This chapter contains a short account of the Rendili and Burkeneji, compiled from a series of disconnected and incomplete notes taken on the spot. They will, however, serve to give the reader some idea of that peculiar people, the Rendili. Their utter dissimilarity from those tribes hitherto encountered, such as the A’kikuyu, Wa’kamba, and Masai, is very striking. Who and what they are is a problem the solution of which I leave to abler and wiser heads than mine.

The Rendili and Burkeneji are two nomad tribes, the units of which wander at will over the whole of Samburuland. They have, nevertheless, several permanent settlements. Von Hohnel speaks of Rendili inhabiting the largest of the three islands in the south end of Lake Rudolph, the other two being occupied by Burkeneji and Reshiat. He also speaks of settlements of mixed Rendili and Burkeneji in the western portion of the Reshiat country, at the north end of the lake, though very possibly the latter were only temporary settlements. The Burkeneji also inhabit the higher portions of Mount Nyiro, where they have taken refuge from the fierce attacks of the Turkana. With the single exception of Marsabit, a crater lake situated about sixty miles north of the Waso Nyiro which is always filled with pure sweet water, there is no permanent water in Samburuland. Elephants were at one time very numerous at Marsabit, but we learnt from the Rendili that they had disappeared during the last few years. The lake is the headquarters of the Rendili, from whence they move south to the Waso Nyiro only when the pasturage, through the scarcity of rain or other cause, becomes insufficient for the needs of their vast flocks and herds.

At the time of our visit there had been no rain during the previous three years, and in consequence the pasturage had almost entirely disappeared. Even on the Waso Nyiro it was very scanty.

We found the Burkeneji a very sullen people. The young men especially, very inclined to be pugnacious, and, not knowing our real strength, were haughtily contemptuous in their dealings with us. The majority were apparently unaware of the power of our rifles, though one or two of the old men had seen shots fired at game. The Burkeneji and the Rendili together had, some time before, fought with the Ogaden Somalis, many of whom were armed with old muzzle-loading guns, using very inferior powder and spherical bullets. The Rendili declared that they were able to stop or turn the bullets with their shields. The following incident shows the serio-comic side of their belief in their own native weapons.

A party of Burkeneji warriors were in our camp one day when I returned from an unsuccessful search for game. They noticed my rifle, and one of the party put out his hand as if he wished to examine it. I handed it to him, and he and his friends pawed it all over, commenting on its weight; finally it was handed back to me with a superior and contemptuous smile, while they balanced and fondled their light spears with an air of superiority that was too ludicrous to be offensive.

The Burkeneji are very like the Masai or the Wakwafi of Nyemps in appearance, wearing their hair in a pigtail in the same manner, while their clothing and ornaments are very similar. Owing probably to long residence with the Rendili, however, they are gradually adopting the dress and ornaments of the latter, a large majority of them having already taken to cloth for everyday wear. They appeared to be very fond of gaudily coloured “laissos,” quite unlike the Rendili, who will wear nothing but white. The Burkeneji speak Masai, but most of them understand the language of the Rendili.

They own large numbers of good cattle and grey donkeys, and also large flocks of sheep and goats, the latter mainly looted from the Rendili. This little failing accounts for the nickname “dthombon” (robbers) given them by the latter. Their donkeys were beautiful animals, in splendid condition, being sleek, glossy coated, and full of fight. It was risky for strangers to approach them while they were grazing. They seemed inclined to take the offensive on the one or two occasions on which I endeavoured to get near enough to examine them; and to have had to shoot one in self-defence would probably have led to serious trouble with its owner. Besides which, such a course seemed to me to savour too much of the ridiculous. They were more than half wild, and many were wearing a particularly diabolical twitch, otherwise I suppose even their owners would have had some difficulty in handling them. This cruel instrument consisted of a piece of flexible wood a foot in length thrust through the cartilage of the nostrils, the ends being drawn together with cord, so that the whole contrivance resembled a bow passed through the nose.

The Burkeneji were very unwilling to trade; in fact, they refused to have anything to do with us. On one occasion this bad feeling led to friction between some of our men and the young warriors of one of their villages. We had sent a small party of five or six men to this particular village with a supply of cloth, wire, and beads for the purpose of buying sheep. Our men were from the first badly received, and after a while the warriors commenced to hustle them. They put up with it for some time, but presently a spear was thrown, happily without fatal result, as the M’kamba at whom it was launched received it on the butt of his Snider, where it made a deep cut in the hard wood. Our men, with commendable prudence, refrained from using their rifles, and returned to camp amid the jeers of their assailants.

On their return El Hakim decided that it was absolutely necessary that the matter should be stringently dealt with, and to that end issued orders that on the following morning a party of our men were to hold themselves in readiness to accompany us to the village for the purpose of demanding a “shaurie.” These preparations, however, proved superfluous, as at sunrise we were waited upon by a deputation of elders from the village in question, who had come to try to square matters. As a sign of our displeasure, we kept them waiting for some time, and after the suspense had reduced them to a sufficiently humble frame of mind, we condescended to appear and listen to their explanation.

They prefaced their apology by a long rambling statement to the effect that “the Burkeneji were the friends of the white man.” “It was good to be friends,” said they, “and very bad not to be friends,” and so on. After they had quite exhausted their limited powers of rhetoric, we put in a few pointed questions.

“Do friends throw spears?” we asked.

“Oh, that!” said they, in tones of surprise that we should have noticed such a trivial occurrence, and they forthwith plunged into a maze of apologies and explanations to the effect that young men would be young men. It was, of course, extremely regrettable that such an unpleasant incident should have occurred to mar our friendly relations, but they trusted we would take a lenient view of the conduct of the foolish young man, the more so as he had already been driven away from the village as a punishment for his offence. “And,” they added, with a charming naïveté, “would we give them a present and say no more about it?”

El Hakim declined to take such a lenient view of the case. To have done so would have been construed into a confession of weakness, and probably have led to more serious complications. He therefore demanded that the young man should be delivered up to him for punishment, or, failing that, a fine of ten sheep should be paid by his father.

They answered solemnly that the white men had very hard hearts; furthermore, the young man, having already been driven out of the village, could not now be found, and they were in consequence quite unable to give him up.

“Then,” said El Hakim, “his papa must pay the fine.”

They protested that the wicked young man had no papa, or, indeed, any relatives whatsoever; in fact, that he was an outcast whom, from charitable motives, they had allowed to stop in their village. We declined to believe such a preposterous story, and remained firm on the subject of the fine. After a time, finding remonstrance useless, the elderly deputation sorrowfully withdrew, after promising that the fine should be paid.

The next day six sheep were driven into our camp, and the old gentleman in charge stated that they were all he could afford, and would we consider the matter settled. We were inexorable, however, so soon afterwards the balance of the fine was brought into camp and handed over.

It was the old, old story, which can be paralleled in any town in the civilized world. The story of a young man sowing his wild oats, who, for some breach of the peace or other, comes within the grasp of the law, when ensues the police court, and the fine paid by papa, anxious to redeem his erring offspring.

We were truly sorry for the good old Burkeneji gentleman, who paid the fine in order to keep the peace which his son had so recklessly endangered; but our sympathy did not prevent our sense of justice—in this case more than usually acute, as the safety of our own persons was threatened—nor did it prevent us from exacting the full penalty.

The Rendili we found to be of very different behaviour, though they have a very bad character from Mr. Chanler. He describes them as overbearing, quarrelsome, treacherous, and haughtily contemptuous towards strangers. He met them at Kome in 1893, and stayed with them two or three days. Since his visit, however, they have been, as I have already remarked, terribly decimated by small-pox, and possibly that has toned them down somewhat.

They are tall and well built, with slim and graceful figures and light, clear skins. They have an appearance of cleanliness and wholesomeness which was altogether wanting in the other natives whom we had previously met. Their distinctly Semitic features bear little resemblance to those of the typical negro, with his squat nose, prognathous jaws, and everted lips. There were many members of the tribe with good clean-cut features, well-shaped jaws and chins, and pronounced aquiline noses. They somewhat resembled high-bred Arabs in general appearance, and, if clothed in Arab dress, they, with their fine, straight, close-cut jet black hair, could not be easily distinguished from that aristocratic race.

At one time they wore a rough, coarsely woven garment of sheep’s wool, but at the time I saw them they had entirely taken to trade cloth to the exclusion of the home-made article. They then wore large mantles of this cotton cloth, made by sewing together two three-yard lengths of cloth, thus forming a large square piece. The edges of this are then unravelled to form tassels, which are further ornamented with small red and white beads. This they draped round them somewhat in the manner of a Mexican “serape.” They and their clothes were always scrupulously clean. Unlike the Burkeneji they will never wear anything but white cloth. “Coloured cloths,” they remarked contemptuously to us on one occasion, “were only fit for women and Masai.” They prefer the English drill, called “Marduf” by the Swahilis, to the lighter and commoner “Merikani” (American sheeting).

They wear a good many beads as ornaments, which are carefully worked into necklaces and armlets of artistic design, and not put on haphazard, as is the custom of the surrounding tribes, and of those south of the Waso Nyiro. The beads are usually strung on hair from the tail of the giraffe, which is as stiff as thin wire. With this they make broad collars and bands for the arms and ankles, the beads being arranged in geometrical designs, such as squares and triangles, of different colours, red and white being the favourites. The demand for seninge (iron wire) was extraordinary, though serutia (brass wire) ran it a close second. Copper wire, strange to say, they would not look at.

They are circumcized in the Mohammedan manner, and, in addition, they are mutilated in a most extraordinary fashion by having their navels cut out, leaving a deep hole. They are the only tribe mutilated in this manner with the exception of the Marle, who inhabit the district north of “Basso Ebor” (Lake Stephanie), and who are probably an offshoot of the Rendili.

The Rendili women are singularly graceful and good looking, with arch, gentle manners and soft expressive eyes. They wear a good many ornaments, principally bead necklaces and armlets of coloured beadwork. Their hair is allowed to grow in short curls. One or two I saw wore it cut very close, with the exception of a ridge of hair on the top of the head, extending from the centre of the forehead backwards over the crown to the nape of the neck, which was left uncut. Whether they were Turkana women who had intermarried with the Rendili or not, I am unable to say, it being the custom of the Turkana women to dress their hair in that manner; though, on the other hand, the fashion might have been merely copied from them by the Rendili women.

The Rendili women also wear cloth. Their garments were of much less generous proportions than those of their lords and masters; but they wore more ornaments, the Venetian beads we carried being in great demand for that purpose. They also wore armlets and leg ornaments of brass and iron wire, the iron wire especially being much sought after. They do not use skins for clothing, though they cure them and use them for sleeping-mats, and also for trading with the Reshiat and Wa’embe. The skins are cured by the women, who, after the skin is sufficiently sun-dried, fasten it by the four corners to a convenient bush, and scrape the hair from it with a broad chisel-shaped iron tool, afterwards softening it by rubbing it between the hands.

El Hakim bought several cornelian beads from the women, evidently of native manufacture. They were roughly hexahedral in shape, and were cleanly pierced, with no little skill, to admit of their being strung on a thread. We could not discover from whence they had obtained them. It is possible that they may have filtered through from Zeila or Berbera on the Somali coast, where they had been brought by Arab or Hindoo traders.

The Rendili women, unlike the Masai, are remarkably chaste, the morals of the tribe as a whole being apparently of a comparatively high standard. Polygamy is practised, but it is not very much en évidence.

A point which struck me very much was their fondness for children. For some reason, perhaps on account of the small-pox, the birth-rate by no means equalled the deaths, and children were consequently very scarce. What children they possessed they fairly worshipped. Everything was done for their comfort and pleasure that their adoring parents could devise. This love of children extended to the offspring of other tribes, and they were perfectly willing to adopt any child they could get hold of.

Both Lemoro and Lokomogo—two of the principal chiefs—asked us on several occasions to sell them two or three of the boys who acted as servants to our Swahilis, but we declined to do so, as it was, to our minds, too much like slave dealing. We gave some of the boys permission to stop with the Rendili if they felt so inclined, but only two of them tried it; and they came back a few days later, saying the life was too quiet for them.

Ismail Robli, we had good reason to believe, sold some boys to Lemoro, and we were afterwards the means of rescuing one little chap, who came into camp saying that Ismail had sold him to that chief, though he did not want to stop with the Rendili. We protected him during a somewhat stormy scene in our camp with old Lemoro, who said he had given Ismail two camels for the boy. When we taxed Ismail, he, of course, denied it, saying that the boy had deserted to the Rendili, and that the two camels were only a present from Lemoro. However, we kept the boy, who belonged to M’thara, and had left there with Ismail’s safari as a servant to one of his porters, and on our return to M’thara sent him to M’Dominuki with an account of the affair, and he was ultimately restored to his home. After this incident Ismail tried to do us what mischief he could by causing friction between ourselves and the Rendili, but was happily unsuccessful, though he nevertheless caused us some anxious moments.

The Rendili have no definite religion so far as I could ascertain. Mr. Chanler mentions a story current among them about a man and a woman who settled somewhere in the north of Samburuland a very long time ago, and from whom the Rendili are descended; very similar to the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. They show traces of contact with Mohammedans by their use of the word “Allah” as an exclamation of astonishment, though seeming not to know its meaning.

They have apparently no regard for the truth for its own sake, lying appearing to them to be a most desirable form of amusement. It is on this account rather difficult to obtain information about themselves or of their country, as in answer to questions they will say only what they think will please their questioner, whether it is right or not. When one finds them out they do not betray the slightest embarrassment, but regard the matter rather in the light of a good joke.

They will tell the most unblushing lies on all and every subject under discussion, and if, as sometimes happened, circumstances disproved their words to their very faces, they would smile an amiable self-satisfied smile as of one who says, “See what a clever fellow I am.”

On one occasion I inquired of the people of a certain village some two hours’ march from our camp if they wished to sell any sheep. I was informed that the inhabitants of the village in question were simply yearning to sell their sheep. I came down to plain figures, and inquired how many they would be likely to sell.

“Very many, quite as many as that,” said my informant, indicating a passing flock of sheep that numbered some hundreds.

Knowing the vast numbers of sheep possessed by the people of that particular village, I thought it not unlikely that I should be able to buy at least a hundred. However, when I went to the village, joyfully anticipating a good market, I found that they did not wish to sell any sheep whatever, and, moreover, never had wished to. I was eventually compelled to return disappointed—not having secured more than two or three—and very much annoyed with the elderly gentleman who had so deliberately misled me. He knew at the time that the people of the village did not wish to sell any sheep, but being unwilling to disappoint me by telling me so, he lied, with the laudable but mistaken idea of sparing my feelings.

They are probably the richest natives in Africa, calculated per head of population. Some of them own vast numbers of camels, sheep, and goats, and since the small-pox has nearly exterminated this once powerful and numerous tribe, it is not uncommon to find a village of eight or ten families, numbering not more than thirty persons all told, owning flocks of over 20,000 sheep and goats, and large numbers of camels. Old Lubo, the doyen of the Rendili chiefs, personally owned upwards of 16,000 camels, besides over 30,000 sheep and goats. The Rendili live almost entirely on the vast quantities of milk they obtain from their flocks and herds, for they milk their camels, goats, and sheep with equal impartiality. They do not hunt as a rule, but sometimes the young men spear small antelope. They are very unwilling to slaughter any of their animals for food. They must do so occasionally, however, as I have once or twice seen them eating meat. Furthermore, the old women of the tribe used occasionally to bring a grilled bone, or a bladder of mutton fat into camp, for sale to our men. Meat would seem to be quite a luxury to them, as a bone to which a few scraps of meat were adhering was offered for sale at an exorbitant price, with an air as of conferring a special favour.

We ourselves lived almost entirely on milk during our six weeks’ stay among the Rendili, with the exception of the twelve days occupied by our journey down the river in the search for Lorian. El Hakim, George, and I drank nearly two gallons per day each. It formed a pleasant and, from a dietetic point of view, a useful change from the exclusively meat diet on which we subsisted, from the time of our arrival at the “Green Camp” till our return to M’thara, a period of over two months. The camel’s milk was very salt, which to some extent compensated for the absence of that mineral in the ordinary form. El Hakim informed me that a little to the east of Maisabit a large extent of the country is under a layer of salt, two or three inches in thickness. It required one day’s journey to cross it, which represents a vast quantity of pure salt, and it was principally from this that the animals of the Rendili obtained such salt as they required.

The milk we required for our own use we bought with the Venetian beads. We, of course, boiled every drop before using it, and rendered it still more palatable by the addition of a tabloid or two of saccharin from the medicine chest, so long as they lasted. The milk often curdled in boiling, owing to the vessels it had been brought in not having been cleaned since the milking the night before, and we were compelled to eat the solid curds with a spoon. We served out an allowance of beads to the men every day, with which they bought milk, fat, and occasionally meat.

El Hakim heard that many years before, the sheep and goats of the Rendili, with the exception of Lubo’s, which were camped in another place at the time, had been swept away by a pestilence. In such cases the custom of the tribe appears to be that the owner of the surviving flocks must give the others sufficient animals to enable them to recommence breeding; but he has the right to take them back, together with their progeny, provided that his own needs require it. Old Lubo, therefore, was practically the owner of all the vast flocks of the Rendili, which could only be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The confidence between the animals and their owners was very noteworthy, even the sheep allowing themselves to be handled freely for milking, and for purposes of examination. They are of the fat-tailed variety, some of the tails weighing as much as thirty pounds. This fat tail is another object lesson of the way nature provides her creatures against all emergencies. The Rendili sheep in times of plenty develop and store a large reserve of nourishment in the fat of their ponderous tails, so that when, as often happens, their pasturage becomes exhausted through want of rain or other causes, they have a store to draw upon, sufficient for their needs for a considerable period. Another store of fat is also formed, in the case of the Rendili sheep, in a large pouch or dewlap under the throat, and also on the breast-bone, where the fat is often a couple of inches in thickness.

As an instance of the ignorance and denseness of the average Swahili, as regards anything outside his own particular sphere, I will mention a little incident which occurred one day. El Hakim sent Jumbi and three or four men with a supply of cloth and beads to buy sheep at a Rendili village. He was instructed to buy “soben,” i.e. ewes, in good condition. He returned next day with a dozen or so of the raggedest scarecrows that the Rendili had been able to rake out. El Hakim reprimanded him, and asked why he had not obtained better animals, as those he had brought had no fat tails at all, but merely shrivelled-up skin. Jumbi answered that it was true that the Rendili had brought sheep with much fatter tails to him, but he had rejected them, their tails being so large that he thought the sheep would not be able to travel!

The Rendili own donkeys, but not so many as the Burkeneji. They also own horses, which the Burkeneji do not, and which they probably procure from the Borana, who are reported to own vast numbers of them. The Borana are a very powerful and numerous tribe living in north-east Galla-land. They are fierce fighters, and it was formerly quite the correct thing for any warrior among the Rendili who yearned for distinction to lead a raiding party against the Borana, who as often returned the compliment.

The Borana fight with two short, broad-bladed spears, while for defensive purposes they carry a small round shield made from the skin of the hump of the oryx. They wear cloth—a small cloth round the loins and a larger one thrown over the shoulders completing their costume. They possess large numbers of cattle, sheep, and goats, and vast herds of half-wild horses. They are a sullen, inhospitable people, very unwilling to receive strangers. They, like the Rendili and Burkeneji, wear sandals, the thorny acacia, so plentifully distributed thereabouts, being even too much for the naked feet of savages.

The Rendili ride their horses with a saddle something like the native Somali saddle. It is made of wood, covered with sheepskin, and is fastened by a girth knotted to rings in the saddle. The stirrups are similar to those of the Somali, consisting merely of two iron rings, into which the rider thrusts his big toe, his sandals having been previously removed. A breast-plate and crupper are used to keep the saddle in place. They use a very crude iron bit, of a particularly cruel form, attached to strips of undressed leather which do duty for reins.

The Rendili are among the most persistent beggars that I have ever met with. The Egyptian beggar, with his oft-reiterated “backshish,” is hard to beat, but the average Rendili could easily give him long odds and a beating. It grew to be quite a fashionable amusement with them to come down to our camp, often some hours’ journey, and spend the day in begging for small articles. When El Hakim, who slept outside his tent, awoke in the morning, he would find a number of them squatted round his bed, and as soon as he opened his eyes a murmur of “Mate serutia?” (Is there no brass wire?) greeted him. He would answer “Mate! mate!” (No! no!) and retreat hurriedly to the interior of the tent. But it was of no use; a moment later he would be again approached by his questioners, who would softly inquire, “Mate serutia?” having apparently forgotten his emphatic negative to the same inquiry five minutes before. Again El Hakim would answer, “Mate serutia!” (There is no brass wire!). So, gazing reproachfully at him, his tormenters would leave him and come to me.

The same succession of beseeching inquiry and stony refusal would be gone through, and when they were convinced that I was as hard-hearted as El Hakim, they would leave me and try George. He also was adamant; but they were not discouraged. Back they would go to El Hakim, and repeat the whole performance.

This happened every hour of every day during the whole period of our sojourn among them; it almost drove us frantic on occasions. To do them justice, the cry was sometimes varied; sometimes it was “Mate serutia?” and other times “Mate tumbao?” (tobacco), of which they are inordinately fond, probably because they can obtain it only on the rare occasions when they come in contact with the Wa’embe, and the Reshiat at the north end of the “Basso Norok” (Lake Rudolph).

Lubo himself often sat for hours in front of the temporary hut of palm leaves we had erected as a council house, begging for a few beads or a small piece of brass wire. We ridiculed him once, saying that we were surprised that he, who was such a wealthy man, should beg for a few beads. He was amazed!

“Is it not good to give?” he said.

“Well, then, why do you not give us something?” we inquired.

“You have never asked me!” he answered simply.

If we had been a wealthy exploring caravan, rich enough to have bestowed munificent gifts on the Rendili on our arrival, doubtless their value, or near it, would have been returned to us in kind, but we could not then have been certain of getting what we needed, as the return gift might have consisted of camels or some other commodity which we did not require, and which we would be unable, from the nature of the case, to refuse. We preferred, therefore, the slower and more sordid process of bartering for what we wanted. We had, of course, bestowed presents on arrival, but nothing large enough to warrant the gift of perhaps half a dozen camels in return.

Their begging was at times particularly aggravating; for instance, after a hot and weary morning passed in trade “shauries” and discussions with the various elders respecting presents to be given and received. Having lunched on a quart of milk or so, we would retire for a smoke and a siesta. Just as we were dropping off into a delicious doze, a dusky countenance would be thrust into the hut, and a gentle voice would softly utter, “Mate serutia?” accompanied by a touching smile and insinuatingly outstretched paw. At such times language failed us, and we could only glare. But glaring did not seem to have any effect; the intruder did not mind it in the least, so the services of Ramathani had to be requisitioned, and as he led the culprit gently away, we would compose ourselves once more to sleep to the accompaniment of the plaintive murmur of “Mate serutia” sandwiched between the voluble remonstrances of our faithful henchman.

But five minutes later, the whole performance would be repeated!

The Rendili villages consist of low, flat-topped huts constructed of bush and reeds arranged in a circle a hundred yards or so in diameter. In the centre they construct a circular enclosure for their flocks. Outside the whole a strong thorn “boma” is built, with generally two gateways on opposite sides, which are closed at night. In consequence of the great reduction in their numbers by small-pox, most of the villages were very short handed. Women and little children acted as shepherds in place of the now extinct warriors, whose duty it had been before the scourge removed them. So much was this the case that in some villages the inhabitants, even when reinforced by the women and children, were still too few to be able to drive all their animals to water daily. They were therefore reduced to the expedient of driving their sheep and goats down one day, and the camels the next, and so on alternately.

Their household utensils were few, and simple in construction. Their milk-vessels were either of wood, hollowed and shaped, or of plaited string, made watertight with gum. Some of the vessels of plaited string were further strengthened by a covering of raw hide stitched with gut. They were made in all sizes, ranging from a tiny measure holding scarcely a pint to large vessels holding two or three gallons. They also construct a rude spoon from plaited string. They possess a few gourds, doubtless obtained by barter from other tribes. They use the bladders of animals for the purpose of holding fat, and for other purposes, such as satchels and bags.

The pack-saddles for their camels and donkeys are made of wickerwork. They are very light and strong, and answer the purpose admirably. The donkey pack-saddle consists of two elongated oval frames of bent wickerwork laced with strips of hide in a similar manner to the gut in a tennis racquet. These frames are then connected with two broad bands, which are fastened to their lower edges and pass over the donkey’s back. The forage or household effects, or whatever has to be carried, is packed on the donkey, being kept from slipping by the frames, which are then tied with cords on their upper edges, one to the other, thus making the package complete and snug.

Their weapons consist of spears, shields, and bows and arrows. The spears are very light, and do not look at all dangerous. The blade is of the usual laurel-leaf shape, common to the Suk, Turkana, and Kamasia tribes, though one or two of Somali pattern are occasionally seen.

Their shields are also of the shape peculiar to the Suk and Turkana. Made of buffalo-hide, they are of a very narrow oblong shape, with a peculiar curve when seen in profile. They are ornamented with a tuft of feathers at the top. They are now usually constructed of ox-hide, as, since the rinderpest, the buffalo is very scarce, and a buffalo shield is valued accordingly. There are also a few of the wickerwork shields of the Reshiat in use among them.

Their bows differ in shape from those of the A’kikuyu and Wa’kamba, in that they are turned forward at the ends, in a similar manner to the conventional Cupid’s bow. So far as I could ascertain, their arrows are not poisoned.

They do not use clubs as weapons; at least, I saw none that could be used as such. The only club they carried consisted of the kernel of the doum nut fastened on to the end of a slight stick some eighteen inches in length, a hole being bored longitudinally through the nut, and the stick inserted. The kernel was in many cases ornamented with small coloured beads, which were inlaid when it was new and comparatively soft, the whole then finished off by being covered with a thin layer of gum.

That the reports of the powers of the Rendili in warfare were not devoid of foundation was borne out in a striking manner by facts which came under our observation. Many of our visitors showed livid scars on the left forearm and breast. Inquiry revealed the fact that the warriors who wished to be accounted brave in warfare dispensed with their shields altogether, receiving on their left forearm those spear-thrusts they were unable to avoid. This is, as far as I know, a unique characteristic among African savages, though I am open to correction on that point. The fact that the Rendili, besides attacking the Borana, have also successfully raided the Wa’embe and the A’kikuyu of north-east Kenia speaks well for their courage and enterprise. Most of the elders we met showed great scars on the arms, breasts, and thighs—relics of spear-thrusts received in the sanguinary conflicts of their hot-blooded youth. The tribe now shows only the merest traces of its former greatness, depending mainly on the Burkeneji for protection from outside interference, though they are still by no means to be despised.

The Burkeneji, noting the ravages of the small-pox on their once all-powerful neighbours, were not slow in profiting by the lesson. When the scourge appeared, they sent their young men away to separate camps, and so preserved them. They were able to do so without inconvenience, as they did not own such numbers of animals as the Rendili, who would not send their youths away, as they wanted them to look after their flocks and herds—a short-sighted policy which cost them very dearly.

Now, the Burkeneji were perfectly willing to protect the Rendili, but in return they considered that they ought to be allowed the right to help themselves from the Rendili flocks whenever they felt so disposed; and to do them justice they fully acted up to this idea, without fear of reprisals. It seemed to me a very peculiar state of affairs. The two tribes lived together, that is, their villages were intermingled, and they travelled together; yet the Burkeneji constantly raided the Rendili, and though the Rendili did not seem to like it, they never openly resented the depredations.

Old Lubo once complained to us that he had been raided during the afternoon—as a matter of fact, the raid took place not five minutes’ walk from our camp—and a few score of sheep and two women had been looted from him. We inquired why he made no attempt to recapture them. He opened his eyes widely at the novelty of the idea.

“We do not fight between friends,” he said.

Notwithstanding their fighting qualities, both the Rendili and Burkeneji were very anxious about the Masai. They seemed to live in dread of them. We were frequently asked if we had seen any Masai on our march up, and whether we thought they were coming to the Waso Nyiro. Large parties of Masai “elmoran” (warriors) had occasionally attempted to raid the Rendili, but were almost always unsuccessful, the principal reason being the inaccessibility of the country and the nomadic habits of the tribe.

On the march the Masai elmoran carries next to nothing in the way of provisions, trusting to find cattle on the road, which he can use for food, after massacring the owners. Thompson describes the ceremony of the departure of a Masai war-party thus—

“For a month they devoted themselves to an indispensable, though revolting preparation. This consisted in their retiring in small parties to the forest, and there gorging themselves with beef. This they did under the belief that they were storing up a supply of muscle and ferocity of the most pronounced type. This strange process being finished and the day fixed on, the women of the krall went out before sunrise, with grass dipped in the cream of cow’s milk. Then they danced, and invoked N’gai for a favourable issue to the enterprise, after which they threw the grass in the direction of the enemy. The young men spent several hours at their devotions, howling out in the most ludicrous street-singer fashion, ‘Aman N’gai-ai! Aman M’baratien!’ (We pray to God! We pray to M’baratien!). Previous to this, however, a party had been sent to the chief ‘lybon’ of the Masai—M’baratien—to seek advice as to the time of their start, and to procure medicines to make them successful. On their return the party mustered and set off!”

It will be seen that under these conditions it was a very difficult matter to successfully raid a tribe like the Rendili, to reach whom they had to cross uninhabited and desolate country for ten days or more, and generally to arrive at their prospective victims’ camping-ground starved and emaciated with their rapid and difficult march, to find that the Rendili had withdrawn with all their flocks and herds still further into the depths of the wilderness. Weakened by want of food, and fatigued almost beyond endurance, there would be nothing for the war-party but to retrace their steps, it being quite hopeless to attempt to find the Rendili in the desert, in which they were quite at home. So, sadder and wiser, the crestfallen elmoran would return, many dropping by the way from hunger and exhaustion, till a pitiful remnant of the once proud and arrogant war-party would totter home, to rest and recuperate before starting on another raid on the A’kikuyu, where the prizes, if few in number, did not entail so much inconvenience in the collection.