"There will be days," added Rotembo, "when you will find no monkeys or other game and hunger will come upon you. Then Ndova must follow you. There are many kinds of fruits, berries, and nuts in the forest; these look very tempting, but several of them are very poisonous, and people die if they eat them. So when you see any fruit, berries, or nuts you do not know, do not eat them until you give them to Ndova first. If he eats them, these are also good for you."
"Monkeys never make a mistake; they have a gift which no man possesses. By the sense of smell they can tell if a berry, nut, or fruit is poisonous. They always smell a thing they do not know before eating it, and when it is poisonous they throw it away. If it is not poisonous, they give it a bite. In that case what is good for the monkey is good for the man. But I must tell you that often the nuts, berries, or fruits a monkey likes men do not like, for monkeys and men have not always the same taste."
After hearing the words of Rotembo I looked with renewed curiosity at Ndova. He was almost as large as Andekko. His nose was white, which contrasted strongly with the color of his dark hair tipped with whitish gray. He had long canine teeth. I was glad to hear he was gentle, for I should not have liked to be bitten by him.
"Oguizi, I give you Ndova," Rotembo said. "He is the third gift I promised you. I think you will get on well in the forest with Rogala, Andekko, and Ndova. There are two other of my slaves who are also great hunters. Their names are Shinshooko and Alapai. These three men live close together in the forest and spend their lives in hunting; they have their families with them.
"I got Ndova in the following manner," he continued. "I and my slave Rogala were hunting together near the plantation where you are going. We were lying in wait for boars, when finally we heard their grunts. We heard at the same time the chatter of monkeys above our heads. The boars came in sight and we fired. Then, to our astonishment, a little monkey fell from the tree above our heads. The firing of our guns had frightened his mother, who dropped him. He did not have the strength to hold on to the branches. I seized the little fellow and put him into my bag. The mother followed all the way back to the plantation, uttering cries of distress and anger. Sometimes she would come down to the ground, look at us, and go up into the trees again. She did not dare to approach too near us. After coming to the house we fed the little monkey with the milk of a goat and called him Ndova. His mother at the same time remained on a commanding tree close by, calling the little fellow. Soon she was joined by her mate, who added his calls to hers. They slept on a tree near the plantation that night, and we kept the baby in the house. At daylight the two big monkeys were still on the same tree, and uttered cries of anguish and distress, calling for the little fellow, but did not dare to come down.