Again,
perhaps the black diplomatist feared to overstock the market with
Njinas, or to offend some regular customer for the sake of an
"interloper." In these African lands they waste over a monkey's
skin or a bottle of rum as much intrigue as is devoted to a
contested election in England.
I then asked the guide if my staying longer would be of any use?
He answered with a simple negative. Whilst the Utangani remained
the Mbunji (spell) would still work, but it would at once be
broken by our departure, and he would prove it by sending down
the first-fruits. This appeared to me to be mere Mpongwe
"blague," but, curious to say, the sequel completely justified
both assertions. He threw out a hint, however, about certain
enemies and my "medicine," the arsenical soap; I need hardly say
that it was refused.
When the palaver ended and the tide served, a fierce tornado
broke upon us, and the sky looked grisly in the critical
direction, north-east. Having no wish to recross the Gaboon River
during a storm blowing a head wind, I resolved to delay my
departure till the morrow, and amused myself with drawing from
the nude a picture of the village and village-life in Pongo-land.
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