Free Treasure of the Golden Cheetah by Suzanne Arruda Page B

age. It was an elder with wisdom beyond any found in the villages. An elder revered even as the newcomers splattered the hems of its verdant robes with blood from sacrifices and war. It did not matter; a good rain always washed them clean.
    Finally, after pulling her Kodak from her pack and trying to capture the mystical sight on film, Jade tore her gaze from the view and gave herself to the mundane task of buying food. They headed past a row of rectangular, mud-brick houses to the open marketplace. Moshi was home to several tribes: Nyamwezi, Swahili, Chagga, and a few Wapare, all of them represented in the market. All spoke Swahili ever since the Arab traders and slavers had made inroads from Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar long ago.
    The Arab influence also showed in the men’s attire. Most wore white robes and red tarbooshes , brimless, flat-topped hats shaped like an inverted flowerpot. Others wore turbans. The white robes reminded Jade of Morocco, and she fingered the silver amulet worn around her neck. She thought about the old Berber woman who’d given it to her, and smiled at the memory.
    The Swahili women wore long dresses made by wrapping colorful cotton fabric around themselves and gracefully draping the ends over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Like the men, they wore tarbooshes , but most were heavily decorated with swaths of fabric and dangling ornaments. They sat on the ground next to trays full of flatbread, or walked the market carrying the trays in their arms.
    Most of the Chagga lived hidden in the forests on the lower slopes, but some had moved lower and farmed the land near Moshi. A few wore the coastal Arab clothing, but many, including the partially clothed women selling bananas, continued to wear skirts of animal skins.
    Indian shopkeepers stood beside their doors, displaying gaudy fabrics, sandals, books, beads, and hoes. They called to Jade as she approached, holding out a particularly bright bit of cloth or a new panga knife.
    Bananas, sugarcane, sweet potatoes, onions, peppers, flat loaves of bread, eggs, and the occasional chicken were all available, and it fell to Jade to haggle for supplies. Luckily, the cook, Muturi, was an experienced hand at it here. Harry had already brought along ample stores of flour, meal, and other nonperishables. Muturi suggested purchasing a milk goat, and Jade considered the possibility while examining some fresh tomatoes.
    Finally, armed with enough food for the next week, a dozen chickens for Biscuit’s dinners and six more for the crew, and three kid goats, and followed by six Nyamwezi lads to help carry it all, Jade returned to the hotel. She led a nervous nanny goat, bleating fretfully as Biscuit padded close behind it.
    Harry had hired two trucks, one car, and enough Nyamwezi men to act as porters to carry their equipment to their first destination, an old farmhouse. They put the larger crates, goats, and the chickens in the truck beds and seated the men, including Jelani and Biscuit, on top of the boxes. The actors seemed delighted by the prospect of sitting next to the beautiful cat and laughed appreciatively. Harry drove one truck, and Julian drove the other. Jade piled the women and the valises into the old box-bodied car and took the wheel. The house stood thirteen miles from Moshi as the raven flew, twenty miles away as the road struggled to find the easiest path up the rugged, steep track.
    Springs and streams cut across their route, the largest being the Una River. Plantain trees, tended by Chagga women, flourished alongside sycamores, olives, and baobabs. Abandoned rubber trees from some past venture scraped the roofs of the vehicles, and tree roots spread across and under the road as though they meant to trip these newest invaders. The route was rough enough to begin with, but it became worse from disuse once they’d passed the moss-covered ruins of a government fort near Marangu village.
    Much to the chagrin of the actors, Harry ordered them to