In the equatorial South, on the left bank of the White Nile, the King of the Shilluks sat under a mango tree, wearing a white sash and stroking his tufted beard. His Majesty's illiterate subjects kissed his black feet and asked: "For whom shall we vote?" The King said: "Ask the white man."
A Briton in khaki shorts stood nearby in a thatched mud hut that served as a polling station. The Shilluk voters hesitated, fingering the red-painted beads of flesh that stand out on their foreheads, peering at a row of empty...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
