hing outside his strict
"cazi" except for US.

We were always very ceremonious and dignified in our relations on such
occasions. Memba Sasa would suddenly appear, deposit the rifle in its
place, and stand at attention.

"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire.

"I have found the men; they are in camp."

Then I would give him his reward. It was either the word "assanti," or
the two words "assanti sana," according to the difficulty and importance
of the task accomplished. They mean simply "thank you" and "thank you
very much."

Once or twice, after a particularly long and difficult month or so, when
Memba Sasa has been almost literally my alter ego, I have called him up
for special praise. "I am very pleased with you, Memba Sasa," said I.
"You have done your cazi well. You are a good man."

He accepted this with dignity, without deprecation, and without the
idiocy of spoken gratitude. He agreed perfectly with everything I
said! "Yes" was his only comment. I liked it.

On our ultimate success in a difficult enterprise Memba Sasa set great
store; and his delight in ultimate success was apparently quite apart
from personal considerations. We had been hunting greater kudu for five
weeks before we finally landed one. The greater kudu is, with the bongo,
easily the prize beast in East Africa, and very few are shot. By a piece
of bad luck, for him, I had sent Memba Sasa out in a different direction
to look for signs the afternoon we finally got one. The kill was made
just at dusk. C. and I, with Mavrouki, built a fire and stayed, while
Kongoni went to camp after men. There he broke the news to Memba Sasa
that the great prize had been captured, and he absent. Memba Sasa was
hugely delighted, nor did he in any way show what must have been a great
disappointment to him. After repeating the news triumphantly to every
one in camp, he came out to where we were waiting, arrived quite out of
breath, and grabbed me by the hand in heartiest congratulation.

Memba Sasa went in not at all for personal ornamentation, any more than
he allowed his dignity to be broken by anything resembling emotionalism.
No tattoo marks, no ear ornaments, no rings nor bracelets. He never even
picked up an ostrich feather for his head. On the latter he sometimes
wore an old felt hat; sometimes, more picturesquely, an orange-coloured
fillet. Khaki shirt, khaki "shorts," blue puttees, besides his knife
and my own accoutrements: that was all. In town he was a