C H A P T E R II.
KHAMA
AFT E R passing the picturesque valley of Sofala, to
our great relief, at last we caught sight of the
Palapshwe Hills. My oxen had greatly suffered from
their journey. The previous rainy season had been one of
the worst for many years, and scarcely any rain had fallen,
so that the grass was already dried up, and was hardly
sufficient to nourish the animals. To give them a rest
before setting out on my long journey across the desert
was a necessity. On the other hand, I had been warned
against the demoralizing influence over the men of a stay
of several weeks in a large centre, and especially in one
like Palapshwe, which was well known for its immorality,
so that I had to consider whether I would camp in the
town itself or outside.
I therefore decided to ride there and see the place
before making up my mind. The town is built on the
side'of a hill, the top of which forms a plateau, over which
rises a range of high and well-wooded hills.
I had to follow for several miles a large plain covered
with deep sand into which my horse sank nearly a foot
deep, before I reached the base of the hill. Thence I
had to pick my way among a mass of huge boulders
strewn all over the place. So bad, so impassable did the
place look that I thought that I must have mistaken the
road. I was thinking of turning back when. I came across
some natives, each carrying a Bible in one hand and a gun
in the other. In vain I asked them where Palapshwe was
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K H A M A
—they did not seem to understand;* when fortunately
there appeared a mounted policeman of the Bechuanaland
Border Police, and he informed me that I was on the
right road (?). How my waggons were to pass over this
mass of rocks I could riot make out.
At last I reached a few huts, and found myself on flat
ground, where heavy sand succeeded the stones. Catching
sight of a corrugated iron roof I started at a canter, but
k h a m a ’ s p e o p l e .
my horse, tired out, stumbled and rolled heavily over
me. I picked myself up with mouth, nose, eyes, and ears
full of sand, my chin, nose, and forehead torn to bits, and
feeling considerably dazed.
On the threshold of a hut sat a native perusing a Bible,
who interrupted his reading to have a good laugh over my
accident; but when I asked him for water to wash my
damaged face, he replied in a Christian spirit and broken
English, “ Yes, you give shilling.”
I washed as well as I could, and went on my way.
* The name of Palapshwe is unknown to the natives, Khama’s capital being
known to them by the name of Mangwato.
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