minutes' work to five minutes off was more practical. The sheer weight
of the sun was terrific; after we had been exposed to it for any great
length of time--as across several wide open spaces--we entered the
steaming shade of the jungle with gratitude. At the end of seven hours,
however, we most unexpectedly came through a dense cocoanut grove plump
on the banks of the harbour at Kilindini.

Here, after making arrangements for the transport of our safari, when it
should arrive, we entrusted ourselves to a small boy and a cranky boat.
An hour later, clad in tropical white, with cool drinks at our elbows,
we sat in easy-chairs on the veranda of the Mombasa Club.

The clubhouse is built on a low cliff at the water's edge. It looks
across the blue waters of the bay to a headland crowned with
cocoa-palms, and beyond the headland to the Indian Ocean. The cool
trades sweep across that veranda. We idly watched a lone white oarsman
pulling strongly against the wind through the tide rips, evidently bent
on exercise. We speculated on the incredible folly of wanting exercise;
and forgot him. An hour later a huge saffron yellow squall rose from
China 'cross the way, filled the world with an unholy light, lashed the
reluctant sea to white-caps, and swooped screaming on the cocoa-palms.
Police boats to rescue the idiot oarsman! Much minor excitement! Great
rushing to and fro! We continued to sit in our lounging chairs, one hand
on our cool long drinks.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] For a fuller discussion, see "The Land of Footprints."