Pushers (gruff in rhythm): "Tunk!--tunk!--tunk!--" or:

Headman (and wavering minor chant): "Ah--nah--nee--e-e-e!"

Pushers (undertone): "Umbwa--jo-e! Um-bwa--jo--e!"

These wild and barbaric chantings--in the distance; near at hand; dying
into distance again--slow, dogged, toilsome, came to be to us one of the
typical features of the place.

After breakfast we put on our sun helmets and went forth curiously to
view the town. We found it roughly divided into four quarters--the old
Portuguese, the Arabic, the European, and the native. The Portuguese
comprises the outer fringe next the water-front of the inner bay. It is
very narrow of street, with whitewashed walls, balconies, and wonderful
carven and studded doors. The business of the town is done here. The
Arabic quarter lies back of it--a maze of narrow alleys winding
aimlessly here and there between high white buildings, with occasionally
the minarets and towers of a mosque. This district harboured, besides
the upper-class Swahilis and Arabs, a large number of East Indians.
Still back of this are thousands of the low grass, or mud and wattle
huts of the natives, their roofs thatched with straw or palm. These are
apparently arranged on little system. The small European population
lives atop the sea bluffs beyond the old fort in the most attractive
bungalows. This, the most desirable location of all, has remained open
to them because heretofore the fierce wars with which Mombasa, "the
Island of Blood," has been swept have made the exposed seaward lands
impossible.