| caption: |
Counting Kenoma in mud and rain; examining school |
| text: |
To Kenoma. Starting out in driving rain as usual. On the way, however, the rain stopped and a watery sun, even, came out for a time but it was raining again when I got in. The Zupvo was pretty full and the smaller river this side of it a roaring torrent crossed by one long narrow and very slippery plank - no rail - which was so springy that one could hardly keep one's feet. |
| text: |
I counted Kenoma in the rain, wading ankle deep in mud and middens all through the village, a difficult one to count as it is placed like Chekwema on the side of a very steep slope like a lump of muck thrown against a wall, and one is forever climbing about or sliding down stone to get from one to another of the innumerable ledges which hold houses separately or in twos and threes. The result has been that the last two countings have been wrong and the village pays part of its revenue under protest. I camped in the School, a miserable ekra hut, and had to put my kitchen in a Naga house among the pigs and chickens - not to mention anything else. |
| text: |
I examined the School in arithmetic. They were bad but I have met worse. |
