had been asked to bless. It had been put at our disposition by Mr. A. Pereira and Mr. D. Pereira, natives of Goa. Thirty people—the whole Catholic community—came to the mass.

The next step was to recruit porters to replace those who had left us at Zanzibar. We had hopes of recruiting from among the 200 slaves whom the British Navy had captured, set free, and settled at Mombasa over the previous two years. Alas! The only signs of them were their wives and their houses, both equally shabby. The freed slaves themselves have been recruited by the company for large-scale expeditions in the interior. We were obliged to choose from among the innumerable crowd of runaway slaves, thieves, liars, drunkards, deserters, vagabonds, do-nothings, rogues, and caravan pirates, whose game is to get themselves taken on by newly arrived European travelers, ask for and get an advance, and then disappear. Messengers were sent into the suburbs and they came back with people they had found who looked useful. I had them put in line and started speaking to the man who had the most honest-looking face and with clear-cut features. However, he did not look as though he merited very high wages.

I asked, “What is your name?”

He replied, “Haroun-al-Rashid.”

I said, “Excellent, but you look as though you have drunk a little too much.”

“Oh, that’s not possible. I was released from prison less than an hour ago.”

I have to say that for a Muslim who has simply been lacking politeness to a European by pinching his watch or emptying some of his bottles, or losing his wallet, a spell in prison does not damage his reputation. In fact it enhances it. However, it is from among such dodgy characters one has to choose. After some had been chosen, each was given a small advance payment—impossible not to do this—and the hour of departure was fixed, 2 p.m. on 14th July. And when two o’clock came, we found that five porters had disappeared. All the same, we had to get out of there. If we only considered the shelter given by the mango trees, we had a marvelous campsite. But, getting down to earth, we had to admit that this rural retreat had so strong a smell of rotting flesh and sewage as to reduce much of its charm. Moreover, the longer we stayed on the edges of the town, the more problems would we have: there is always something wrong with suburbs.

And so the caravan set off. Striking southwards, we moved along the narrow pathways of the Isle of Mombasa without any great enthusiasm. These pathways run across modest rows of sweet potatoes, patches of peas, and cassava plants. On the burning sand, fat dung beetles were vigorously rolling the balls, an activity which for them is a career. There was no shelter, save here and there, near thick undergrowth, where the wild jasmine grew, whose white flowers cover the rubber creeper, and where also the swinging plume of the coconut tree and the majestic head of the mango trees spread out to attract our attention. At the Likoni ford, the boats were ready, and in less than an hour, everybody had crossed.

But the first thing to do was to decide on the route to follow. Our target was Kilimanjaro. From Mombasa, the shortest route, and the one which most travelers had taken, was that through Taita. But water was very scarce at that time of year. Moreover, the area has already been explored, and, with the possible exception of one particular point, it does not seem to offer opportunities for missionary work. To the south we have the Digo country, which has been very little studied. If we passed through it, we could finish that part of the journey at Vanga, and, from there, go on to Sambara and Pare country, Lake Jipe, and Taveta. Such a journey would be twice as long as the other route; but, in making it, we would have water and food for the caravan, and we would be able to see the different areas where, sooner or later, missions must be started.