When crossing at the confluence of the Leeba and Makondo, one of my men picked up a bit of a steel watch-chain of English manufacture, and we were informed that this was the spot where the Mambari cross in coming to Masiko.  Their visits explain why Sekelenke kept his tusks so carefully.  These Mambari are very enterprising merchants:  when they mean to trade with a town, they deliberately begin the affair by building huts, as if they knew that little business could be transacted without a liberal allowance of time for palaver.  They bring Manchester goods into the heart of Africa; these cotton prints look so wonderful that the Makololo could not believe them to be the work of mortal hands.  On questioning the Mambari they were answered that English manufactures came out of the sea, and beads were gathered on its shore.  To Africans our cotton mills are fairy dreams.  “How can the irons spin, weave, and print so beautifully?” Our country is like what Taprobane was to our ancestors—­a strange realm of light, whence came the diamond, muslin, and peacocks; an attempt at explanation of our manufactures usually elicits the expression, “Truly ye are gods!”

When about to leave the Makondo, one of my men had dreamed that Mosantu was shut up a prisoner in a stockade:  this dream depressed the spirits of the whole party, and when I came out of my little tent in the morning, they were sitting the pictures of abject sorrow.  I asked if we were to be guided by dreams, or by the authority I derived from Sekeletu, and ordered them to load the boats at once; they seemed ashamed to confess their fears; the Makololo picked up courage and upbraided the others for having such superstitious views, and said this was always their way; if even a certain bird called to them, they would turn back from an enterprise, saying it was unlucky.  They entered the canoes at last, and were the better of a little scolding for being inclined to put dreams before authority.  It rained all the morning, but about eleven we reached the village of Sheakondo, on a small stream named Lonkonye.  We sent a message to the head man, who soon appeared with two wives, bearing handsome presents of manioc:  Sheakondo could speak the language of the Barotse well, and seemed awestruck when told some of the “words of God”.  He manifested no fear, always spoke frankly, and when he made an asseveration, did so by simply pointing up to the sky above him.  The Balonda cultivate the manioc or cassava extensively; also dura, ground-nuts, beans, maize, sweet potatoes, and yams, here called “lekoto”, but as yet we see only the outlying villages.