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Updated: June 18, 2025
When he speaks it is wisdom. Those who do what he says follow wisdom. Bassi!" Immediately this admonition was finished Kingozi issued his first command: "Bring all loads to this place." Nobody stirred at first. "My loads, the loads of Bibi-ya-chui all to this place."
He heard his victim's gasp, the mutter of the crowd. They passed him by. Then he sank back, a half smile on his lips. He had caught the rustle of silks, the indignant breathing of a woman. He knew that Bibi-ya-chui stood before him. "But this is atrocious!" she cried. "This cannot go on!" "It shall go on," he replied steadily. "Why not?" "He is my man. I forbid it!"
"Here, this won't do!" he said aloud. "If I get the wrong stuff in my eyes it will destroy them permanently." He raised his voice for Cazi Moto. "When Bibi-ya-chui is awake," he told the headman, "I want to see her. Tell her to come." Kingozi washed, dressed, had his breakfast, and sat quietly in his chair. In the open he found that he had a dim consciousness of light, but that was all.
"I hear men marching," said Kingozi. Cazi Moto stopped. "It is the safari of Bibi-ya-chui." Already Kingozi's nickname for her had been adopted. Cazi Moto disappeared, and a moment later was heard outside pouring water into the canvas basin. Instead of arising immediately, as was his ordinary custom, Kingozi lay still. The Leopard Woman was already travelling! What could that mean?
His mind was occupied by another, more human problem. The discovery that the atropin and not the pilocarpin had been destroyed agitated him profoundly; not, as might be believed, because it enabled him at a critical time to regain the use of his sight, but because it threw before him an insistent question. Did, or did not, Bibi-ya-chui know?
The pleased warriors dandled them up and down delightedly in an n'goma. The ordinary "plug hat" was known to these people, but not an opera hat. This vaudeville entertainment was always a huge success. The newcomers squatted around the two chairs, and the conversation continued. Bibi-ya-chui occasionally stood near and listened. The subjects were trivial in themselves, and repeated endlessly.
There was plenty of game, the days passed pleasantly, the evenings were delightful. A moonbeam flashed in his brain showing him vistas He firmly shut the window! Certainly if Bibi-ya-chui harboured any active desire to drive Kingozi into leaving her to her own devices, she concealed it well. Occasionally in the evening, when he stared into the distance, she twisted herself to look at him.
"I'm on a job, and I must do it. Came near being a messy ass!" He saw plainly enough that a mission such as his had no place in it for women even such women as Bibi-ya-chui. She must go back or stay here didn't matter much which. The call of duty sounded very clear. By the time he had reached the level of the upper plateau his mind was fully made up.
Kingozi demanded, abruptly conscious that the chop box was not very comfortable. "Bibi-ya-chui has it." "Where is she?" "Right behind you," came that young woman's voice in amused tones. "You have been so busy that you have not seen me." Kingozi turned. The chair had been placed in a bare spot close to the trunk of the great tree. He grinned cheerfully.
"Their ornaments, their arms?" cried Kingozi with impatience. "They are poor people," replied Bibi-ya-chui. "They have armlets of iron beaten out, and necklaces of shell fragments or bone. They carry spears with a short blade, broad like a leaf." "Their armlets are not of wire? They have no cowrie shells?" "No, it is beaten iron " "Good!" cried Kingozi. "There has been little or no trading here!"
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