The women to be seen in the streets of Nairobi are mostly of the Kikuyu tribe.  They are pretty much of a pattern.  Their heads are shaven, either completely or to leave only ornamental tufts; and are generally bound with a fine wire fillet so tightly that the strands seem to sink into the flesh.  A piece of cotton cloth, dyed dark umber red, is belted around the waist, and sometimes, but not always, another is thrown about the shoulder.  They go in for more hardware than do the men.  The entire arms and the calves of the legs are encased in a sort of armour made of quarter-inch wire wound closely, and a collar of the same material stands out like a ruff eight or ten inches around the neck.  This is wound on for good; and must be worn day and night and all the time, a cumbersome and tremendously heavy burden.  A dozen large loops of coloured beads strung through the ears, and various strings and necklaces of beads, cowrie shells, and the like finish them out in all their gorgeousness.  They would sink like plummets.  Their job in life, besides lugging all this stuff about, is to carry in firewood and forage.  At any time of the day long files of them can be seen bending forward under their burdens.  These they carry on their backs by means of a strap across the tops of their heads; after the fashion of the Canadian tump line.

The next cut above the shenzi, or wild man, is the individual who has been on safari as carrier, or has otherwise been much employed around white men.  From this experience he has acquired articles of apparel and points of view.  He is given to ragged khaki, or cast-off garments of all sorts, but never to shoes.  This hint of the conventional only serves to accent the little self-satisfied excursions he makes into barbarism.  The shirt is always worn outside, the ear ornaments are as varied as ever, the head is shaved in strange patterns, a tiny tight tuft on the crown is useful as fastening for feathers or little streamers or anything else that will wave or glitter.  One of these individuals wore a red label he had, with patience and difficulty, removed from one of our trunks.  He had pasted it on his forehead; and it read “Baggage Room.  Not Wanted.”  These people are, after all, but modified shenzis.  The modification is nearly always in the direction of the comic.

Now we step up to a class that would resent being called shenzis as it would resent an insult.  This is the personal servant class.  The members are of all tribes, with possibly a slight preponderance of Swahilis and Somalis.  They are a very clean, well-groomed, self-respecting class, with a great deal of dignity, and a great deal of pride in their bwanas.  Also they are exceedingly likely to degenerate unless ruled with a firm hand and a wise head.  Very rarely are they dishonest as respects the possessions of their own masters.  They understand their work perfectly, and the best of them get the equivalent of from eight to ten dollars a month.  Every white