It was in Kilindini that I landed, and that under difficulties. Our ship was anchored far out and our baggage was taken ashore in native boats. Finding the main quay was crowded, I had my boatman go direct to the custom house and let us out on the beach. The custom house is a little shed about big enough for one cow situated so high up above the water that our trunks had to be carried out upon the heads of the Negroes. The water came up to their middles, but nevertheless they waded through it and brought both us and our baggage to the land. The customs examination was lenient. The officers looked through our trunks for guns and ammunition and warned us that we could not hunt elephants and hippopotami without a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar license. A little later the natives again took our trunks and lugged them about a quarter of a mile to the top of a hill, where we got the cars for Mombasa. The word “cars” savours of electricity or steam. The cars I took were run by men. Here in East Africa human muscle forms the cheapest power. The wages of the natives run from five cents a day upward, while in the interior there are many who will work eight or nine hours for three cents. The result is that the trolley cars are propelled by men. Each car consists of a platform about as big as a kitchen table, with wheels underneath and an awning overhead. In the middle of the platform there is a bench accommodating two to four persons. The wheels run on a track about two feet in width, and each car is pushed from behind by one or more bare-legged and bare-headed men who run as they shove it up hill and down. There are such car tracks all over the island, with switches to the homes of the various officials. There are private cars as well as public ones, and everyone who is anybody has his own private car with his coolies to push him to and from work. At the beginning and closing of his office hours, which here are from eight until twelve and from two until four, the tracks are filled with these little cars, each having one or more officials riding in state to or from the government buildings. [Illustration: Kilindini harbour, or “the deep place”, is connected with the town of Mombasa by a mile-long tramway, the cars of which are pushed by native runners. Mombasa is the chief port of Kenya Colony.] [Illustration: In this African village there are 25,000 natives, representing perhaps a hundred tribes, each with its own dress and customs. All, however, are eager buyers of the gaudy print cloths in the bazaars of the Hindu merchants.] [Illustration: In Kenya Colony the East Indians complicate matters for the British government. They practically control the retail trade and, having grown rich and prosperous, have begun to raise embarrassing political issues.]