water, found some, mixed it with brandy, and drank it. He stumbled back to bed, fell into it. Later he became conscious of a cool sensation, hot aching eyeballs, the smell, the weight on the bed of another body. Mariamu was putting compresses on his forehead.
He was up in two days, weak but otherwise recovered, with an appetite that promised a quick return to his normal condition. But seven days later, fever struck again. Watching the mzungu turning into a yellow ghost of himself in her care, Mariamu called her uncle, who arrived with the dispenser. The two men, recognizing the symptoms of black water fever, at once raised the alarm. Voi was notified, the MCA station appealed to for help, and Mrs. Bailey arrived, taking over the household.
2 July, 1914
… all sorts of powers I am told were invoked to cure me … including brandy blessed by verses of the Koran …
At night the mukhi came, a little apologetically, with the maalim. The ancient exuded such an authority — Mrs. Bailey was practically pushed aside, though she managed to come back with force into the picture. He had said one day he would cure me, and here he was, book in hand. I did not believe in his powers, of course … it was disconcerting. He sat by the bed and started taking my pulse and so on — I don’t know what for except to disarm Mrs. Bailey, who stood by sternly, observing very closely. His face — the skin dull and wrinkled as old leather under the white kofia — was without expression, except for the eyes black and burning. He did not refer to our previous meetings. Presently he motioned to the mukhi, who produced several incense sticks, which he proceeded to set up all over the room. Mrs. Bailey was enraged.“I will not have this!” But the maalim had put a very firm hand on my forehead and she was forced to take notice in case he did me harm. His other hand, palm downwards, was on the open book in his lap. The hand on my forehead felt heavy …
The maalim began to utter prayers in Arabic. As he finished he turned around to stare towards the mukhi. He looked distracted, distant. He began now to mutter in a dialect that even the mukhi did not understand. He spoke in harsh tones, stone-faced, his hand remaining pressed on Corbin’s forehead. Finally he came to himself, for the mukhi heard a familiar word, “maji,” water, and saw the maalim’s face relax, his hand lift from the mzungu’s forehead. Mrs. Bailey went to fetch water. As soon as she was gone the old man carefully laid the book aside, on the table next to the sick man’s head. He took the bottle of brandy which was on the table and, holding it in both hands, he muttered some verses and blew over it, then put the bottle back. Mrs. Bailey returned with the water, the maalim took it and prayed over it, then offered the water to Corbin. “Give it to me,” said Mrs. Bailey sharply. The maalim obliged without protest, and she took the glass and firmly put it away. “He doesn’t need it now,” she said.
As the mukhi and the maalim left, with one final glance at the patient, Mrs. Bailey proceeded to remove the incense sticks. Then she took the water and threw it out at the back of the house in the dark.
“Brandy!” groaned the ADC , stretching out a hand, when she returned.
And he drank the brandy, with its promise of alcohol and the maalim’s prayers for recovery.
8
Corbin’s illness had served to narrow the gulf between him and the two missionaries. Since he had refused to be carried on a stretcher to the Mission, first Mrs. Bailey then Miss Elliott had stayed to look after him. Mariamu had assisted them, staying a week longer in his service before going to stay with her uncle, the mukhi, to prepare for her wedding.
The Shamsis gave Mariamu a full wedding. She wore a dark green frock and green pachedi that was full of wonderful affects: needlework, sparkles, and sequins. Her hands and feet were covered with henna in detailed bridal patterns. She shimmered
He was up in two days, weak but otherwise recovered, with an appetite that promised a quick return to his normal condition. But seven days later, fever struck again. Watching the mzungu turning into a yellow ghost of himself in her care, Mariamu called her uncle, who arrived with the dispenser. The two men, recognizing the symptoms of black water fever, at once raised the alarm. Voi was notified, the MCA station appealed to for help, and Mrs. Bailey arrived, taking over the household.
2 July, 1914
… all sorts of powers I am told were invoked to cure me … including brandy blessed by verses of the Koran …
At night the mukhi came, a little apologetically, with the maalim. The ancient exuded such an authority — Mrs. Bailey was practically pushed aside, though she managed to come back with force into the picture. He had said one day he would cure me, and here he was, book in hand. I did not believe in his powers, of course … it was disconcerting. He sat by the bed and started taking my pulse and so on — I don’t know what for except to disarm Mrs. Bailey, who stood by sternly, observing very closely. His face — the skin dull and wrinkled as old leather under the white kofia — was without expression, except for the eyes black and burning. He did not refer to our previous meetings. Presently he motioned to the mukhi, who produced several incense sticks, which he proceeded to set up all over the room. Mrs. Bailey was enraged.“I will not have this!” But the maalim had put a very firm hand on my forehead and she was forced to take notice in case he did me harm. His other hand, palm downwards, was on the open book in his lap. The hand on my forehead felt heavy …
The maalim began to utter prayers in Arabic. As he finished he turned around to stare towards the mukhi. He looked distracted, distant. He began now to mutter in a dialect that even the mukhi did not understand. He spoke in harsh tones, stone-faced, his hand remaining pressed on Corbin’s forehead. Finally he came to himself, for the mukhi heard a familiar word, “maji,” water, and saw the maalim’s face relax, his hand lift from the mzungu’s forehead. Mrs. Bailey went to fetch water. As soon as she was gone the old man carefully laid the book aside, on the table next to the sick man’s head. He took the bottle of brandy which was on the table and, holding it in both hands, he muttered some verses and blew over it, then put the bottle back. Mrs. Bailey returned with the water, the maalim took it and prayed over it, then offered the water to Corbin. “Give it to me,” said Mrs. Bailey sharply. The maalim obliged without protest, and she took the glass and firmly put it away. “He doesn’t need it now,” she said.
As the mukhi and the maalim left, with one final glance at the patient, Mrs. Bailey proceeded to remove the incense sticks. Then she took the water and threw it out at the back of the house in the dark.
“Brandy!” groaned the ADC , stretching out a hand, when she returned.
And he drank the brandy, with its promise of alcohol and the maalim’s prayers for recovery.
8
Corbin’s illness had served to narrow the gulf between him and the two missionaries. Since he had refused to be carried on a stretcher to the Mission, first Mrs. Bailey then Miss Elliott had stayed to look after him. Mariamu had assisted them, staying a week longer in his service before going to stay with her uncle, the mukhi, to prepare for her wedding.
The Shamsis gave Mariamu a full wedding. She wore a dark green frock and green pachedi that was full of wonderful affects: needlework, sparkles, and sequins. Her hands and feet were covered with henna in detailed bridal patterns. She shimmered
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