West with the Night

“Always the weed returns; the cultured plant retreats before it. Racial purity, true aristocracy, devolve not from edict, nor from rote, but from the preservation of kinship with the elemental forces and purposes of life whose understanding is not further beyond the mind of a Native shepherd than beyond the cultured fumblings of a mortar-board intelligence.”

In her frequent discussions of Colonial Life in Africa, Markham presents herself as someone who is more of an insider compared to other European colonialists. Here, she refers to African cultures as native “weeds,” mocking the tendency of “cultured” civilizations to try to impose their own ideas upon them. The native plants inevitably overwhelm the less hardy transplants. Throughout the memoir, Markham will deride colonialist assumptions while also reflecting some of them in her own writing and perspective.

“So far as I know I was the only professional woman pilot in Africa at that time period I had no freelance competition in Kenya, man or woman.”

Markham proudly declares herself to be “the only professional woman pilot in Africa at that time period,” presenting herself as someone who embraced The Thrill of Adventure in pursuing her own dreams despite her youth and gender. Markham’s defiance of the gender expectations and roles of her time will be a recurring element in the memoir.

“A man can be riddled with malaria for years on end, with its chills and its fevers and its nightmares, but, if one day he sees that the water from his kidneys is black, he knows he will not leave that place again, wherever he is, or whatever he hoped to be […] all his senses exist only to receive it, to transmit to his mind again and again, with ceaseless repetition, the simple fact that now he is dying.”

At the time of her writing this memoir, blackwater fever was an invariably terminal development resulting from long-term malaria treated with quinine. In 1950, chloroquine replaced quinine, which almost completely eradicated blackwater deaths. Markham occasionally mentions recurrent malaria, indicating that she herself endured it. Markham frequently emphasizes the dangerous elements of African life, adding to her portrait of Africa as exotic and “other” compared to European society.

“To see ten thousand animals untamed and not branded with the symbols of human commerce is like scaling an unconquered mountain for the first time, or like finding a forest without roads or footpaths, or the blemish of an axe. You know then what you have always been told—that the world once lived and grew without adding machines and newsprint and brick wall streets and the tyranny of clocks.”

Markham often writes with appreciation of the vastness of the African continent and its teeming wildlife. Here, she describes combined herds of zebras, wildebeests, and impalas. She contrasts these vast natural herds and their unmarked settings against modern human developments that are, she implies, less impressive than nature’s beauties.

“Like a dog he had trotted into my bedroom each morning to nuzzle me out of sleep; He had established a reign of terror in the kitchen by threatening to attack the servants whenever tribute was withheld him. […]

Punda, as I called him because it is the Swahili word for donkey, went away as he had come, even perhaps with less reason.”

While riding the horse named Balmy, the young Markham encounters a newly foaled zebra that follows her rather than staying with its herd. The zebra wanders through the humans’ ranch for some time, demanding attention. In describing her connection with the Zebra and giving him a Swahili name, “Punda,” Markham emphasizes her close connections with the local wildlife and culture.

“‘And you picked me up, Bishon Singh?’

He made a little dip with his massive turban. ‘I was happy with the duty of carrying you back to this very bed, Beru, and of advising your father, who had gone to observe some of Bwana Elkington’s horses, that you have been moderately eaten by the large lion. Your father returned very fast, and Bwana Elkington some time returned later very fast, but the large lion has not returned at all.’”

Markham relates how a Sikh merchant named Bishon saves her life from a lion attack when she is a young girl. Markham presents Bishon’s selfless intervention as an early illustration of The Importance of Loyalty, a quality that Markham asserts is essential for survival in Africa.

“One night, a leopard […] crept through the open door of my hut and abducted Buller from the foot of my bed. Buller weighed something over sixty-five pounds and most of it was nicely coordinated offensive equipment. The sound and the fury of the first round of that battle sometimes still ring in my ears […]

To my knowledge, and I think to his, it was the first time any dog of any size had been caught by a leopard and lived to dream about it.”

Buller is Markham’s childhood pet and constant companion. She offers several examples of the dog’s ferocity and fearlessness, such as when he fights a leopard and survives, as detailed here. This passage reflects Markham’s habitual emphasis on her childhood as surrounded by wild and dangerous nature.

“To each Murani his spear is a symbol of his manhood, and as much a part of himself as the sinews of his body. His spear is the manifestation of his faith; without it he can achieve nothing—no land, no cattle, no wives. Not even honour can be his until the day comes, after his circumcision, when he stands before the gathered members of his tribe […] and swears allegiance to them and to their common heritage.”

While she interacts with members of numerous tribal groups, Markham’s closest association is with the children and adults of the Nandi people. She describes how when a Nandi boy achieves adulthood, he undergoes a circumcision ritual to become a Murani, or adult warrior. In offering such information, Markham stresses her close ties and knowledge of African tribes.

“The young man tied his shuka on his shoulder one day and took his shield and his spear and went to war. He thought war was made of spears and shields and courage, and he brought them all.

But they gave him a gun, so he left the spear and the shield behind him and took the courage, and went where they sent him because they said this was his duty and he believed in duty. […]

He was shot and killed by the other man, who also believed in duty, and he was buried where he fell. It was so simple and so unimportant.”

Arab Maina, the father of Markham’s playmate Kibii, responds to the British call for men to enter World War I service. Markham contrasts Maina’s naivety about European warfare (“He thought war was made of spears and shields”) with his sudden and brutal death (“He was shot and killed”). Markham’s assumptions about how Maina felt and what his assumptions and motives were are an example of artistic license, as she was a child at the time and not present for these events.

“To an eagle or to an owl or to a rabbit, a man must seem a masterful and yet forlorn animal; he has but two friends. In his almost universal unpopularity he points out, with pride, that these two are the dog and the horse. He believes, with an innocence peculiar to himself, that they are equally proud of this alleged confraternity. He says, ‘Look at my two noble friends—they are dumb, but they’re loyal.’ I have for years suspected that they are only tolerant.”

Markham offers a humorous portrait of human relationships with the animal kingdom, suggesting that humans believe that dogs and horses regard them with mutual fondness. In joking that she suspects even dogs and horses are “only tolerant” of humans, she suggests that humans are not as impressive or important as they believe themselves to be. These observations precede her in-depth discussion of working with horses, offering the caveat that people do not understand the wisdom of the creatures with whom they interact.

“For years I had handled my father’s horses, fed them, ridden them, groomed them, and loved them. But I’d never owned one. Now I owned one. Without even the benefit of the good faery, but only because my father said so, I owned one for myself. The colt was to be mine […]

Was there a horse named Pegasus that flew? Was there a horse with wings?

Yes, once there was—once, long ago, there was. And now there is again.”

When Markham oversees the birth of a colt foal by the racehorse Coquette, she does not realize that her father is watching her from the shadows. He is so impressed that he gives the foal, Pegasus, to her. The horse becomes her closest companion after the death of Buller: When Markham departs the farm to work on her own as a trainer, Pegasus is the only significant possession she takes.

“I ride my father’s gift, my horse with wings, my Pegasus with the dark bold eyes, the brown coat that shines, the long main that flows like a black silk banner on the lance of a knight.

But I am no knight.”

Markham describes setting out on her own to be a horse trainer after her father leaves for Peru. In admitting that she is “no knight” and later comparing herself to Don Quixote, Markham stresses how she is seeking to be a horse trainer against the odds, as she is both very young and a woman—two qualities that others might hold against her.

“What a child does not know and does not want to know of race and colour and class, he learns soon enough as he grows to see each man flipped inexorably into some predestined groove like a penny or a sovereign in a banker’s rack. Kibii, the Nandi boy, was my good friend. Arab Ruta, who sits before me, is my good friend, but the handclasp will be shorter. The smile will not be so eager on his lips, and though the path is for a while the same, he will walk behind me now, when once, in the simplicity of our nonage, we walked together.”

Markham describes the stratified world of race and class in colonial Kenya, addressing the hierarchy of Colonial Life in Africa. She is acutely aware of the distinction between the ease with which she and Kibii interacted as children and the rigidity of their exchanges as adults, in which Markham becomes his boss and social superior. While Markham recognizes this shift, she does not much question it: Her perspective is still that of a white colonial woman despite her professed sympathy for African peoples.

“The filly stands quiet as a nodding kitten, but she is not asleep. She knows. She is thinking. Perhaps she is wondering, as I am, about those weakened tendons.

She turns her head, nudging me, speaking to me—do not worry; I will run. As long as these legs will bear me up, I will run.”

This passage comes from moments before the horse race that is 18-year-old Markham’s greatest triumph as a horse trainer. Wise Child is a young filly Markham trains herself, and despite Wise Child’s prior injury through poor training, she will soon win the race. Markham here intuits the thoughts and promises of the horse, which prove correct, once more presenting herself as having a special connection with animals and wildlife.

“If the towns and villages of Kenya lacked roads to unite them, like threads in a net, then at least there was land enough for the wheels of planes and sky enough for their wings and time enough for their propellers to beat back the barriers of doubt they flew against. Everywhere in the world, highways had come first—and then the landing fields. Only not here, for much of Kenya’s future was already the past of other places.”

Markham asserts that many elements of the African terrain are not amenable to the construction of roads. She posits that airplanes are the solution to the vast distances and intractable landscape of the continent. Her remark that “much of Kenya’s future was already the past of other places” reflects some of the prejudices common in Colonial Life in Africa, with Markham casually comparing Kenya’s development with the West’s and depicting it as being “behind” European nations.

“Perhaps above that urn there hangs a picture salvaged from the broken camera—a picture of a great beast frozen forever in an attitude of bewildered agony by the magic of a lens. And, if this is so, then those who pause before these otherwise unmeaning trifles may consider that they speak a moral—not profound, but worthy of a thought; Death will have his moment of respect, however he comes along, and no matter upon what living thing he lays his hand.”

Markham reflects on an incident in which the pilot Tom Black saves the life of a lion hunter. The hunter receives serious injuries, and his companion dies when they try to take their photo with a lion who is mortally wounded but not yet dead. The author uses the incident to anthropomorphize death itself as a hunter for whom all living creatures are game.

“One day the stars will be as familiar to each man as the landmarks, the curves, and the hills on the road that leads to his door, and one day this will be an airborne life. But by then men will have forgotten how to fly; they will be passengers on machines whose conductors are carefully promoted to familiarity with labeled buttons, and in whose minds knowledge of the sky and the wind and the way of the weather will be extraneous as passing fiction.”

Markham wrote her memoir at a time when passenger flights were in their infancy and when there were none in her region of Africa. She correctly predicts that flying will become a normal experience for many. She further predicts that flight will become so commonplace that it will be mundane, depriving the act of flying of The Thrill of Adventure it has for early pilots like her.

“As to the brutality of elephant-hunting, I cannot see that it is any more brutal than 90% of all other human activities. I suppose there is nothing more tragic about the death of an elephant than there is about the death of a Hereford steer—certainly not in the eyes of the steer.”

There are several passages in Chapter 17 where Markham comments on hunting elephants, which is yet another feature of Colonial Life in Africa. Markham regards trophy hunting as a useless pursuit, but her attitude is not one of outright condemnation: In suggesting that it is not “any more brutal than 90% of all other human activities,” she reflects some of the casual attitudes of her time toward European exploitation of African wildlife.

“The bull’s ears were spread wide now, his trunk was up and extended toward us, and he began the elephant scream of anger which is so terrifying […] ‘I may have to shoot him,’ Blix announced, and the remarks struck me as an understatement of classic magnificence. Bullets would sink into that monstrous hide like pebbles into a pond.”

When Markham locates a small herd of elephants near the hunters’ encampment, she and the guide, Blix, try to get as close as possible to evaluate the potential targets. Discovered by a huge bull, they become the helpless hunted. Such incidents reflect Markham’s emphasis on The Thrill of Adventure and her daring escapades.

“And there is my vial of morphine. I keep it, like a fetish, in the pocket of my flying jacket because the senior medical officer at Nairobi has told me to keep it, and has mumbled of forced landings in inaccessible wastelands and crackups in the depths of forests that men could hardly reach—in time.”

Markham does not explicitly explain the purpose of the vial of morphine. While the medicine could provide pain relief, the implication here is that the pilot might use the drug to die by suicide in situations where rescue or help will be impossible to obtain. Such details emphasize the dangers of Markham’s solo flights.

“A map in the hands of a pilot is a testimony of a man’s faith in other men; it is a symbol of confidence and trust. It is not like a printed page that bears mere words, ambiguous and artful, and whose most believing reader—even whose author, perhaps—must allow in his mind a recess for doubt.”

Markham frequently stresses both The Importance of Loyalty and the necessity of selflessness in her memoir. In this passage, she regards maps as an embodiment of “man’s faith in other men,” as all pilots need to be able to trust the coordinates and maps provided by others to stay safe. Markham speaks of this general camaraderie between pilots multiple times in the memoir.

“‘Before she leaves,’ he said, ‘the lady must have her fortune […] The lady will fly over great water to a strange country.’

‘That’s an easy prediction,’ mumbled Blix, with the Mediterranean just ahead.

‘And she will fly alone,’ said Abdullah Ali.”

While Markham and Blix wait to receive approval from the Italians to continue their journey to England, a Muslim fortune teller prophesizes Markham’s non-stop solo flight across the Atlantic. The passage serves as a moment of foreshadowing while also reflecting The Thrill of Adventure.

“Africa is never the same to anyone who leaves it and returns again. It is not a land of change, but it is a land of moods and its moods are numberless […] In the family of continents Africa is the silent, brooding sister, courted for centuries by knight-errant empires—rejecting them one by one and severally, because she is too sage and a little bored with the importunity of it all.”

Markham reflects on the attempted conquests of European and Asian invaders, noting that they leave lasting imprints but ultimately fail in their attempts to make the continent over according to their intentions. She anthropomorphizes all of Africa, describing it as a put-upon sister persistently declining her suitors. Markham’s description reflects the attitudes of Colonial Life in Africa, as her characterization of Africa as “rejecting” her “knight-errant” colonizers and being “a little bored […] of it all” downplays the damaging nature and extent of European colonialism in Africa.