Chirupula | CT Ch 5

CHAPTER V

Up the Muchinga escarpment—Kakweli the Rhino-
ceros—Across the Lukashashi—Defection of Angoni
porters—Lala lore—Trial by poison

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned."

Or is it "spurned"? Anyhow, we had neither scorned
nor spurned: we had merely behaved ourselves with
Queen Mwape, and acted with due decorum which we
thought proper to our mission.
But when the time came to say good-bye, there was
such a strangeness about the demeanour of the few
villagers we saw that I fancied all was not quite well;
in fact, there was obviously something amiss, though
we had not the faintest idea how we had erred or offended.
It was years later, as I have explained, that I learned
how we had hurt Black Majesty's feelings.
The promised guide was a long time in appearing; but
at length and at last he turned up, silent and sulky, and
bidding a curt farewell to Mwape's "capital," we set out.
After a hot and tedious scramble through scrub and
brake and thicket, we arrived at the foot of a formidable
precipice which towered sheer above us—the main ridge
of the south-western portion of the Muchinga Moun-
tains.
Jones being a Welshman was also a mountaineer, so
he took the lead, straight up the almost perpendicular

UP THE MUCHINGA ESCARPMENT

2,000-foot wall before us; and up we went, climbing,
clambering, and sometimes crawling. But we soon found
this mountaineering beyond a joke, and the porters were
in difficulties: at imminent risk to themselves and our
belongings, they were reduced to passing their loads up
overhead as, and when, diey could get any sort of
footing.
However, at last the top was reached without serious
misadventure—and truly magnificent was the prospect
below us. A dozen miles away we saw the Luangwa like
a silver ribbon shining in green folds; and to the east,
whence we had come, the distant mountains lay like
mauve and purple and black shadows upon the horizon.
Yes . . . everything was beautiful, superbly beautiful,
until we discovered that we had not a drop of water!
Then things did not seem quite so good.
Although Jones and I and some of the more lightly
laden carriers had reached the summit, the men with the
more awkward loads were still mountaineering, so the
nimblest and best climbers were despatched down the
precipice to lend a hand.
But, of course, they would only help members of their
own clan, or family, or surname—the last is, perhaps,
the nearest equivalent according to our lights. In other
words, these people would regard all Smiths in the
world, all Browns, all Robinsons, as of the same descent:
all Smiths are relations, all Browns are relations, but no
Smidi is any kind of relative to a Brown—certainly not!
Natives of die same "surname" have, among them-
selves, particular rights and privileges: they will do for
their "brodiers" what they would do for themselves.
But the stranger, from another "surname," is, as the

CHIRUPULA'S TALE

Scriptures say, "Not with us," and therefore "against
us"—and is treated accordingly.
So here we were on the high ridge of the Muchingas—
the Luangwa River to the east, the Lukashashi River
below us to the west, and die Zambesi (in the neighbour-
hood of Zumbo) some 150 miles almost due south. We
had dropped down from the 4,000-foot plateau at Fort
Jameson to the 2,000-foot altitude of the Luangwa
valley, crossing on route the riverainc plain, and finally
the river; now we had just scaled the wall beyond trie
river, dus ridge of the Muchinga ("the-place-of-the-
gorges"), and had to clamber down again into the valley
of the Lukashashi, almost parallel with that of the
Luangwa. Thereafter—to anticipate, for the sake of
clearness—our padi was to lead us up across the minor
plateaux, to the west of the Lukashashi crossing, on to
the Great Plateau of Nordicrn Rhodesia which goes
away west, almost without interruption, to the Atlantic
borders of Angola or Portuguese West Africa.
Our descent into the Lukashashi—a lovely river,
with crystal-clear water over the pebbles, and shady
over-hanging trees—was uneventful, except that, much
to Jones's and my excitement, we found the spoor of
rhino, though we never saw die beasts responsible.
Kakwele the rhinoceros is a queer, morose, solitary
fellow, widi strange habits: for instance, he charges quite
inoffensive beings on sight; he goes to sleep after break-
fast, tucking up his short little legs, kneeling down and
sleeping like a sphinx; and (strangest of all) he always
returns to scatter his droppings. He can go like an
express train; he can also move like a ghost; and although
the killing shots are in his ear, or mid-neck, or behind

UP THE MUCHINGA ESCARPMENT

his shoulder, these are not conspicuous marks; and as
to other portions of his anatomy, it is better to reserve
your ammunition and leave them alone I
Of course, it is easy to jeer at Kakwele and his queer
and rather unpleasant habits; but you must remember
that there are extenuating circumstances.
You sec, long ago KakweM, who lived in a very rough
country, tore his hide, and he was very unhappy about
it. So when by chance he met the porcupine, what more
natural than that he should borrow a quill wherewith to
make a sewing-needle and sew up his rent garment?
But Kakwcle's fingers are short and clumsy, so he put
the needle into his mouth for a moment, to hold it while
he was direading it; and dien the needle slipped and he
swallowed it!
It was a terrible predicament: he didn't know what
to do about it; he wandered aimlessly to and fro all
day, puzzling and thinking. Then at length he met the
porcupine. The latter promptly demanded the return of
his quill; he'd had some trouble that day with the
leopard, and as a result was very short of his only means
of defence. Could he have his quill back, please?
"But, alas! I have lost your quill," replied Kakwele.
"IriluwiUr ("It is lost").
"Good heavens!" grunted die porcupine, "diat's a
nice diing to tell ir.c! Why, it's the only one I've got!"
"Into yenka" he chattered to Kakwele, "Into yenka"
("My only one; the only one I've got").
At last Kakwele was able to get away from his out-
raged creditor, and, knowing that he was in the wrong
and until he could repay the quill that he would remain
in the wrong—for ever and for ever and for ever—he

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was very much ashamed of himself and very much upset.
But he thought—and thought; and then suddenly he
realized that just as what goes up comes down, so dial
which goes in comes out, so . . .
Why, of course! . . . Accordingly, he rushed off to
where he'd been that morning when the dreadful acci-
dent happened, and began feverishly searching . . . but
no! No<—nodiing even resembling porcupine's lost
quill! Kakwele was so tired and so despondent diat he
fell asleep; and next day and for days and days—in die
intervals of this despondent sleep—he sought; but it
was no good. He was disgraced, and his children and
his children's children would be disgraced, because of
his infamy in borrowing and failing to repay.
The shamefulness of his position drove him from the
haunts of respectable and honourable animals into the
rocky fastnesses, into inaccessible thickets, into wild,
inhospitable places. The sense of lus dishonour and
worthlcssness preyed upon his mind; his search became
his obsession. Only when he sleeps—exhausted by mental
strain and the gnawing pangs of conscience—does he
forget his eternal quest. And when he wakes up he
remembers—and is very cross. So, unless you take all
diis into account, you must not judge Kakwele the
rhino. . . .
Beyond the Lukashashi we began to climb again, and
ascended gradually till the Mulcmbo River was reached
and crossed some twenty miles further on, when the
ascent became much more abrupt and the going more
difficult, with rocks and boulders often interrupting
progress.

UP THE MUCHINGA ESCARPMENT

But soon we were up, and it was indeed a relief to be
on comparatively cool highlands once more; for although
the valleys through which we had tramped are far hotter
in October or November, they had been quite warm
enough, and we were glad to find ourselves at last upon
the plateau.
In almost every dambo (meadow or clearing) through
which we passed now we saw game-fences, with bent
pole and loop snugly hidden over shallow holes, con-
cealed by twigs, designed to trap small buck; but of
game itself we saw nothing, for our askari and their
wives, and die carriers too, never kept their tongues
still for one instant, and our approach must have been
heralded from miles away. Nor—in spite of the evidence
of the traps—did we see people: the villages we passed
were silent and deserted, and we guessed that, having
heard our approach, the inhabitants had judged it best
to keep out of sight. For they were, we had heard,
adepts at the "Three R's" of Africa—as it was then—
i.e. Robbery, Rape, and Rapine. Comparisons, from
under the shadow of your nice policeman, may be
unflattering to Africa. But what of the country of Tweed
and Cheviot when, not so vastly long ago, your and my
ancestors harassed and rieved to their heart's content,
years after comparative quiet ruled bodi in Scodand and
the rest of England? We have conveniendy short
memories at home—and are in the devil of a hurry in
Africa!
Although we were not exactly reassured by the
emptiness and silence of the villages and wondered
what it all meant, we continued resolutely westward.
Our way lay up the north-east of die Mufulwe Hills,