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Updated: May 18, 2025
3rd November, 1867. The ranges of hills retire as we advance; the soil is very rich. At two villages the people did not want us, so we went on and encamped near a third, Kabwakwa, where a son of Mohamad bin Saleh, with a number of Wanyamwesi, lives. The chief of this part is Muabo, but we did not see him: the people brought plenty of food for us to buy. The youth's father is at Casembe's.
I proposed to Mohamad Bogharib to send back the women seized by Bin Juma, to show the Babemba that he disapproved of the act and was willing to make peace, but this was too humiliating; I added that their price as slaves was four barrels of gunpowder or 160 dollars, while slaves lawfully bought would have cost him only eight or ten yards of calico each. 28th and 29th November, 1868.
Mohamad has resolved to go to Manyuema as soon as parties of his men now out return: this is all in my favour; it is in the way I want to go to see the Lualaba and Lufira to Chowambé. The way seems opening out before me, and I am thankful.
Mohamad says that he will not return to Casembe again, but will begin to trade with some other chief: it is rather hard for a man at his age to begin de novo. He is respected among the Arabs, who pronounce him to be a good man.
Not one good-looking slave-woman is now left of Mohamad Bogharib's fresh slaves; all the pretty ones obtain favour by their address, beg to be unyoked, and then escape.
Reached Kabwabwata at noon, and were welcomed by Mohamad and all the people. His son, Sheikh But, accompanied us; but Mohamad told us previously that it was likely Mpwéto would refuse to see us. The water is reported to be so deep in front that it is impossible to go north: the Wanyamwesi, who are detained here as well as we, say it is often more than a man's depth, and there are no canoes.
It is a motley group, composed of Mohamad and his friends, a gang of Unyamwezi hangers-on, and strings of wretched slaves yoked together in their heavy slave-sticks. 11th December, 1868. We marched four hours unmolested by the natives, built a fence, and next day crossed the Lokinda River and its feeder the Mookosi; here the people belonged to Chisabi, who had not joined the other Babemba.
It is often muddy, and many rivulets are to be crossed. Mohamad is naturally anxious to stay a little while with his son, for it is a wet season, and the mud is disagreeable to travel over: it is said to be worse near Ujiji: he cooks small delicacies for me with the little he has, and tries to make me comfortable. Vinegar is made from bananas, and oil from ground-nuts.
Mohamad gives the same account of the River Luapula and Lake Bemba that Jumbé did, but he adds, that the Chambezé, where we crossed it, is the Luapula before it enters Bemba or Bangweolo: on coming out of that Lake it turns round and comes away to the north, as Luapula, and, without touching the Mofwé, goes into Moero; then, emerging thence at the north-west end it becomes Lualaba, goes into Rua, forms a lake there, and afterwards goes into another lake beyond Tanganyika.
Suddenly a chance round-shot dropped into the Moghul ranks, which, after overthrowing two horsemen, made a bound and struck Mohamad Beg on the right arm. He fell from his elephant, and, coming in contact with a small stack of branches of trees that had been piled at hand for the elephants' fodder, received a splinter in his temple which proved instantly mortal.
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