C H A P T E R VI .
TO BULAWAYO
/ A N the 27th of January, 1892,1 left Palapshwe at sunrise.
I had fancied that no worse road than the one leading
from Lechaneng Vley could be found, but I soon discovered
that the road to the Lotsani river was ten times
worse. In fact, to this day, it is a wonder to me how
a waggon can pass over the place without falling to pieces.
It is disgraceful that a man like Khama, who poses as
having advanced ideas, should let the approaches to his
village remain in such a condition. Instead of spending
thousands of pounds on the building of a cathedral for
the use of one-tenth of his subjects, whose prayers would
be quite as welcome to the Lord if they came from a less
grandiose building, the chief could, with very little expenditure,
have rendered what he calls his capital approachable,
and thus conferred a lasting benefit on the whole
of his people, to say nothing of the white men. But
we know that these count for so little, in Khama’s
estimation, that he does not trouble about them. To
return to the so-called road: imagine a series of huge
polished slabs of rock forming a gigantic staircase, with
steps two to three feet high; throw over these, boulders
five to six feet in diameter, and you will have an idea of
the place. Over it the waggons must pass for a distance
of nearly three miles. The oxen at each moment fall down,
breaking yokes and skeys; the waggons are shaken by
epileptic-like convulsions, and, however well fastened may
be the goods on them, these at each minute fly in all