Before we came here we had been rich men, chiefs in our own place, but we lost our kraals and cattle and lands; they were sold, others took them and we became poor.

Yes, we who were fat grew lean as trek oxen at the end of winter.

Then we said to each other, 'Here we have no longer any home, the shame of poverty has come upon us, we are broken vessels, empty men of no account; also we are chiefs by blood, and here we cannot let ourselves out to labour like the common people, lest both the common people and the nobles should make a mock of us.

Our great stone kraal that has been ours for many generations is taken from us, others dwell in it, strange women order it, and their children shall move about the land.

We will go away.'" "The blood is the blood," broke in Otter, "the wealth is nothing; that comes and goes, but the blood is always the blood.