the same.’
‘The other one is lame. And a wheel of the cart is broken.’
‘You are telling lies,’ Tilly cried.
Juma shrugged his shoulders and relapsed into a sulk, and Tilly was left to deal with the sick baby without support, advice, or cooperation. Its mother held it silently, regarding it with an impassive face that revealed no feeling. When Juma had so resolutely resisted all attempts to help her, she had not attempted to intervene. Probably she did not understand; if she had, she would not have argued; she accepted uncomplainingly the authority of men. Tilly was sure that Juma was lying, but she failed to find the mule-boy or even the mules. It was useless to fight the battle single-handed. She did what she could, which was very little, to treat the baby, and the operation nearly made her sick, the stinking sores were so rotten and the baby so silent, as if even at that stage of its existence it accepted disaster, pain, and death as its natural lot.
So that was why she was upset by Robin’s rebuke about the commode. He did not know the reason, and went off thinking her careless and touchy. He was having his troubles too. He had bought some native oxen, and was trying to train them to the plough. They were quite unfamiliar with this implement; they were strangers even to yokes and chains.
The difficulty of teaching them was all the greater in that none of the Kikuyu had an idea how to train them either. In South Africa, Robin had often walked beside a wagon and watched the Boers control their teams by the inflexion of their voices and the cracking of their long whips. It looked easy enough for any fool to do; but it was not. The Boers had developed a remarkable affinity for oxen, an almost magical authority.They could command them as a circus trainer can command his ponies, or a shepherd his dog. But they had never taught Robin – they never would teach anyone who was not a fellow Boer – and, when he tried it, the oxen did not behave at all according to plan. Not only did they refuse point-blank to draw the plough but they broke chains and skeys and yokes, they cavorted all over the place like a herd of buffaloes, they tangled themselves up in the gear, and finally most of them escaped altogether. The Kikuyu ran about just as wildly, with no idea of the correct response.
It was fortunate that after tea, when both Tilly and Robin were exhausted and on edge, Randall Swift arrived to see how things were going. He had to push his bicycle most of the way from Thika, and he was always anxious to get back quickly to Punda Milia, but I think the inexperience and general unpreparedness of Robin and Tilly worried him, and as we had no neighbours (excepting the Dutchman, Mr Roos, who was still away somewhere hunting animals) he made it his business to see if he could help.
Robin explained his difficulties about the oxen. ‘I can’t even get them yoked,’ he said. ‘They won’t stand still long enough.’
‘I can give you a tip about that,’ said Randall, who had a large store of useful wrinkles.’ First of all you climb a thorn-tree with the yoke, then you get a boy to drive the creature underneath you, and then you drop the yoke down on its neck. Provided the boy doesn’t let go of the traces you’ve got your bullock properly caught.’
‘It
sounds
all right,’ said Robin, who was beginning to discover that the gap between promise and performance was not, as he had so confidently hoped, any less wide in Africa than elsewhere.
‘You can often trip up a man from behind where you can’t knock him down to his face,’ Randall said cheerfully. ‘But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You need a headman here who knows a bit about these Kikuyu fellows. I think I can find a man for you, and I’ll send him along.’
Robin accepted the offer gratefully, and resolved to build a house for him next morning. Everyone got on better at building houses than at yoking oxen to the plough.
Chapter 5
T HE prospect
‘The other one is lame. And a wheel of the cart is broken.’
‘You are telling lies,’ Tilly cried.
Juma shrugged his shoulders and relapsed into a sulk, and Tilly was left to deal with the sick baby without support, advice, or cooperation. Its mother held it silently, regarding it with an impassive face that revealed no feeling. When Juma had so resolutely resisted all attempts to help her, she had not attempted to intervene. Probably she did not understand; if she had, she would not have argued; she accepted uncomplainingly the authority of men. Tilly was sure that Juma was lying, but she failed to find the mule-boy or even the mules. It was useless to fight the battle single-handed. She did what she could, which was very little, to treat the baby, and the operation nearly made her sick, the stinking sores were so rotten and the baby so silent, as if even at that stage of its existence it accepted disaster, pain, and death as its natural lot.
So that was why she was upset by Robin’s rebuke about the commode. He did not know the reason, and went off thinking her careless and touchy. He was having his troubles too. He had bought some native oxen, and was trying to train them to the plough. They were quite unfamiliar with this implement; they were strangers even to yokes and chains.
The difficulty of teaching them was all the greater in that none of the Kikuyu had an idea how to train them either. In South Africa, Robin had often walked beside a wagon and watched the Boers control their teams by the inflexion of their voices and the cracking of their long whips. It looked easy enough for any fool to do; but it was not. The Boers had developed a remarkable affinity for oxen, an almost magical authority.They could command them as a circus trainer can command his ponies, or a shepherd his dog. But they had never taught Robin – they never would teach anyone who was not a fellow Boer – and, when he tried it, the oxen did not behave at all according to plan. Not only did they refuse point-blank to draw the plough but they broke chains and skeys and yokes, they cavorted all over the place like a herd of buffaloes, they tangled themselves up in the gear, and finally most of them escaped altogether. The Kikuyu ran about just as wildly, with no idea of the correct response.
It was fortunate that after tea, when both Tilly and Robin were exhausted and on edge, Randall Swift arrived to see how things were going. He had to push his bicycle most of the way from Thika, and he was always anxious to get back quickly to Punda Milia, but I think the inexperience and general unpreparedness of Robin and Tilly worried him, and as we had no neighbours (excepting the Dutchman, Mr Roos, who was still away somewhere hunting animals) he made it his business to see if he could help.
Robin explained his difficulties about the oxen. ‘I can’t even get them yoked,’ he said. ‘They won’t stand still long enough.’
‘I can give you a tip about that,’ said Randall, who had a large store of useful wrinkles.’ First of all you climb a thorn-tree with the yoke, then you get a boy to drive the creature underneath you, and then you drop the yoke down on its neck. Provided the boy doesn’t let go of the traces you’ve got your bullock properly caught.’
‘It
sounds
all right,’ said Robin, who was beginning to discover that the gap between promise and performance was not, as he had so confidently hoped, any less wide in Africa than elsewhere.
‘You can often trip up a man from behind where you can’t knock him down to his face,’ Randall said cheerfully. ‘But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You need a headman here who knows a bit about these Kikuyu fellows. I think I can find a man for you, and I’ll send him along.’
Robin accepted the offer gratefully, and resolved to build a house for him next morning. Everyone got on better at building houses than at yoking oxen to the plough.
Chapter 5
T HE prospect
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