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

312 THINKING BLACK
mention of which, I regret to say, is calculated to disturb
the gastric functions of the stomach. Even the Marquis
de Bonchamps, from many of whose opinions I disassociate
myself, is quite correct here. Escaping for his life to
Europe, he arrived August 1892, and declared that for
twenty-seven days their expedition had nothing better
to live on than locusts, ants, and even grass. This witness
is true. In these gnawing days of famine I can tackle
grass with famished gusto ;
grass seeds boiled to an emerald
gruel is a famous food Musunga wa Chifufia, or sul-
phate of copper porridge, the name of this green gruel.
As an anxious alternative I also eat and enjoy thousands
of white ants with ravenous content. The said ants with
a good supply of salt make an excellent repast, for being
obese little insects they frizzle finely in their own fat.
Don't forget that one pinch of salt, though, or you have
spoilt it all. One pinch only? Nay, you need two—
pinch of salt and a pinch of hunger. This, remember, is
no laughing matter to a hungry bush preacher, for I find
the difference between English plenty and African paucity
is the old candid contrast between the relish of a man who
likes what he eats and the epicure Englishman who eats
what he likes. Another African dainty these days is rats,
five little rats tied to each other by their twirling tails and
put on the famine market. Snails, too, are a widely eaten
commodity long after every mongrel dog has been heard
to give his last howl on entering the gaping pot of gaping
negroes. These snails are in much demand by Lubans, and
a brisk business is done per dozen—decimal dozen, I