After the fighting and feasting were over the Monsembe folk lived in constant fear of reprisals. Night after night groups of men were posted near the roads leading from the enemies’ towns, and frequently the gongs and drums broke on the night’s silence with their rapid beats, awakening the sleepers who, hastily picking up their spears, knives, and shields, hurried by to the scene of the alarm only to find that the sentries “thought they saw or heard something” in the adjacent bush. The women sometimes came screaming in from the farms avowing they had been chased by the enemy. Every rustle of the grass, leaves, or bush was interpreted into a lurking foe; and the nerves of the victors became so jumpy that a voice raised in angry conversation would set the whole town agog with expectation that the enemy had come seeking revenge. When these alarms took place during the day, the fighters would demonstrate before our house, and ask us to bring out our guns and help them to keep off the foe. “You are living in our town, and you are our white men. We offered to help you against the lower towns if they came to attack you, and now get out your guns and aid us. Why, if you were only to show yourselves the people of the upper towns would run away. Come on, our white men, and help us!” We pointed out to them that all the people of the district were our friends, and consequently we could not assist one town to fight against another. Then, finding that arguments and persuasion failed to move us, they took to taunting us. “You are not white men,” they shouted, “you are women! You are cowards!” And with curled lips and gestures of scorn they pointed their spears and knives at us.