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Updated: May 15, 2025
We passed village after village that had been burnt, and were mere blackened heaps of charred timber and smoked clay; field after field of grain ripe years ago was yet standing in the midst of a crop of gums and thorns, mimosa and kolquall. We arrived at the village, occupied by about sixty Wangwana, who have settled here to make a living by buying and selling ivory.
Advice is plentiful, and words are as numerous as the blades of grass in our valley; all that is wanting indecision. The Arabs' hope and stay is dead Khamis bin Abdullah is no more. Where are the other warriors of whom the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi bards sing? Where is mighty Kisesa great Abdullah bin Nasib? Where is Sayd, the son of Majid?
Bana Singiri-Singiri! Singiri! oh, Singiri Choragus. Mirambo has gone to war To fight against the Arabs; The Arabs and Wangwana Have gone to fight Mirambo! Choir Oh-oh-oh! to fight Mirambo! Oh, Mirambo! Mirambo Oh, to fight Mirambo! Choragus. But the white man will make us glad, He is going home! For he is going home, And he will make us glad! Sh-sh-sh! Choir. The white man will make us glad!
It is not inapt to state that the rifle had more commendations bestowed on it than the hunter by the Wangwana. The next day we continued the march eastward, under the guidance of our kirangozi; but it was evident, by the road he led us, that he knew nothing of the country, though, through his volubility, he had led us to believe that he knew all about Ngondo, Yombeh, and Pumburu's districts.
The Doctor, baring his arm, said to them that he was not a Mgwana, or an Arab; but a white man; that Arabs and Wangwana had no such colour as we had. We were white men, different people altogether from those whom they were accustomed to see: that no black men had ever suffered injury from white men.
He evidently felt ashamed of his conduct for he voluntarily offered the explanation, that as he and his men were cutting wood to make a new fence for his village, a lad came up to him, and said that a caravan of Wangwana were about passing through the country without stopping to explain who they were. We were soon very good friends.
At the Wangwana village we met Amer bin Sultan, the very type of an old Arab sheikh, such as we read of in books, with a snowy beard, and a clean reverend face, who was returning to Zanzibar after a ten years' residence in Unyanyembe. He presented me with a goat; and a goatskin full of rice; a most acceptable gift in a place where a goat costs five cloths.
At noon we resumed our march, the Wanyamwezi cheering, shouting, and singing, the Wangwana soldiers, servants, and pagazis vieing with them in volume of voice and noise-making the dim forest through which we were now passing resonant with their voices. The scenery was much more picturesque than any we had yet seen since leaving Bagamoyo.
Then we were surrounded by them: by Wajiji, Wanyamwezi, Wangwana, Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyuema, and Arabs, and were almost deafened with the shouts of "Yambo, yambo, bana! Yambo, bana! Yambo, bana!" To all and each of my men the welcome was given. We were now about three hundred yards from the village of Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. Suddenly I hear a voice on my right say,
One of the Wangwana soldiers engaged at Bagamoyo, named Kingaru, improved an opportunity to desert with another Mgwana's kit. They went about their task with an adroitness and celerity which augured well for their success.
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