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Updated: May 29, 2025
"If he left it to your judgment, the matter is settled," I said, "since certainly, being so great a noble, you would never try to murder those of whose holy drink you have just partaken. Indeed if you did so," I added in a cold voice, "you would not live long yourself. One secret word and that drink will turn to mwavi of the worst sort inside of you."
"Why does the white lord do that?" asked Babemba. "Now I see that you are truly deceiving me, and that what you are giving me to swallow is nothing but hot mwavi, which in the innocent causes vomiting, but that in those who mean evil, death." "Stop that foolery, you idiot," I muttered to Stephen, kicking him on the shins, "or you'll get our throats cut."
If they are thrown into convulsions or stupor they are clearly guilty and die, either from the effects of the poison or afterwards by other means. "This is no mwavi, O Babemba," said Jerry. "It is the divine liquor that makes the white lords shoot straight with their wonderful guns which kill at a thousand paces. See, I will swallow some of it," and he did, though it must have burnt his tongue.
Here I should explain that mwavi or mkasa, as it is sometimes called, is the liquor distilled from the inner bark of a sort of mimosa tree or sometimes from a root of the strychnos tribe, which is administered by the witch-doctors to persons accused of crime. If it makes them sick they are declared innocent.
I could perfectly understand the words, for these people spoke a dialect so akin to Zulu that by now it had no difficulty for me. "Their holy drink!" exclaimed the old fellow, starting back. "Man, it is hot red-water. Would these white wizards poison me with mwavi?"
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