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Updated: June 14, 2025
"Cazi Moto! Simba!" he shouted angrily. "Bwana?" "Sah?" two panting voices answered. "What is this?" They both began to speak at once. "You, Cazi Moto," commanded Kingozi. "These men are liars," began Cazi Moto. "What men?" "These men who brought the barua. They tell lies, bad lies, and we beat them for it." "Since when have you beaten liars? And since when have I ceased to deal punishment?
These people had never before laid eyes on a white man, but naturally, at this late date in African history, all had heard more or less of the phenomenon. Cazi Moto found that the distinction between Inglishee and Duyche was known. He left a general impression that Kingozi was the favourite son of the King, come from sheer friendship and curiosity to see M'tela, whose fame was universal.
It belongs to the king to displace extortioners, to the superintendent of the police to guard against murderers, and to the cazi to decide in quarrels and disputes. No two complainants ever referred to the cazi content to abide by justice: When thou knowest that in right the claim is just, better pay with a grace than by distress and force.
He wore now a suit of pajamas tucked into canvas "mosquito boots," with very thin soles. He looked scrubbed and clean, the sheen of water still glistening on his thick wavy hair. The canvas camp chair had been placed before two chop boxes piled one atop the other to form a crude table on which were laid eating utensils. As soon as Cazi Moto saw that his master was ready, he brought the meal.
"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?
Each man four days' potio, and what biltong he can use. Simba, take my small rifle and fifty cartridges. Take some snuff, beads, and wire only a little to trade for potio if you meet with other people. Understood?" "Yes, bwana." "Cazi Moto," he directed, "bring me the small box of wood from my sandoko."
Is it fairly new?" She reported favourably as to these points. "I am sorry, but I must take it over for myself," he said. "Matter not of comfort, but of prestige. You would do best to pitch your tent somewhere near. Cazi Moto, let the men make camp as usual." "Very well," she agreed to her part of this program.
Two were getting individual treatment: Simba and Cazi Moto were putting them through a careful course in aiming and pulling the trigger on empty guns. Kingozi sat on a chop box in the shade, gripping his eternal pipe, and issuing curt orders and criticisms to the baker's dozen, before him. When he saw the Leopard Woman he arose and strolled in her direction.
The green tent with the fly faced him, the flaps thrown back to show within his cot and tin box. White porters' tents had been pitched in the usual circle, and before each squatted men cooking over little fires. The loads, covered by the tarpaulin, had been arranged in the centre of the circle. At a short distance to the rear the cook camp steamed. Cazi Moto stood at his elbow grinning.
He passed the knife on to the dignitary who stood behind his chair. "This," said Kingozi, taking one of the steaming balauris from Cazi Moto, "is the white man's tembo." The sultani tasted doubtfully. He was pleased. He gave back the balauri at last with a final smack of the lips. "Good!" said he. Another full five minutes of silence ensued. Then the sultani arose.
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