They let on not to sling your kind o' lingo.
Milk--never heard o' such stuff--cows in them parts don't give milk! Food?
They're starving.

It isn't overeating makes their bellies big, it's wind.

Porters?
All the young men are lame, an' old 'uns too old, an' the middle 'uns too middle-aged--an' who ever heard of a native woman workin' anyhow.

Who tills the mtama patch, then?
It don't get tilled, or else the women only 'tend to it at tillin' time.

Nobody works at anythin' about the time you come on the scene, for work ain't moral, pleasin' nor profitable, an' there you are! As for the trail ahead, lions an' cannibals are the two mildest kind of calamities they guarantee you'll meet." "You don't have to believe them," I argued.