Mr Fernandes was flogging his old lorry for all it was worth. It roared and squeaked and groaned and grated as we crashed over the rough road at a disconcerting speed. Every time we went over a bump both sides of the bonnet flew open and flapped helplessly, like an overweight bird struggling to get airborne, and at each bad jolt the one and only headlamp flickered. I could faintly make out the do-or-die expression on Mr Fernandes’s face as he gripped the wheel and swung the lorry violently off course to avoid a rock or an antbear hole. It was almost more than I could stand.
A vast elephant scampered out of our way with startled indignation. Hyena crouched near the edge of the road, blinking green eyes at us before slouching off into the bush. Nightjars fluttered up from the road, with a hint of ruby eyes and white wing tips. Hares ran in front of us, transparent ears flopping foolishly, until it occurred to them to dive into the undergrowth at the side. A large porcupine bustled, bristling, across our path.
Much to my surprise we got off the mountain without mishap. All the guardian angels must have been working overtime that night. Now that we were bowling along on more or less level ground, on a wider, smoother road, I told myself there was no need to go on feeling tied up in knots and to die unnecessary half-deaths in cowardly anticipation. But I had forgotten the drifts of loose sand at the side of the road. Twice we skidded and mounted the bank between the road and the drain, and in the end, nearly voiceless and trembling, I asked Mr Fernandes to go a little more moderately.
He took his eyes off the road to stare at me in reproach.
“But Bwana Reece very ill,” he protested, and I felt as craven as could be as I muttered something about an hour or two not making all that much difference. Instantly he slowed down to such a painfully snail-like pace that I wished I had held my peace.
About half-way through the night Mr Fernandes stopped the lorry to brew tea.
The crew and the one or two passengers on the back jumped down and hacked at the palm trees, piling the cut fronds on an open space. Mr Fernandes, with a nice mixture of ritual and reluctance, threw on half a gallon of precious petrol. The flames leapt skywards, curling the ends of the green palm fronds overhead, and were reflected redly on the unsmiling faces of the tired party standing round. When the first fierce flames subsided, the turney-boy brewed a strong mixture of sugar and tea leaves in a big saucepan, the traditional “strongui” drunk without milk….
The break over, the fire was stamped out and a shovel of sand put on the last glowing cinders, and we climbed back on the lorry. Mr Fernandes retired to the back of the lorry, undid his bed and went to sleep. The Oliver Hardy driver took his place. He was immensely full of chat and rather querulous, but he was so near sleep it seemed better to let him talk his heart out in case it helped him to stay awake.
We reached a tricky part of the road, which had sudden washaways, and broken approaches to narrow bridges barely wide enough to take the lorry and often without parapets. Our poor driver kept flopping over the wheel, but he got angry with me every time I jogged his arm or jabbed him frantically in the ribs. He swore he knew every pothole and rock and washaway, could drive the lorry with his eyes shut, and he was certainly doing his best to prove it.
At the foot of Lololokwe, we saw another elephant and a rhinoceros in the first light. It was just dawn when we reached the Guaso Nyiro. The water was low and its usual muddy red, but both the water and mudflats reflected the tawny orange which heralded the sun’s appearance. The pale dust and rocks were touched with pink, and even the black lava rocks glowed. The palm trees were silhouetted against the vivid sunrise. Just beyond the bridge a huge lion was asleep across the road. He turned and blinked at us as the driver sounded his horn; taking his time he rose and stretched himself voluptuously before ambling off into the bush. The sun was over the horizon by this time and the numerous small herds of buck were streaking to more private places than the main road by daylight.
To My Wife-Fifty Camels Alys Reece.
Mary Nicol, the future wife of Dr Louis Leakey, fared no better on the Kenya/Tanganyika border.
We got to the Kenya border at Pussumuru without much difficulty, but there we found the Indian trading community terrified by the news that Masai at Narok had murdered District Commissioner Grant in retaliation for his making some of their warriors work on the roads, which they saw as something worse than an insult. The Indians were clearly in fear of a Masai revolt. Not much farther on, Louis accidentally drove the car off the road and into a deep gully, where it stuck fast, in the middle of nowhere, with nightfall near. There was nothing to do but sleep beside the car overnight. We then spent all next day trying to dig a shallow ramp through the side of the ditch, up which we could try and push the car onto the road. The only really odd thing about this operation was that our digging equipment consisted of table knives and two enamel dinner plates. The inevitable crowd of young Masai warriors gathered to watch, with great amusement, and one can see that our efforts did indeed have considerable entertainment value. It was beneath the warriors’ dignity to help, of course, and with the news that we had gathered at Pussumuru Louis did not seek to persuade them, though in fact they showed no signs of hostility. By dusk we had actually successfully completed the digging, though daylight would be needed before we attempted to move the car itself, and so we prepared for a second night. But at that point our own lorry turned up, loaded with useful items like shovels and tow ropes, and in no time the car was safely back on the road and we were hearing the history of mechanical troubles that had caused the lorry’s delay.
Disclosing the Past Mary Leakey.
Foot porters, mules, ox-wagons, cars and lorries: then the aeroplane.
CAPTAIN TONY GLADSTONE, AFC
by J. K. Twist
On 28 November 1924 Captain Tony Gladstone, AFC, set out from London with Captain T. K. Twist on a safari from Cairo to Kisumu, arriving in March 1925. They followed the Nile, as far as it was possible to do so, with the object of surveying and planning a route for a flying boat service from Khartoum to Lake Victoria. The proposal was to carry air mail to Cairo from East Africa and the Sudan, and gold from the Congo, and eventually to extend the service to the Cape.
They had an eventful journey, partly by river steamer and partly by bicycle. From Rejaf to Nimule (100 miles) they rode second-hand bicycles bought in Khartoum; these were always breaking down and were eventually abandoned, and they reached Nimule on foot. They received no encouragement for their scheme at first; in fact Sir Geoffrey Archer, Governor of the Sudan, told them to pack their kit and return to England. But in Kenya Lord Delamere gave strong support to the scheme, as did Kenneth Archer and the Chamber of Commerce. As a result, in October 1925 £2,000 was voted by the Kenya Legislative Council to test the possibilities of air communication between Khartoum and Kisumu.
In November 1926 Captain Gladstone brought out a seaplane with a Jupiter engine, which he named the “Pelican”. Unfortunately it was so badly damaged by hitting a submerged object in the Nile at Khartoum that it had to be written off. The British Air Ministry then lent him a Fairey seaplane in which he made several flights between Kisumu and Khartoum. But again there was a stroke of bad luck. When taking off at Kisumu in March 1927 the pilot, not Captain Gladstone, crashed, and the seaplane was another write-off.
By this time Tony Gladstone had proved his scheme’s feasibility. Fresh proposals were made in February 1928 by the Blackburn Aeroplane Company and Sir Alan Cobham’s Aviation Company to the three East African Governments, and to the Sudan Government. Subsequently the interests of the new Cobham-Blackburn Company were acquired by Imperial Airways. This company started a flying boat service between Cairo and Kisumu. Later on the flying boats were discarded in favour of land planes, and thus began the air services between Europe and East Africa which have grown to what they are today, Imperial Airways having changed to British Airways.
Tony Gladstone was the real pioneer of civil aviation in East Africa. When he arrived in March 1925 there wer
e no aircraft or landing grounds whatsoever. It was a tragedy he was killed in a flying accident in South Africa, together with Lt. Cdr. Glen Kidston, in May 1931, and so never saw the results of his pioneering efforts.
Pioneers’ Scrapbook, eds. Elspeth Huxley and Arnold Curtis.
Imperial Airways began the first scheduled flights between London and Cape Town in 1932. Passengers slept the night in rest-houses, rose at three or four am to endure bumpy hours in unpressurized cabins flying unhurriedly at five or six thousand feet, and proceeded between Brindisi and Paris by train. The Nairobi to Croydon stage took six days.
Passengers in the early days of flying could expect adventure rather than comfort. The final stages of this London to Nairobi flight took place in 1935.
At Alexandria we were called at 3.30 am and took off in the Hengist, but had to change into the Horsa at Cairo. In the front part were Proctor, Megson, self and two of the most lousy, affected, giggly, selfish English girls you’ve ever seen, going on a visit to Entebbe…. Away we went from Cairo, destination Khartoum, coming down at Assiut, Luxor, Wadi Haifa (lunch) and a new place, Kariema. Took off at 6.30 pm from there and on came several haboubs [sand whirlwinds]. The machine was chucked about anyhow, the pilot could only just control it; he couldn’t get through to Khartoum on the wireless, so at 7.45 pm they turned round to make back to Kariema. This is a tiny place with only one European, the wireless man….
Along came the old Horsa, the pilot tried to do a downwind landing in terribly bad visibility with very sketchy flares, took the hell of a bump, then another, when our wings hit some hillocks or something. Off he fluttered to have another go, had to do a terrific bank to miss a tent, which actually did remove our starboard wingtip light, and caught our left wing in the sand. So when we finally came to rest, it was to find the fabric badly torn on both wings. It was rather alarming because of the extreme dark, and howling wind, and lots of lightning. However, the only casualty was a broken leg to my specs, which got trodden on. We bundled out into the desert. About half a mile away was the wireless man’s hut, where he produced three beds, so the lousy ones and I slept in his garden, and the rest on the airstrip, in the tent or outside – most wisely the latter, as there were scorpions in the tent.
There was a marvellous steward on board, a perfect man, he produced enough food and drink that night from the plane (emergency rations). We were called at 5 am and foregathered to embark, the staff having worked all night to mend the wings with the wireless man’s shirt and the windsock. But as the pilot was stepping in, he noticed that a strut had snapped off, and examination revealed quite serious wing damage, so we all bundled out again into the sand, and they wirelessed to Cairo for engineers and parts. The steward commandeered a donkey and galloped off to the native village to get eggs etc. We passed the day as best we might…. The poor relief plane – an Avro monoplane – met frightful weather, couldn’t find us at all, got knocked all over the place, and finally arrived at Khartoum at midnight with four minutes of petrol left. It got to us next day about 10 am. Meanwhile we’d really had quite a good party…. The lousy girls got worse and worse, wilting and grousing. No one could bear speaking to them, they were so nasty. Finally I had to speak to them sharply…. It turned out that the Horsa was really badly damaged, so the Avro took us three females, the Italians, the German and the Indian to Khartoum and went back to fetch the others with the minimum of luggage – I personally have only what I stand up in. The next thing is, how to get us away…. The Italians had two grand planes waiting for them, and fluttered away quickly to Eritrea. It came through on the wireless that war had begun, though the League of Nations said it hadn’t. [It had]…
That Saturday morning at Khartoum the rest of our passengers were brought in by the Avro. The Hanno, the next service after ours from Croydon, arrived on time on Saturday evening but they wouldn’t let anyone on board, it was full to the brim; they took our mail and departed. We gnashed our teeth and settled down to another day at Khartoum…. At 5 pm on Sunday in came the mended Horsa. At I am we were called and proceeded to the aerodrome, sat in the plane waiting to go, when the wind suddenly changed, necessitating a completely new set of flares. Then up came a couple of heavy thunderstorms and our cautious, slightly-shattered captain had us bundled back to the hotel at 3 am. At 7 am we really did get off; gave Kosti a miss so had to fly mostly at about fifty feet to save petrol, it was definitely bumpy. Got to Juba about 6 pm, to be greeted with the news that the Hanno, hurrying on ahead with our mail, had crashed at Entebbe. A tyre had burst in the air, in the dark. The pilot evacuated everyone to the very back of the plane and did his best, but it was a crash all right. The pilot went through the windscreen, but was only shaken. We saw the poor Hanno yesterday, its nose buried in the ground, both paws missing, one wing hanging by a thread and the two propellers firmly established in the front cabin. They’d had a nasty moment, as one engine wouldn’t stop until the petrol was switched off and the exhaust kept billowing flames. It was a marvellous escape…. They sent two Atalantas for us to Juba which we left at 5 am Tuesday and proceeded uneventfully by the usual methods to Nairobi which we reached at 2.30 pm.
Nellie: Letters From Africa, ed. Elspeth Huxley.
PART III
Settlers
ONCE THE RAILWAY had been built, some method had to be found to enable it to pay its way. For miles and miles it ran through country either unpeopled altogether, or sparsely and intermittently peopled by nomadic cattlemen. There was nothing for it to carry out, and no cash to pay for anything it might carry in.
The only answer the British Government could see to this conundrum was to invite in settlers who would cultivate unused land, introduce crops and livestock marketable in other countries, and so provide a basis for a viable economy and bring in revenue for the railway. This was the rationale behind “white settlement”, a policy that Sir Charles Eliot, the Commissioner, proceeded to implement in the early 1900s. Instructions were issued that only land not in occupation by Africans was to be leased to the incoming settlers. Generally speaking these instructions were carried out, but there were unforseen factors that, as time went on, were to call in question the policy’s morality and the justice of its execution.
Epidemics of smallpox in humans, and of rinderpest in cattle, had, in the early 1890s, so reduced the Kikuyu population that some areas of formerly cultivated land had fallen into disuse, therefore appearing to surveyors as unoccupied, and so available for European settlement. These areas were mainly in and around the region of Nairobi and small in extent – amounting, it was subsequently estimated, to less than seven per cent of the total area in Kikuyu occupation – but they were to become seeds of impassioned grievances which were to germinate into a powerful political cause.
The concept of the outright sale of land was unknown among the Kikuyu. Land that had been lent to others could always be reclaimed. Thus Europeans who had secured from the Government legal titles to their land had, in Kikuyu eyes, merely made a temporary arrangement that could be ended at any time. Ignorance of Kikuyu law and custom was widespread among Europeans, and led to misunderstandings that were to be used in future in support of the nationalist cause.
Can pastures intermittently grazed by nomads’ flocks and herds be said to be “occupied”? The settlers thought not. The Protectorate Government compromised. Some of the Maasai’s vast grazing grounds, which spread over most of the East African highlands, were set aside as their reserve, while land in the Rift Valley traversed by the railway was divided into farms and ranches for Europeans. So the Maasai lost out. Nowhere can the way of the nomad ultimately resist the way of the settler of whatever colour, with his villages and towns and the web of civilization that he spins.
No one foresaw the enormous increase in population that followed the introduction of colonial rule. The abolition of the slave trade, of inter-tribal wars, of famines, of epidemics such as smallpox, bubonic plague and sleeping sickness, above all a drastic reduction in infant mortality �
� these and other factors led to a fourfold rise in population in the colonial period, a rise that has escalated ever since. Kenya now has the highest birthrate in the world. While people have multiplied, the land that supports them has not. Pressure on land has therefore intensified, and continues to do so.
Finally, in the first half of this century public opinion worldwide on the subject of colonies underwent a volte face. What was formerly believed to confer enormous benefits on “backward” peoples through the introduction of law and order, better health, higher standards of living and so on is now seen, as it were through the other end of the telescope, to be an intolerable exercise in racial arrogance, oppression and colonialist exploitation. His Excellency the Emperor is seen to have no clothes. The cause of African nationalism swept the continent from end to end. These factors, and no doubt others, in sixty years brought white settlement to an end.
Early Days
Strangely enough, one of the first two “white settlers” to seek their fortunes in British East Africa was dark brown. He was Dr Henry Albert Boedeker, Eurasian by birth, Parsee by religion, small in stature and almost black. He and his newly married bride sailed from Tilbury docks on 6 June 1896, bound for Mombasa.
Dr Boedeker was planning to farm as far as possible from the stigma of being coloured. He had studied, trained and qualified as a doctor at Glasgow University and it was here that he fell in love with his wife, the daughter of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Tillicoultry. Their relationship was considered scandalous and the question of a permanent union even more outrageous. He spoke English impeccably but neither the fact that this was one of his most attractive qualities or his medical expertise had had any palliative effect on the disapproval.
Nine Faces Of Kenya Page 11