WE LEFT NEW YORK on the S. S. African Pilgrim on Nov. 23, 1947, and
landed in Kilindini, Kenya, on Jan. 13, 1948. After a hectic week spent in
getting all equipment out of customs, in picking up a score of good native
boys and drivers and in purchasing truckfuls of food for
them and of gas for our vehicles, we went to establish
out MAIN CAMP No. 1 near Kwale, only some 30 miles
from Mombasa but on a green plateau which looked
from a thousand feet of blessed breezy altitude over the
half plain stretching to the Swahili coast, to the far
whiteness of Mombasa, and the vague blue of the Indian
Ocean beyond.
From there, as from all the successive Main Camps, we were to make any number of
minor safari, in every useful direction, to observe and photograph natives, scenery
and game; to hunt for fresh meat; to follow a tip or a hunch about a rare animal, a
strange ceremony or a witch doctor's hideaway.
But our first business at Kwale was to get acquainted, organized, trained to work as a team.
That's how we began: nine white men (of whom seven had never been in an expedition, five had never
dealt with a native boy or learned a word of Swahili) starting an entirely new household, with the help of
twenty native drivers and boys just arrived from Tanga and of some twenty African laborers I had
managed to enroll locally. Half a hundred slightly dazed human beings attempting to understand each
other, to bring some order out of chaos, to secure shelter, water, firewood and some nourishment before
the sun would go down and some unpleasant feline would begin to prowl.
Twenty-five-foot trailer coaches to be put in place, complete with large awnings on both sides; their main
switches connected with more or less mysterious power units; their abstruse tanks electrically filled with
water; their interiors made habitable. Higgins trailers to be opened up and erected from the "cocoons" of
square little metal boxes to the expanded luxury of spacious tents for two; their canopies to be attached;
their mosquito nets fastened; their air mattresses inflated; their quota of sheets, pillowcases, blankets,
towels, wash basins, water containers, hurricane lamps, flashlights, weapons, to be found, unpacked,
distributed.
Tents to be pitched by young men who had never seen anything of that kind before, who were trying to
get some assistance out of poor devils of natives who knew even less and were receiving orders in a
language of which they didn't understand a word.
Kitchens and ovens to be prepared the African way, the former out of big stones with a square of
galvanized iron over them and crackling flames beneath; the latter, deep holes to be excavated in the
ground, with pieces of tin for lids and red coals at the bottom and on top of the lids. Huge cases of
kitchen utensils, so carefully made up in Derby Line, now being hastily unpacked, while a frantic search
went on for the right kind of stones, for some firewood dry enough to burn, and for the picks and shovels
required by the rock-hard ground.
The most difficult part of establishing an undertaking of this scale is the
advance planning necessary so that no vital link may be found missing
later to jeopardize results many thousands of miles from any replacement
source.
Fresh meat, vegetables, fruit just bought in Mombasa, suddenly attacked
by squadrons of flies and regiments of ants, being rushed to the
emergency safety of two aluminum boats, one turned on top of the other
to make a temporary safe.
As for our Internationals, they were doing a magnificent job. Running down to the Customs in Mombasa.
Picking up incredible loads. Bringing other lots of our 700 cases back to camp. Fortunately the Customs
people were being as nice and helpful and fast as I had ever hoped they would be, and plenty more.
They would have had full right to make us waste weeks, just by asking us to open for inspection all
those boxes, packs and bales, or at least a good portion of them. Instead, the Customs officials had
taken our word and not made us open one single case. And so, incidentally, all the time we were in
British East Africa, everybody was simply marvelous to us- the entire officialdom from top to bottom-as
well as all private citizens. Just everybody.
Now, our KB-5's and KB-3's brought us equipment as last as it could be loaded and carted over these
30 laborious miles from Mombasa. From early morning to late evening. Even into the night, as soon as
we got electric lights rigged up all over those six acres of camp.
Having worked the entire array of its five stations, the radio section completed more than 4,000 contacts
with all states in the U. S. and with every country in the world (except Tibet,
where signals went unanswered). "Hams" everywhere eagerly requested
confirmation cards.
Day after day. Yelling, hammering, unpacking, checking lists, handing out
equipment, repacking spares and items not immediately needed. Pouring
gas, sending for more drums, shelling out advances to the regular boys,
daily pay to the laborers, pocho (food for a week) to all. Yelling, telephoning
between Schult and. Schult, talking over the FM intercoms, broadcasting
over our station (VQ4-EHG, there in Kenya) to the Hallicrafters in Chicago,
to friends In New York, to new friends by the scores all over the world. Taking monochrome and color
stills, stereo, motion pictures. Developing, processing, printing, washing, drying.
Yet, things were getting into shape. The camp was beginning to look
orderly, meals to be on time, and quite good. Our young Americans were
learning some words of Swahili, the native boys some American
expressions. All our equipment had been dealt with and disposed of-in the
interior of trailers, camp trailers, tents, or inside those huge piles neatly
covered by the tarps of the KB-5's.
Electric power was turned on and off as by schedule, or almost. The station
was on the air its full eight hours every day. Kodachromes were being
shipped to Rochester. Processed Ektachromes, Ansco color and
monochrome cut films were regularly appearing on my desk. The daily routine was established.
Everybody, white and black, was getting oriented, to understand and to do his job.
Reaching Kilema the expedition was rewarded by magnificent views of the
Kilimanjaro's two highest peaks, the 17,000-foot Mawenzi and the 19,86o-
foot Kibo, with its perennial cap of ice and snow. Here it was decided to
climb the latter peak to make short-wave experiments from the loftiest point
of Africa's Equatorial Zone, as well as of the entire continent.
Communications were maintained with the Shack-on-Wheels, which in turn
relayed the expedition's reports to amateur short- wave radio operators.
KILEMA, OUR MAIN CAMP NO. 2, was about 5,000 feet high, up the
slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro, the 20,000-foot "Roof of Africa." The general
consensus of officials, missionaries and planters was that you could climb up there to Kilema if it hadn't
rained for a while and if you had a powerful, yet not too long, car. Even a moderately loaded truck might
do, if all conditions were favorable. But it was impossible for trucks piled up like ours. As for the idea of
getting up the trailers-particularly those Schult jobs-it was out of the question.
For some miles, driving ahead of the caravan, I couldn' t figure out what
everybody had been talking about. Every now and then the narrow little
road (more deep ruts and huge stones than road) would climb up as if
reaching for the sky, curve like a pretzel while hugging two or three
tentacles of the mountain, plunge downward into a deep gully, then start all
over again. With no trees, no railguard nor anything else to protect you
from precipices varying between 200 and 2,000 feet, it wasn't exactly
funny, particularly as it had deluged the night before and everything was
still dripping and slippery-the road most of all. Still I felt that, one unit at a
time, going slow and with plenty of caution, we should be able to make it.
Our main camp 1, in Kwale, although situated only some thirty miles from
the city of Mombasa, was often visited by large parties of Digo hunters.
Some of them had never seen anything on wheels, exept occasionally an
old rattletrap of an Indian trader's truck. Others, morfe experienced and
mechanic-minded, would admire ecstatically our fleet of ultra-modern
Internationals and bed our native drivers to explain the endless number of
fascinating mysteries that seemed, to them, to be incorporated in those
splendid machines.
Later and higher up, the situation got really tough. The character and
temperament of the road continued the same. But every half mile or so the pretzel, faced by the narrow
top of a deep crevice filled with the roar of cascading waters, would casually overcome the obstacle by a
15 or 20-foot-long, eight-foot-wide, railless contraption of planks that by same stretch of imagination
might even be called a bridge. Then the pretzel, which had twisted violently to the right just to get to the
bridge, would immediately, not less wholeheartedly, turn to the left. And, unconcernedly, it would start
again, either plunging downward or soaring skyward.
In my station wagon, each time I crawled over one of these places, 1 had to stop once or twice to get
out and check how many wheels I had on the 45° zig, how many on the ensuing 45° zag, or at the very
edge of the planks, or maybe suspended above that crevice which on one side was a vertical sheet of
falling water and on the other expanded and expanded until, thousands of feet below, it became a
majestic valley.
Truck and trailerunits units are subjected to tremendous strain in the 5,000
mile itinerary When the turn came for the large vehicles to pass, my heart
was stuck in my throat. After the safe passage of each unit I had to gulp
the aforementioned heart down before being able to breathe freely enough
to let out a sigh of relief. But at long last we reached Kilema. We were
rewarded by the magnificent view of the Kilimanjaro's two highest peaks,
the 17,000-foot Mawenzi and the 19,860-foot Kibo, with its perennial cap of
ice and snow.
The latter is the peak that I had decided we
would climb to make short-wave radio
experiments from the loftiest point of Africa's Equatorial Zone, in
communication with the "Shack-on-Wheels" in our 5,000-foot-high camp,
which was to relay broadcasts and reports to the hams of the world.
This climb, and these experiments, we successfully accomplished during
the following month.
Upon completion of the high-altitude radio experiments, the expedition
settled its third Main Camp near Arusha, just under Mt. Meru. The locality
was called Bamboo Flats, a well-nigh perfect misnomer. The fact is that the ground was fat from flat, and
bamboo was not to be found anywhere. The redeeming feature was that this was the big game country.
MAIN CAMP NO. 3 was established near Arusha, just under Mount Meru. The locality was called
Bamboo Flats, probably out of sheer cussedness. The fact is that the ground was far from flat and there
was not a single bamboo in sight. However, as a compensation, every evening the entire camp was
thoroughly fumigated by clouds of malodorous smoke from a nearby depression where neighbor
planters dumped and burned tons of coffee husks every day.
Unfortunately, this was a feature not discovered until we had pitched up the entire camp, built several
huts for our boys, erected the rhombic antenna and put up a couple of tremendously high extra ones.
MEMBERS of a British Parliamentary Commission and the local authorities are entertained in Main
Camp No. 3, established near Arusha. The plains adjacent to this camp teemed with all kinds of wild
game.
When the camp was complete we had a little celebration party, to which we invited all the Arusha
authorities and other people who had been very helpful to us. Even the afternoon breeze must have felt
invited. Because, there and then, it turned in our direction across the dump.
Everybody began to sniff and sneeze and make faces. The Arushans felt bad about having forgotten the
problem when they had suggested the campsite. We had not felt disturbed because we saw no reason
why the wind should suddenly turn our war and be obstinate about it. But it had, and it was. And it is the
smell of the coffee dump which will return to our noses aggressively whenever we think of the evenings
in this camp.
The days out of it, instead, were among the most thrilling and exciting of the entire expedition. The
slopes of Mt. Meru were thick with rhino; and the plains to the west were crammed with game,
particularly zebra and giraffe, eland, oryx, ostrich, buffalo, Thompson's gazelle, lions and cheetah. With
the result that our crop of observations on game was a rich one, and that our collection of unusual color
and monochrome still and motion pictures advanced by leaps and bounds.
THE SONYO, an extremely primitive tribe, live exactly as they did
centuries ago In this scene two Moran (young warriors) decorate each
other with chalk and ochra in preparation for a big dance of welcome to
the members of the expedition.
It was also a time of serious decisions. The season of heavy rains was
approaching. Ahead of us was the immense Serengeti Plain, difficult in the
dry season, absolutely impassable at other times.
Now we were faced with the consequences of the months lost in America while the sailing of our boat
had been delayed, then of the weeks lost up the slopes of Kilimanjaro while most of us had suffered bad
attacks of "Kilema dysentery." Had it not been for these two factors, we would have found ourselves
away ahead of the rains. As it was, we had to sacrifice a large part of our itinerary and, at the first
indications of steady bad weather, to rush northward, where we could spend the worst months devoting
all the energies and means not taken up by our radio work to a serious study of the still little-known
Masai and Sonyo natives.