WITH the advent of the rainy season, we have had to give a thought to our thatched roof, and the process of repair was an interesting sight.

The hut in which White, Young and I sleep is an imposing affair for this country. It must measure eighteen by twenty-four feet, outside dimensions. The walls are made of upright saplings set in the ground, with long slim poles interlaced and bound with bark, and the intervening spaces filled with mud, plastered by hand on the surfaces. The walls stand about six feet high and besides one narrow door, there are several small apertures that could be considered windows, if one didn't know better.

The roof on this noble edifice, when we came, was too flat to shed water, so the head man, Mdolo, was instructed to take it off and put on another with a steeper pitch and overhanging eaves to protect the mud walls from rain.

So for several days, boys carried in from the grove near the river long limbs of thorn trees, both yellow and black mimosa, and straight trunks from palm trees. These latter are put in the important structure of the house because they are not subject to rapid decay and the destructive action of boring insects. The thorn poles last only a few months, and one may find his house tumbling about his ears, due to the collapse of the supporting beams.

Besides these timbers, the natives brought bundles of long poles and the stems of palm leaves. Then as binding material they carried in many leaves of that plant we call agave, or Spanish bayonet, or sisal. These they split lengthwise into half a dozen strips. They constitute bandage like thongs, very strong and flexible. The bark of the thorn tree, they also loosen by pounding and ripping it off the tree. This is particularly strong. I pulled out some of the finer fibres of this bark and twisted them into a string, which I found impossible to break with my hands. It would make an excellent bow cord.

Having all this in readiness and a large quantity of long tough grass that grows down in the donga, they set to work removing our roof.

A gang of twenty boys attacked our domicile, under the energetic supervision of Mdolo, and as they worked they sang. It seems that no important event takes place in Africa, that singing is not a necessary concomitant. They chanted a monotonous drone, varied with shrill interjections of accentuated phrases, and never ceased during the entire operation.