Red Strangers

by Elspeth Huxley

“I am afraid,” Matu answered. “Does this beast bite?”

  The man turned away his head and laughed loudly, shaking all over.

  “I can see you know nothing,” he said. “This thing is not alive. It contains many knives which go round and round and cut the grass, like many women together cutting millet.”

  Matu could scarcely belive this to be possible, but he pulled on the string and felt the object move behind him. Very nervously, and using all his willpower to control his shaking knees, he walked forward. The creature sprang into life and followed with a loud clatter at his heels. Sweating with terror, he increased his pace, but the creature only came on faster. He dared not look round to see whether it was gaining on him. He broke into a jog, his red blanket flapping around his wobbling knees.

  “Slowly, slowly,” the man behind shouted, laughing above the noise. “Do you think the Masai are after you ? Don’t you know how to walk?”

  Matu, with a great effort, slowed down, and the grass-eater also slackened speed. As the morning went on he grew more used to it and realised before noon that, as the man in charge had said, it was not alive. Later in the day he was told to sweep up the grass which it had cut and not, apparently, eaten.

  He puzzled over the purpose of this device all day. Before he returned to his sleeping-quarters he decided to ask Karanja what it was for.

  “Outside the stranger’s house is excellent pasture,” he said, “yet no cows have come to eat it. Now the grass has been cut as if it were ripe grain. What is the grass for? Who is to eat it?”

  “No one,” Karanja said, “it is to be thrown away.”

  “But that is impossible!” Matu exclaimed. “The stranger has taken great trouble to secure a wonderful pasture. I have never seen such rich grass. In the dry weather I and five others carried water to it every day, it grew thick as the finest sorghum, green as young maize. There could be no better grass in all Kikuyu. You cannot tell me that all this trouble was taken in order that the grass should be thrown away ! Does the woman burn the millet she has weeded many times and guarded from birds for many months? Does a man kill his healthy young she-goat?”

  “Nevertheless,” Karanja said, “Kichui has ordered all the grass to be thrown away.”

  “Can it be for a sacrifice to God?” Matu asked.

  Karanja shook his head. “I have never seen him sacrifice anything to God,” he said. “It is just that he likes grass to be short, instead of long.”

  “Then why does he have water sprinkled on it to make it grow long?” Matu asked.

  Karanja shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know,” he said. “If you work for these strangers it is useless to ask: ‘Why must I do this?’ They have no sense, and do many foolish things without reason.”

  4

  THE territory within the ditch at Tetu was like an ant-heap from which people were constantly going out and coming in. Gradually Matu became aware that beyond the world which he knew lay another world, altogether different, and full of things and creatures of which he had never heard or even seen in dreams. Sometimes little pieces of this other world were broken off and came drifting into his world, as pieces of a fallen tree a long way upstream may be washed by the torrent into a pool below. He felt as if he were back in childhood, when everything was curious and unpredictable, and the correct behaviour in each new situation had to be cautiously learnt.

  There were many warriors inside the ditch: strange, wide-faced, dark-skinned men who shaved their heads like elders and wore high red coverings of cloth upon them. They spoke in harsh foreign tongues and ate huge quantities of meat. Sometimes they would march out over the bridge, their legs moving together as if they had been one man, and when they returned wild rumours would fly about of the many Kikuyu they had massacred and the homesteads they had burnt; but Matu had never met anyone who had seen this happen. On one occasion young men came back with them driving many cattle and goats, and a market was held within the boma at which those who could bring rupees took away the beasts in exchange.

  On this occasion Matu saw his brother, who brought rupees and returned with goats.

  “I have told Kichui that you must return to Waseru’s,” Muthengi said, “but he will not agree. At first I did not like to insist, because he helped our clan against Karue. But on this occasion I brought a message which, I thought, would oblige him to let you go. The message is from Kabero, the son of Irumu. He has married Wangombe’s daughter but she has not conceived, and the mundu-mugu has seen that this is because of the charm which you hung in a tree. Kabero offers you a fat ram if you will remove it, and asks you to return immediately.”

  “You must speak to Kichui, then,” Matu answered. “Until he gives me permission I must stay here, otherwise his warriors will kill me.”

  “He will not give permission for you to go. I cannot understand it. I asked him: ‘What have you, then, against Kabero, the son of Irumu ?’ and he replied, ‘I have nothing against him.’ I said : ‘Then you must let Matu return, for until he does so, Kabero’s wife cannot conceive.’ He replied that it was no affair of Matu’s whether another’s wife conceived. He did not understand. Sometimes he is so stupid I do not know what I can do !”

  “There is a reason, I think,” Matu suggested. “He keeps near his house some large brown birds—larger than a francolin, but not so big as a crane. They run along the ground and are very noisy, but I have never seen them fly. He cooks these in a pot and eats them; and not only that, but Karanja says that he eats their eggs. Can you wonder that he is stupid, since he eats the flesh and the unborn young of the most stupid of all creatures, a bird?”

  “Perhaps that is why his skin is smooth and pink, like an eggshell,” Muthengi suggested. “No doubt it will cause him to fall ill of a thahu and die. Although I do not think that I wish him to die now,” he added thoughtfully. “It seems that he has as many rupees as there are lice in a sick man’s hair, and now I am able to exchange them easily for goats. Perhaps, if I offer this stranger an ox, he will let you go.”

  5

  BUT Matu was still forced to remain at Tetu. A path wide enough for six men to walk abreast was built down the Sagana valley and a huge bridge thrown over the river. Many messengers came by this path from the world beyond, bringing tales of a place called Nairobi, in Masai territory, where there were huge houses that shone in the sun like new rupees, and thousands of men of all tribes and ages, and a stranger who claimed to rule over the whole land. There were tales, too, of boxes made of iron that moved on ropes of wire laid on the ground, and of people who sat in these and were drawn about by a huge black animal that breathed loudly and was always on fire, with smoke coming out of its mouth. Matu did not, however, believe much of what he was told.

  One day a strange apparition appeared from the east. At first it seemed to be a herd of cattle, and behind it rose a tall column of red dust. Then it was seen that the cattle were bound to each other with leather thongs. They walked two by two with a wooden pole across their shoulders; there were sixteen, and all bulls that, unaccountably, had been castrated. They dragged a large wooden object which, instead of scraping along the ground, seemed to be suspended in mid-air on four iron hoops criss-crossed with poles. Men walked beside the cattle, sweat streaking their dust-caked faces, uttering sharp, loud cries and swinging a thong attached to a stick over their heads.

  It was a strange sight and a little shocking; never before had cattle been bound together and so roughly handled. It was surely indecorous to beat so valuable an object as a bull, a symbol of great wealth, in such a summary fashion. One of them might fall and break its leg, or die on the road. Kichui— for evidently the cattle were his—must indeed be rich to risk his wealth in such a reckless way. The wooden platform proved to contain a large number of things belonging to Kichui, and no one could understand why they came in such a cumbrous way when the backs of women would have borne them, with more speed and far less trouble and expense, in the normal manner.

  A few days later, when his l
abours in the shamba were over for the day, Matu heard a noise coming from the house. Kichui was sitting outside with a small box by his side. He called to Matu, with whom he was by now on friendly terms, and pointed to it with delight. He was laughing, and Matu could see that he was in a state of great joy. A sort of trumpet stuck out of the box and peculiar sounds were emerging from the hole. At first Matu thought the noise might be that of singing, but it did not have the rhythm of song and struck on his ears as a series of ugly and discordant noises. However, he could see that Kichui was very pleased, so he looked impressed and gazed at the box for some time and then said “very good” in the Swahili tongue which he was learning from Karanja. (He had already learnt that strangers were insulted if they did not receive open praise, even though this was known to be in the highest degree unlucky, and normally would only be given with deliberate intent to harm.)

  Kichui had in his mouth a stick which Karanja said was not a charm but a piece of tobacco, and Matu watched him light it with a very small fire-stick which worked instantaneously, and without any effort. He could not think why Kichui should bother with useless objects like this box of noises when he knew how to make such excellent appliances as these small sticks that could instantly produce a fire. But there was no accounting for his behaviour, as Matu and Karanja had often agreed. A man as rich as he could have ten wives and a hundred cattle and squash his enemies as a man squashes a louse; he could spend his days hearing cases and drinking beer, his wives’ granaries would never be empty of food, nor their wombs of children. Yet with so many delights in his grasp he opened his hand and lived without wives, or flocks, or herds of cattle. It was so senseless that Matu dismissed the whole matter from his mind.

  6

  KICHUI displayed his madness in its most ludicrous form when he tried to lay a curse upon his own cattle. He had bought three cows, which were herded in a small boma at night. One day he gave orders that dung from the boma was to be carried to the front of the house and buried in a part of the shamba that had been dug for seeding.

  Matu could not believe his ears. To bury the dung of a cow was to bring death upon it, just as death, or at any rate severe sickness, would come to a man whose excreta were covered with earth. If Kichui’s cows died, Matu knew that he himself would be blamed. He refused emphatically to obey the order.

  Kichui told him a second time and then, when he refused again, grew angry and shouted loudly and raucously, like a badly behaved child. Still Matu did not dare to risk the accusation of making magic against Kichui’s cows. Karanja came out, hearing the angry words, to ask what the trouble was. When he heard he said to Matu :

  “Kichui is very ignorant and does not realise that he may kill his own cows. But he gets very angry if people do not do what he says; he is like a child whose upbringing has been badly neglected. You had better bury the dung as he says, and I will tell him that if the cows die he must not allow any blame to fall on you.”

  Karanja talked to Kichui, and Matu, with great reluctance, buried the dung. The cows were fine big ones, sleek and fat, and he hated to do them wanton harm in this way. Besides, he had become quite attached to Kichui, in spite of his foolishness, his frequent noisiness, and a lack of courtesy which led him to abuse the people nearest to him in a loud voice when any misfortune occurred, or when they had not understood his words. He once so far forgot his self-control as to strike Matu in a temper when the knives in the belly of the grass-eater were broken against a stone, which had doubtless been put in the way by some enemy. Still, it was a pity that Kichui’s cows should die through his own ignorance and stupidity.

  Matu’s worst fears were realised. Less than a month later one of the cows fell ill, weakened, and in due course died. Kichui gave it medicine, but to no avail. Not long afterwards another fell into a hole being dug for a latrine and broke its leg, and Kichui killed it. The third remained alive, but it did not flourish.

  Matu hoped that this would teach Kichui sense, but it did not appear to. He told Karanja that he wished to buy dung from the owners of cattle near at hand. Even Karanja, who had learnt to stand a good many shocks was upset.

  “No one would let the dung of their cattle be buried,” he told Kichui; “for the cows would surely die, as yours have done.”

  “You are a fool like the rest of them,” Kichui said.

  “The fool cannot see himself,” Matu remarked, when he heard the story. “He sleeps when the house is burning and then blames others for not waking him up.”

  7

  WHEN six seasons were over Matu was called to the house of an Indian and given a piece of the magical white bark, with designs burnt upon it. He was told that he might go away, and keep his blanket.

  “I shall no longer be killed if I leave?” he asked doubtfully.

  “No,” the Indian said. Matu could now carry on a conversation in Swahili. “But if you kill anyone again, or steal, or do not pay taxes, you will be brought back.”

  Matu was sorry to leave Karanja, of whom he had become fond. His friend gave him two of Kichui’s birds, a male and a female, to take back for his wife when he married; for although no man would eat one, it was believed that its eggs would do no harm to women and small children and that the white fluid inside them was a good medicine for burns. Matu also took a few round tubers of a new kind, smaller and whiter than a sweet potato; some seeds of vegetables; and two handsome shining jars which he put in the lobes of his ears. The greatest prize of all was given him as a parting gift by Kichui. This was a tin of pure white salt, ten times as strong in flavour as the ash of papyrus normally used. Kichui seemed to possess a depthless supply, and Matu thought that his country must be a fine one to contain so much excellent salt, as well, according to Kichui, as giant cows which gave prodigious quantities of milk.

  As Matu walked back along the red, winding path between tall grass and bush, he wondered if he was visiting a country seen in dreams. All was as he remembered, yet subtle differences were there. The limbs of the young men were still glossy with fat and ochre and their hair dressed and plaited, but many of them wore lengths of red-dyed cloth knotted over their shoulders and a few had blankets such as his own. For the most part they were without spears, and many had even left their red-sheathed swords at home. He noticed, too, that homesteads were being built out in the open, away from the patches of forest which had hitherto concealed them, where a raiding party could find them easily and approach without fear of hidden pits. At a market, where he paused to trade a little of his salt for ochre, he found that the cents of rupees were everywhere accepted. There was also a square hut near the market where an Indian sold blankets, salt, bangles and ornaments of wire, small shining mirrors, and vivid coloured beads.

  On the way he stayed a night with his sister Ambui, who had married a man of a clan which owned a ridge three rivers from his own. She seemed contented enough, although it was clear that some enemy had laid a curse upon her, for her legs had swollen up enormously and her feet had become like those of an elephant. There was a great deal of dissatisfaction among the young men, Matu learnt. Before the strangers had come the warriors had herded cattle and gone to war, as God had intended them to do; now the country was quiet and raids forbidden by the elders. The warriors were taken off to carry loads as if they had been girls, to walk with bent backs and aching necks up steep paths, straps pressing on foreheads that were meant for the plumed head-dresses of war. In return for this they were given coins which they could now exchange for blankets and also goats, but they resented deeply the degradation of the work of the hide strips, as this task was called.

  Why then, Matu asked, did they not refuse to go ?

  Because the njamas were thorn-in-ear with the strangers, Ambui explained. In each district the strangers had picked out one man for their favoured friend. (Muthengi had been so selected on his ridge.) Each chosen man was given rupees, which he could trade for goats, and called a ruler, although of course he was not one at all. The njamas were friends and kinsmen of this
so-called ruler, and obeyed him. If a man refused to go when he was called for the work of the hide strips, several njamas would come when he was away from home and seize his cattle or his goats. Of course he could bring a charge of theft before the council and the njamas would then be ordered to repay the stolen stock, and fined; but they paid no attention to the council’s commands. In the old days their fathers would have paid the goats. Now the old men repudiated all responsibility, saying that their sons were only doing what the strangers told them.

  And then, if the aggrieved person made himself too unpleasant, the njamas would make some private arrangement with their foreign ally, and the unfortunate man would find himself brought before a stranger on some charge which he could not understand. The result, at any rate, was always the same : he lost his stock. It was best, therefore, to do what the njamas said and to discharge these unpleasant menial tasks for the strangers; though why they did not get women to carry their loads, no one could understand.

  Ambui’s hut was in the homestead of her father-in-law Mturi, and several of her husband’s younger brothers and sisters were there. Among them Matu noticed in particular a young girl with a newly shaven head and a graceful, although perhaps overskinny, body, somewhat marred by thick scar-tissue on one thigh and shoulder. Ambui said that she was a cousin whose mother was dead, and that the marks came from a fall into the fire when young. Her name was Wanja. She turned her face away whenever Matu approached and seemed shy and quiet and well-brought-up, and her body looked strong. Matu asked if she had a suitor, and was told that no one had as yet brought beer to her father. He looked at her with interest and tried to carry away her image in his mind. A great longing for a shamba and a flock of goats, for a wife and his own hearthstones, filled his heart.

  8