Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

150 THINKING BLACK
Commandant heartily agrees with the idea; spoiling is
the very word, only he makes this poor participle do
double duty—he spoils the country by extorting the
spoils. Across the way, the Mission is a wakeful witness
of it all, but this Chefe scorns intervention, pouring out
fluent anathemas against the English. Prejudice, re-
member, is only another way of spelling " prejudge," and
the blood flames in such an official's face like a danger
signal whenever the Missionary expostulates. But there
is impending change. Soon this political Apothecary
discovers a fly in his ointment, the British and Belgians
advancing simultaneously. Up from the South-West
come the former; West from the Garenganze come the
latter, both bent on combating this Portuguese slavery,
both encroaching up near this Commandant's door.
Time was when all around was no man's land, unlimited
territory meaning unlimited despotism. Now comes the
check. A hunted-down Luvale man runs across the
border seeking sanctuary on British soil; how can the
Portuguese chief get at him? Very simply. Salimi is
" wanted," but he is snug under the shelter of the Jack
in N.W. Rhodesia. But — mark this conjunction —
Samusole is his brother-in-law, and he is on Portuguese
soil ; so his village is surrounded by night and S. dragged
off to the Fort. Beaten every day by chicotte, he
pays up some slaves, yet still they dun and whack him
all by proxy, all for that mysterious other man who is
enjoying English protection across the border.
This Salimi, I have said, is " wanted," but for what