The Rift

by H Schmidt

  The dry air, which chilled quickly in the highlands after sunset, caused Maria to pull the woolen blanket more tightly about her shoulders. Maria remembered how pleasantly surprised she had been with the coolness of the nights when they first arrived, even when the day’s sun burned their skin. Unlike the damp cold and hot humid days of Prussia, for a great part of the year the weather was as close to perfect as one could imagine. Warm, not hot, dry days and cool nights. Who would have thought we would be sleeping under woolen blankets for much of the year?

  Less than twenty-five meters from the children and their fire, another fire blazed, the Wanyamwezi porters crouched beside it, their voices muffled by the noisy children and the crackling of the fires. At a separate campfire, sat the Chagga gun bearers and guides, stoically looking into the fire, quieter than the garrulous Wanyamwezi. Both the Chagga and the Wanyamwezi would sleep in the open with the blankets they carried wrapped around their bodies during the day. Hired in Moshi, they shared the meat of a small gazelle shot by Gustav that day. They asked nothing of Herr Singh, the cook, and in the three nights they had camped, seldom ventured into the area where the sleeping and dining tents were located.

  Between the two fires the dining tent stood; the place settings ready for the early morning breakfast. Maria could see the silhouettes of their cook, Herr Singh, with the houseboy, Mbota, making final preparations for the morning meal. Herr Singh’s meals were always pleasant surprises to the von Mecklenburgs, who marveled at the dinner he had prepared that evening. With the help of Gustav’s English twelve-gauge, double-barreled shotgun, what he was able to buy from Chagga vendors who would appear from nowhere on the trail, and what he carried on the pack mules, Herr Singh was able to produce a wonderful dinner of roast guinea hen, roasted corn still on the cob, peas in a creamy sauce, and a white Rhine wine chilled by the stream fifty meters below them.

  Gustav had planned the trip over three months ago, and with Mbota he had gone over every detail. The von Mecklenburgs had been in German East Africa for five years, and this was their first hunting safari. For a time, he had wondered whether Maria and the children should come with him, but had decided that the children should experience the joy he had as a boy when his father had taken him deer hunting. He smiled as he looked around the camp with its porters, guides, cook, houseboy, tents, and packhorses. This is hardly like our hunts in the Rominten Forest, he thought, where we slept under pine trees, cooked the game we killed, and had only water and tea to wash it down. Still, he could not forget the wonderful times he had with his father, and wanted the same for his sons.

  In the light of the oil lamp, he looked at Maria, then her daughter by the fire. There was no question that they would join them on the safari. Maria had grown up with a father who believed his daughter should learn to shoot and to ride. He saw the same independence in their daughter. In many ways, life was much the same, as the settlers did their best to bring Germany to the highlands of East Africa. But the settlers had been constantly reminded that Africa is often a paradox of tranquility and violence. Families, thinking the natives pacified, had been brutally murdered. Carl Peters had reminded Gustav that peace would only be obtained by firmness. His experience as head of the German East Africa Company had taught him that settlers and the company’s property could only be protected if the punishment was swift and severe. Persuasion does not work among the uncivilized tribes in Africa, he reminded Gustav. Gustav had no reason to doubt the Direktor but he could not help smiling to himself when he thought that the Junkers of Prussia tend to view all people as needing German firmness. “Why the smile, Father? You are not laughing at me, are you?” Maria cast him a coquettish glance.

  “I was thinking what a wonderful moment this is, Mother. Have you enjoyed this trip as much as I?”

  “Sometimes it is hard to imagine that we have ever lived anywhere else. I miss my family, but this is our home. I never thought I would say it, but I have no urge to return to Prussia. We have so many friends and we have this.”

  Camped on the lip of Ngordato Crater, Maria had never imagined anything so beautiful. To the southeast, the full moon seemed to sit on the steppes below, making them a soft gray. The Usa River, like black marble, worked its way to the south on its way to the Indian Ocean. Below them to the north, they could see the Momela Lakes. Above them, the clear sky filled with stars.

  “It reminds me of the planetarium in Berlin, Mother. It is as if we are among the stars, not millions of miles from them.”

  He touched her hand as he spoke, inviting her to share the fantasy with him. Gustav was pleased that he had planned the safari to begin with the new moon, to be able to see the landscape in the evenings by moonlight. He felt the wind from the far away Indian Ocean, the wind the Arabs on the coast called the monsoon.

  “Even with the moonlight, the Southern Cross looks so close. If I were a gazelle, I could leap and touch the stars,” Gustav said.

  When I would sail with my father, I remember him pointing out the Great Bear in the northern sky. He has grown since then,” Maria laughed.

  “Remember how much you hated leaving Konigsberg, Maria. How hard it was to leave your brothers and sisters. Your mother’s death only a few months before getting the word that I would be working for the German East Africa Company. I did not tell you, but I was very worried that I would be separated from you, and even if you came that you would have to return to Prussia.”

  Maria was smiling. “I was carrying Willie, remember?”

  “You were very brave, Maria. I remember how difficult it was when you were at sea.”

  “It did not help that I was from a family of sailors, did it? I remember how glad I was when we entered the smooth waters of the harbor in Dar es Salaam.” “It seems so long ago. Friederich and Maria were so young. Now look at them.”

  “Look at little Willie. A born African. Do you remember, Father, he really had no idea of his home until our trip last year. He was like a fish out of water when we first arrived in Konigsberg. He kept asking for his friends in Moshi.” Maria became more alive as she spoke about what had happened to them.

  “Everything was so new to us; the warm sea breezes, the dhows that crossed our bow, their sailors waving at us. And our first sight of Dar es Salaam, the haven of peace, I was struck by the colors of its skyline, the whites, beiges, pinks, the red tile roofs. When we first entered the beautiful harbor, remember how struck we were with the activity, dhows moving everywhere, ships leaving for the sea, ships waiting to be docked?”

  Gustav nodded. “I remembered the skyline. It seemed that half of it was taken up by buildings still under construction. Germany was building a whole new city for its African empire. Even before we docked, you could sense the energy of the place.”

  “Remember the little Jewish professor from Berlin?” Maria asked.

  “Yes, we talked from time to time on the boat. He was a geologist or archeologist, I forget which.” Maria noticed that Gustav had always demeaned anyone who was not a Prussian. She wondered if he was even aware that he did that.

  “Well, he said something I have remembered since that day. I was feeling better and he was always pleasant and thoughtful. He said, ‘Now Germany can take her place beside England and France. She has her empire.’ I remember looking closely at him then, because professors have a predisposition to patronizing speech about anyone but their own. But there was not derision in his eyes at all, but the misty-eyed patriotism we all feel when Deutschland Uber Alles is played, or the Kaiser’s Guard parades at Potsdam.”

  “There are things that stick in my mind, as well. There is one, have I ever told you this before?” Maria waited.

  “It was the band playing Deutschland Uber Alles as we disembarked and the black schutztruppen marching past, responding smartly to the commands of the German officers. Over six thousand kilometers from Prussia and we find African soldiers drilled by German officers. In this place with its mosques and minarets, open markets, clear blue skies, black faces everywh
ere, why does that scene stay with me?”

  “Perhaps you felt the same thing as that little professor from Berlin.” Both were laughing now.

  “I remember saying to myself, now I am in Africa. And I was still in part of my Germany.”

  The company had provided comfortable accommodations for the von Mecklenburgs on Oyster Bay for one week while Gustav made arrangements for the trek overland to Moshi. Maria remembered that time as magical. The children and their mother spent hours on the coral beaches collecting sand dollars, cowries, star coral, and skeletons of sea urchins. Esa, one of the houseboys working at the guest house, ran ahead pointing out treasures they might have missed. Once, she remembered, he yelled excitedly in Swahili.

  “Quick, he is trapped in the corals. Come and see.”

  The children were first to reach the spot where Esa stood. I hurried as much as I could; my stomach began to churn whenever I moved too fast. There, where Esa pointed, trapped in a water pocket in the coral, was a fish like none we had ever seen, even in books about Africa.

  “Lion fish.” Esa beamed at his discovery and the squeals of delight from Friederich and Maria.

  Swimming frantically about now, sensing danger in our presence, the lion fish’s fins were separated barbs of luminous orange and black, his body was orange and black stripes, the tail and back fins almost translucent silver; on his sides bright orange appendages spread like the wings of a crippled bird. Only twenty centimeters or so, God had arrayed this animal with the trappings befitting a far larger creature.

  Friederich bent down to touch him, and Esa move quickly to grab his arm, so quickly that it frightened me and Friederich. Suddenly serious, he looked at Friederich then pointed to the barbs coming from the lion fish’s back.

  “Very bad. Make you very sick. Maybe die. You must not touch.”

  The houseboy looked at each of us, as we stood stunned at something both enticing and deadly. His eyes were no longer stern, but kindly, as if he had the regrettable duty of introducing Europeans to the paradox of Africa. To little Friederich and Maria, the lion fish and Esa had been fortuitous things. For they learned to respect the unknown, never to assume that nature or human nature is always a friend.

  A gust of wind caused Maria to shiver. There would be frost on the grass in the morning, she thought. How surprising to find frost so close to the equator. She remembered the stories told about Johannes Rebmann, the missionary who first reported to European scientists on the snow-covered mountain of Kilimanjaro. The story had seemed so preposterous that he was ridiculed by the Royal Geographical Society for concocting so unlikely a story. But just last year, the Society was forced to accept the word of the missionary when a German geographer, Hans Meyer, and an Austrian mountain climber, Ludwig Purtscheller, climbed the Kibo peak of the great mountain.

  Maria reached over to touch Gustav’s hand. “You bring back memories, Father. It was not always so easy, remember? The day had come for us to leave Dar es Salaam. I remember I was sick that day. You were talking to Herr Peters, receiving advice and instructions.”

  “Carl was counting on me to increase the production of coffee, because Mt. Kilimanjaro could produce Arabica beans, and the demand for this high grade coffee bean, he said, was limitless. He wanted to capture the ivory market; much of the ivory was bypassing the company and getting on British ships in Mombasa. He looked at me sternly and said, ‘All ivory in German East Africa, Gustav, must be sold through the company.’” Gustav looked at his wife. “We did have some success, yes?”

  “As you talked to Carl, I watched the German overseers direct the porters to prepare to leave for Morogoro. They had loaded four oxen carts, the great beasts waiting placidly for the command to move, waiting for the crack of the drivers’ whips to begin their journey west. I stood near you, looking at the mule I would ride to Moshi. A blanket had been placed on the saddle to make my ride more comfortable.

  “I remembered the beautiful Arabian which my father gave me for my six-teenth birthday, and as I looked at this dark creature with the oversized head and large ears, I stood there trying to decide, should I laugh or cry. It did not take me long to appreciate this sure-footed animal on the African terrain with its deep gorges and treacherous plains where hidden burrows could snap your animal’s leg. Friederich and little Maria were delighted with their animals, and spent the moments before departure giving our mules names. For the entire trip, little Friederich’s riding companion was known as Blitzen. As I looked at the drooping head and sway back, I thought my children exceedingly clever at that moment.”

  The fire had become smaller, the servants no longer feeding it. Friederich, Wilhelm, Maria, and Johannes had now joined the parents and were listening raptly to the conversation about their arrival five years earlier.

  “I remember I called my mule Pretty Girl,” said Maria. “She’s still my favorite.” Maria had been allowed to keep her mule, and looked at her tethered with the rest as they spoke. The children had been too young to ride then; still, Herr Peters had seen to it that they had two mules on the caravan they could call their own.

  During the trip, Gustav would sometimes seat them on the mules and allow them to ride with one of the porters holding the reins and he walking beside.

  “Fatty was the name of mine. Remember how skinny he was, Mommy? I’m sorry he died, though. He got us all the way to Moshi. I remember, Papa, you told me he was a brave mule because he was probably sick when our caravan started.” Friederich looked like his father; flaxen hair, blue eyes, a long angular face.

  From Maria’s grandfather, the beginnings of a cleft in the chin which the parents knew would become prominent as he grew into a man.

  Little Willie moved closer to his mother. He listened for brief periods, and then poked the thin stick he carried into the ground, then returned his attention to his father and mother. Willie had the dark eyes, jet black hair, and soft features of his mother. Like his mother, his mood was often sober. Where Friederich and Maria needed companionship, Willie could play among the toy ships and other toys sent from his grandfather for hours. Sometimes his mother would watch him from the doorway, listen to the conversations he was having with himself, remembering her own childhood.

  Turning now to his mother, Willie asked “Where was I, momma?”

  Friederich and little Maria giggled. Gustav smiled at Maria. Maria looked with shining eyes at her youngest. “You were waiting to be born, Willie. You were born after we arrived in our home.”

  “I remember the moment.” Gustav picked up again with his conversation with Maria. But now, he had the chance to fill in the children, including Johannes, who had become like one of the family.

  “As we were finishing talking, Carl nodded to the overseer, who turned and shouted to the drivers and porters.

  “Oh, the pandemonium! Everyone shouting at once. The animals suddenly alert, the great oxen swinging their heads, breaking into a gentle dance; the mules beginning to prance, some breaking out in loud brays, as if to protest the great task before them.

  “When we mounted, the porters began to shout excitedly, pointing to the rear of the caravan, toward the sea. Moving his large mule at a trot was a German soldier, dressed in the German East African uniform of short khaki pants, puttees with ankle high boots, short-sleeved shirt, and wide-brimmed pith helmet. Around his waist, the thick leather belt with ammunition pouches. Strapped to the belt his Luger pistol, and in a scabbard attached to the saddle of his mule, his Mauser rifle.

  Trotting with him, three native soldiers, dressed much like the German soldier, except for the headdress, a kepi, which looked like a khaki fez with the German Eagle pinned to its front. All three carried their German Mausers strapped to their shoulders. Accompanying the small band were porters carrying supplies for the soldiers. I remembered a very different life for the Prussian soldier during my reserve duty. While these African soldiers relied on porters, the German soldiers had no assistance other than their own strong backs. Like the Teutonic Knig
hts who went to war with squires and peasants, soldiers in the German African army had their porters.

  “As the German soldier came forward, he saluted me sharply. ‘Corporal Hoffman, Herr von Mecklenburg,’ he said. ‘I will be accompanying you to Moshi.’”

  “I remember the soldiers, too,” Maria responded. “And rather than reassuring me, it made me think of the danger. Why else a military escort, although a modest one. I know you were armed, but how much protection could four men provide?” Maria asked.

  The father and husband turned toward the children then back to Maria. Gustav looked into the eyes of his children, wanting to them know and understand.

  “The German Army does not send enough men to protect against an attack, but to prevent them. What those soldiers represented was the German Army, and a reminder that any attack upon German citizens or German property would be met with the swiftest punishment. At the same time, Corporal Hoffman and his three soldiers did provide protection against small bands of men who might wish to do harm.”

  “Did anyone try to hurt us, Father?” Little Willie listened raptly to the story about the soldiers. He liked to arrange the toy soldiers Gustav had given to Friederich the last Christmas in Konigsberg.

  “No, Willie. Many times bands of men, some fierce-looking like the Masai, would stop us on the trail, but we were not harmed. Corporal Hoffman spoke very good Swahili and was able to persuade the natives not to interfere with the caravan. They would often demand something that caught their eye, but the corporal would agree only to barter, which seemed acceptable, and we would be allowed to go on.”

  Johannes spoke for the first time. “The Masai are bad people. They are the enemies of the Chagga and the Kikuyu to the north. Before white men come, they steal our cattle and sometimes our women. Very bad people.”

  “Well, we have had no problems with them in the last several years, Johannes. Their akida, Msrumi, has served the German government well. They pay their taxes, and they abide by the rulings of their courts and the German courts when another tribe is involved. The cattle-stealing continues, but there is justice when they are caught.”