Farah came back late in the evening and reported: ‘This precious spice, Memsahib, which other Europeans do not know, but which we must have, was very difficult to get. First I went to these white grocers, but they had not got it. Then I went to Suleiman Virjee, and he had it. And then I bought for five hundred rupees.’ A rupee was two shillings. ‘You are crazy, Farah,’ I said. ‘I meant you to buy for ten cents.’ ‘You did not tell me so,’ said Farah. ‘No, I did not tell you so,’ I said. ‘I thought you had human intelligence. But in any case I have no use for five hundred rupees’ worth of cardamom, and you will have to give it back to Suleiman Virjee where you got it.’ I at once realized that it would be impossible to make Farah carry out my order. It was not the inconvenience that he feared, for no kind of inconvenience means anything to a Somali. But he would not allow Suleiman Virjee to believe that a house like ours could do with less than five hundred rupees’ worth of cardamom.

He thought the matter over and said: ‘No. No, that would not be good, Memsahib. But I will tell you what we will do. I shall take over this lot.’ So we left it at that, and the Somali are such furious tradespeople that Farah at once got the hitherto unknown article introduced on the farm, so that soon every self-esteeming Kikuyu went about chewing cardamom and dashingly spitting out the capsules. I tried it myself and it was not bad. I feel that Farah will have made a handsome profit on the transaction.

Farah’s knowledge of Native mentality came in useful to me.

Once, at the end of a month, when I had been paying out their wages to my people on the farm, in going through my accounts I found that a hundred-rupee note was missing and must have been stolen. I passed on the sad news to Farah, and he at once very calmly declared that he would get me my money back. ‘But how?’ I asked him. ‘There have been more than a thousand people up here, and we have no idea at all as to who may be the thief.’ ‘Nay, but I will get you your money back,’ said Farah.

He walked away, and towards evening returned carrying with him a human skull. This may sound highly dramatic, but was in itself nothing out of the normal. For centuries the Natives had not buried their dead but had laid them out on the plains where jackals and vultures would take care of them. One might at any time, riding or walking there, in the long grass knock against an amber-coloured thigh-bone or a honey-brown skull.