Niger

The slatis who were sharing Karfa’s hut glowered
sideways on Mungo in considerable distrust. A
white man ?—with that yellow hide and that long
beard ? And who ever saw a white man so ragged
or so forlorn, or, for that matter, wandering the
countryside like an idiot when he might have
stayed at the coast in comfort and grown wealthy
and fat with slaves in his barracks and fat women
in his bed ? It was more than likely this was some
villainous Moor.
But Karfa, convinced by Mungo’s evident under¬
standing of the Prayer Book, had no doubts at all,
and sat and listened to all Mungo’s story as the
ever-threatening rain resumed and drummed across
the roofs of Kamalia. Go west ? That would be
impossible for many months to come. Right in the
track lay the wilderness of Jallonka, with eight
unfordable rivers, swollen by the rains, traversing
it. No one ventured on that track until the rains
subsided and the grass was burned, unless he sought
certain death.
The wearied young Scot made an impatient
gesture. Quite so. But what else was there for him
to do ? He had no money to pay for his keep in
Kamalia through long months. He must either
die here or risk dying in the wilderness. Personally,
he preferred the chances of the wilderness.
He was unaware, while protesting thus, that he
was looking upon his saviour. Then Karfa out¬
lined his plans. He himself, when the rains had
cleared, was proceeding down to the Gambia.
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