Paul Theroux - The Black House

The Times, Tuesday November 9 The Bwamba

From Dr. A. B.W. Munday

Sir, It is to be regretted that your correspondent (Tribal War in Western Uganda, 25 Oct.) did not trouble himself to probe more deeply into the conflict between the Bwamba and Batoro peoples, and saw fit only to repeat the confused observations of a generation of misfit District Commissioners.

The wisdom of comparing the Bwamba to other quarrelsome African peoples is questionable; to publish this comparison is folly. A repetition of the Ibo adventure, he writes. On the contrarycolour is conceivably their only common denominator. This is not a great deal different from comparing an Englishman with, say, an Italian. An exercise in derision, but dangerous as well. A report such as his can be of no possible benefit in understanding the nature of the issues or the lapses for which both sides may be held accountable.

As it happens, I have recently returned from a long residence in Uganda and am presently engaged in writing a social history of the Bwamba. Without going into further detail, may one simply hope that when this study is published it will afford access to the sources of conflict and put paid to the notion that civilized society has nothing to learn even from so small and remote a people?

Yours faithfully,

Alfred M unday

Bowood House, Four Ashes,

Near Bridport, Dorset

Nov. 2.

The stillness of the country bedroom sealed their privacy and prompted them to continue the argument they had begun that morning on the train from Waterloo. But no sooner had he said to his wife, Damn yousaying it in the casual unemphatic way of the married person who has repeated it often without meaning itthan in the ensuing silence that had an unusual purr of safety, there was a human mutter against the wall. They were alarmed and disappointed they were not alone, they could not explain that what had surely been overheard was simple exasperation. Then Mr. Flack was at the door, and Emma Munday at her open suitcase; and her husband placed himself across the room, at the window, pretending he had not meant anything serious.

Its so green, said Alfred Munday, recovering his voice. He looked out the window. It was the guest wing of The Yew Tree. He and Emma were the only guests. He stopped himself from speaking the next thought that occurred to him, that it was the kind of open landscapethere, out of the English windowthat might have held groups of grazing zebra, or a distant regatta of tall white egrets, or some swart-sniffing wildebeest.

It was silly, but his eye, used to Africa, alert for the remarkable or strange, would not be quieted. In some places visions were interchangeable for Munday, and the comfort of a familiar detail often inspired an absurdity: once, he had woken in a hotel room in Kampala, and, chilled by the roaring air conditioner, looked sleepily out at the gray lowering sky; for seconds he believed those woolly clouds were about to release a blizzard of snow. That was on the equator, at sea level. Now he looked again at the human curves on the shoulders of the Dorset hills and wondered at their emptiness. He said, Its as green as Africa.

You should know, sir. That was Mr. Flack, the landlord of The Yew Tree. He said it as a friend, but he was positioned like a stranger, just outside the door of Mundays room, in his overcoat, with his fists clenched at his sides.

Should I indeed?

Seeing as how youve been down there.

So Mr. Flack knew. Munday was cautioned and guardedly he said, Quite.

I was there myself, Mr. Flack went on. During the last war. In the desertI was at Tel el Kebir. Later on I was laid up in a hospital in Capetown. Malaria. Thats how I lost my teeththey had to pull them all out. Part of the cure. When my teeth were gone I was right as ninepence. He worked his mouth reflectively for a moment. Had some blacks in the regiment, too.

Munday became interested. Africans?

Hindus, said Mr. Flack. Beautiful little chaps they were. Tremendous fighters. They had these dirty great kukris' He blinked and looked at Emma to explain. Thats a type of knife, sharp as anything, and they knew how to use them. Oh, we had some times. Munday had turned to the window when Mr. Flack said, Hindus. He said, I didnt go inI was getting my doctorate. He felt an explanation was required: he had no war stories. In any case I have a bad heart.

My ticker was none too good, said Mr. Flack, and it sounded to Munday like a rebuke. I had these dizzy spells and went all cold in me hands and feet. They gave me six months to live.

You look fine to me, said Munday.

That was thirty years ago, said Mr. Flack. He leaned forward into the doorway to confide, Youre looking at a man of seventy!

I dont believe it, said Munday. He spoke what he felt; Mr. Flacks round figures sounded like lies. But Munday took a closer look and changed his mind.

Id be a lot stronger if I hadnt come down with double pneumonia during that hard winterthat was sixty-three. We were snowed up here for six weeks no bread, no papers, and most of the cattle died. It was over the top of the pillar box. Ill show you the snapshots some time. Thats what gave me my chest. He coughed; a rich deep wheeze traveled down his throat and slowed and thinned to a whistle. I hope you and the missus like walks. Theres some lovely walks here. And masses of history.

Were quite looking forward to the walks, said Emma.

Ill lend you my maps, said Mr. Flack. I was a great walker once, but I dont do much of it these days what with the pub and my chest. And my missus has arthritis. Still.

Hearing the whiffling accent, Munday said with encouragement, Why, youre a Londoner.

Born and bred in Tulse Hill, said Mr. Flack, pronouncing it Towse Hew.

I had a pub there for years, The Anchor, near the station. Thats going back a bittwenty years ago.

Munday said, What made you choose Dorset?

Same reason as you, I fancy.

And what reason is that?

Retirement, sort of. This is a good place for a retired gent.

Of course, said Munday, but he was looking out the window again, past the thick black-green trees that gave the inn its name. Thats our house, isnt it? Mr. Flack excused himself and entered the room.' He peered over Mundays shoulder and said, Thats the roof. Any idea when youll be moving in?

Just as soon as our sea freight arrives. Its already in London, so its just a matter of getting it off the dock and down here in a lorry.

Could take ages, Mr. Flack said gravely. I can tell youve been away for a little while. You dont know these dockers and their go-slows.

Well hope for the best, said Munday. In the meantime were counting on your hospitality.

Its so kind of you to put us up, said Emma. We were told you dont take many lodgers.

Not these days, said Mr. Flack. But years ago The Yew Tree was packed out with guests. Came from all over. We did lunches, cream teas, the lot. After old Mrs. Clissold diedshe was a tower of strengththere was no one to clean. My missus cant manage the stairs, you see. Its her legs. Still, youre very welcome to stay as long as you like. Youll find it cheap and cheerful. The bar opens at six. Come down and have a drink if youre free.

Well just finish this unpacking, said Munday. Right you are, said Mr. Flack. He smiled at Munday, made a slight bow to Emma and walked stiffly out, shutting and latching the door.

He thinks Im retired, said Munday in a whisper. Arent you?

No, said Munday, and I dont like the word.

Emma opened her suitcase and took out a sponge bag. She said, Hes quite a talker.