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Authors: Elspeth Huxley
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head of a brindled bull and twisted it over his thigh, gripping its neck with one hand so as to swell the jugular vein. Sammy took a bow from the boy’s hand and, from a few yards’ range, fired an arrow straight into the jugular. The arrowhead was ringed with a little block of wood so that its point could not penetrate more than about half an inch. Still with a casual air, Sammy plucked out the arrow and the blood spurted into a calabash held by the boy. Then Sammy closed the arrow-prick with finger and thumb and, to my surprise, it stayed closed and the bleeding stopped. The bull, released, strolled off and started to graze. I suppose this was no more harmful to it than bleeding human patients used to be – less so, in fact, as the bull was in good health. Sammy did not drink the blood in the calabash. The boy mixed it with milk and other ingredients, of which cows’ urine was one, and let the brew ferment for a day or two. When it was ready to eat, its consistency was like that of soft cheese.
Work on the farm proceeded much more smoothly after Sammy came. He and Robin between them organized a system of piece-work and gave each man a daily task. Most people finished by noon and had the afternoon free for rest and talk, and the evening for eating and, if occasion offered, for dancing and making merry. But none of the young men drank beer. That was for the elders, who made up for what they had missed in their youth, when warriors had to keep themselves fit and ready to spring to arms when the horn of war sounded.
Sammy was a proud man, but this pride was so instinctive,and so unselfconscious, that it imposed upon others the obligation to respect it, and no European used to him the bullying tones often adopted towards the Kikuyu. Robin and Tilly spoke to Sammy as they would speak to a fellow European. In return, Sammy gave them his complete loyalty. African society was feudal then, and Europeans who were used to the system fitted in without any trouble. This feudal relationship, however, was a subtle thing and not the same as the relation of an employer to a hired man.
Our ploughing got on better under Sammy’s care, but the oxen were still wild. They broke away quite often and had to be chased through long grass until they were rounded up and yoked again. The furrows wove a tortuous way across charred, black stubble, avoiding craters from which had been slowly and painfully extracted the roots of trees.
‘I believe these fellows would give anything on earth
not
to walk or plough in a straight line,’ Robin complained.
A straight line was perhaps unlucky; at any rate it was never risked. The ploughing looked very odd by English standards; there seemed to be no furrows, just a sea of lumps and clods, and a tangle of roots.
‘I don’t see how anything can be expected to grow,’ Robin said gloomily.
Tilly pointed out that things grew without much encouragement. ‘The veranda posts are beginning to sprout,’ she added.
Robin liked to think that we were the first to settle in this particular district, but in fact our Boer neighbour, Mr Roos, had arrived before us. Several weeks after we started our struggle with the oxen he returned from his shooting expedition and rode over to see us on his mule. Robin thought he would resent our presence, because Boers notoriously disliked having close neighbours, and also because we were British
rooineks
, and as such to be despised. However, he seemed quite friendly, and when Robin addressed to him a few simple words of Afrikaans he immediately offered to demonstrate how oxen ought to be trained. He was a middle-aged, brown, leathery man with many wrinkles, a short but tangled beard, very blue eyes, and a slow, flat, halting way of speaking our unfamiliar tongue.
Like most Dutchmen, when it came to handling oxen therewas a touch of genius about him. It was as if he spoke their language. He was not rough or violent with them as the Kikuyu were, he did not shout, and although
Work on the farm proceeded much more smoothly after Sammy came. He and Robin between them organized a system of piece-work and gave each man a daily task. Most people finished by noon and had the afternoon free for rest and talk, and the evening for eating and, if occasion offered, for dancing and making merry. But none of the young men drank beer. That was for the elders, who made up for what they had missed in their youth, when warriors had to keep themselves fit and ready to spring to arms when the horn of war sounded.
Sammy was a proud man, but this pride was so instinctive,and so unselfconscious, that it imposed upon others the obligation to respect it, and no European used to him the bullying tones often adopted towards the Kikuyu. Robin and Tilly spoke to Sammy as they would speak to a fellow European. In return, Sammy gave them his complete loyalty. African society was feudal then, and Europeans who were used to the system fitted in without any trouble. This feudal relationship, however, was a subtle thing and not the same as the relation of an employer to a hired man.
Our ploughing got on better under Sammy’s care, but the oxen were still wild. They broke away quite often and had to be chased through long grass until they were rounded up and yoked again. The furrows wove a tortuous way across charred, black stubble, avoiding craters from which had been slowly and painfully extracted the roots of trees.
‘I believe these fellows would give anything on earth
not
to walk or plough in a straight line,’ Robin complained.
A straight line was perhaps unlucky; at any rate it was never risked. The ploughing looked very odd by English standards; there seemed to be no furrows, just a sea of lumps and clods, and a tangle of roots.
‘I don’t see how anything can be expected to grow,’ Robin said gloomily.
Tilly pointed out that things grew without much encouragement. ‘The veranda posts are beginning to sprout,’ she added.
Robin liked to think that we were the first to settle in this particular district, but in fact our Boer neighbour, Mr Roos, had arrived before us. Several weeks after we started our struggle with the oxen he returned from his shooting expedition and rode over to see us on his mule. Robin thought he would resent our presence, because Boers notoriously disliked having close neighbours, and also because we were British
rooineks
, and as such to be despised. However, he seemed quite friendly, and when Robin addressed to him a few simple words of Afrikaans he immediately offered to demonstrate how oxen ought to be trained. He was a middle-aged, brown, leathery man with many wrinkles, a short but tangled beard, very blue eyes, and a slow, flat, halting way of speaking our unfamiliar tongue.
Like most Dutchmen, when it came to handling oxen therewas a touch of genius about him. It was as if he spoke their language. He was not rough or violent with them as the Kikuyu were, he did not shout, and although
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