And all the streets were straight, with shade trees planted down both sides at exactly equal intervals.
But the German blight was there, instantly recognizable by any one not mentally perverted by German teaching.

The place was governed--existed for and by leave of government.

The inhabitants were there on suffrance, and aware of it--not in the very least degree enthusiastic over German rule, but awfully appreciative.
The first thing we met of interest on entering the township was a chain-gang, fifty long, marching at top speed in step, led by a Nubian soldier with a loaded rifle, flanked by two others, and pursued by a fourth armed only with the hippo-hide whip, called kiboko by the natives, that can cut and bruise at one stroke.

He plied it liberally whenever the gang betrayed symptoms of intending to slow down.
Those Nubiains, we learned later, were deserters from British Sudanese regiments, and runaways from British jails, afraid to take the thousand-mile journey northward home again, scornful of all foreign black men, fanatic Muhammedans, and therefore fine tools in the German hand.

They worked harder than the chain-gang, for they had to march with it step for step and into the bargain force it to do its appointed labor.