On the whole, the people seemed to lead a very happy and contented life. They are almost vegetarians in their manner of living, their staple food being sweet potatoes, although they include a variety of other articles in their diet, such as yams (which they call _kigwa_), matama, beans, Indian corn (or maize), and a smaller grain called _mawhali_, besides bananas, sugar-cane, &c. They also have a very small grain like canary-seed, called _umkanori_, which they grind into flour by means of a hand-mill, composed of two stones—a large one at the bottom, on which they place the grain, and a smaller one on top, with which they grind it, after the fashion of the mills described in the Bible as being in use in the East thousands of years ago. With the flour made from the umkanori-seed they make a kind of porridge, which I found very palatable. The natives call it _ujuru_, and it combines the properties of both food and drink, being left to ferment until it somewhat resembles _tywala_, or Kafir beer, and is very nourishing. When the natives are going on a journey which takes them any distance from their homes, or out to work in the fields, they take a calabash of ujuru with them, a smaller calabash, cut in half, being used as a cup, into which the liquid is poured for drinking.
The Kikuyu appeared to have no regular hour for eating, except in the evening, when the day’s work is over. Then everybody, men, women, and children, could be seen sitting round a huge calabash, cut in half to form a kind of basin, all helping themselves from the contents of the vessel, which would, perhaps, consist of sweet potatoes, or Indian corn, or perhaps bananas, roasted. In connexion with this custom of the evening meal, I may here make mention of the open-handed hospitality which is the rule rather than the exception among all the native races of Africa; in fact, I make bold to say that any man who is willing to work at all cannot possibly be stranded in Africa, unless, it may be, in one of the larger towns. I have often noticed a native come into a village at the time of the evening meal, walk up to the circle, and sit down and help himself to sweet potatoes or whatever there might be; and on my remarking to the headman on the number of his grown-up sons I have been told, “Oh, that is not one of my sons; he is a stranger.” When I asked where he came from, I was told that they did not know; they had not asked him even his name, and knew nothing whatever about him. He would settle himself by the fire for the night, and go on his way the next morning without his host being any the wiser as to his name or where he came from.