Professional Documents
Culture Documents
3) When a client consults with a lawyer, the lawyer provides instruction and direction as
to what to do.
a. True
b. False
Answer: b
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 2c
Skill: Applied
4) Risk avoidance involves anticipation of what can go wrong and taking steps to avoid
that eventuality.
a. True
b. False
Answer: a
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 2d
Skill: Recall
Answer: c
Diff: 1
Type: MC
Page Reference: 3a
Skill: Recall
Answer: b
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 3b
Skill: Applied
Answer: b
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 3c
Skill: Recall
8) Which of the following statements with regard to the characteristics of civil and
criminal actions is true?
a. The person who begins a civil action is usually called the prosecutor.
b. A civil action is a private action; that is, a person or persons sue another or others
usually for the purpose of being compensated for injury or loss suffered.
c. If a person is convicted of a criminal offence, he or she cannot also be sued in a civil
action by the victim.
d. In a criminal case, an individual person is taking the action against the accused.
e. The prosecutor must prove his or her case based "upon a balance of probabilities."
Answer: b
Diff: 2
Type: MC
Page Reference: 3d, 17d, 22b
Skill: Recall
Answer:
A criminal trial involves a prosecutor acting on behalf of the state, prosecuting an
accused to the end that that person will be punished for his offence against the state. The
status of the victim is as a witness. In a civil action (often referred as a private action),
one person is suing another to the end that the court will award compensation for injury
suffered or some other remedy requested by the plaintiff. The standard proof is also
different in a criminal action, where the matter must be proved beyond a reasonable
doubt, while in a civil action the standard is upon the balance of probabilities.
Feedback: A criminal trial involves a prosecutor acting on behalf of the state, prosecuting
an accused to the end that that person will be punished for his offence against the state.
The status of the victim is as a witness. In a civil action (often referred as a private
action), one person is suing another to the end that the court will award compensation for
injury suffered or some other remedy requested by the plaintiff. The standard proof is
also different in a criminal action, where the matter must be proved beyond a reasonable
doubt, while in a civil action the standard is upon the balance of probabilities.
Diff: 3
Type: ES
12) Which of the following is incorrect regarding roles played in legal cases?
a. In a civil action, the person suing is the plaintiff.
b. In a civil action, the person being sued is the defendant.
c. In an appeal, the person filing the appeal is the appellant.
d. In a civil case, the appellant is the same as the defendant, but he or she is now in the
appeals process.
e. In a criminal case, the victim is likely to have the status of a witness.
Answer: d
Diff: 2
Type: MC
Page Reference: 3h, 30e
Skill: Recall
Answer:
The person who is suing is the plaintiff and the person being sued is the defendant. If one
party is dissatisfied with the outcome of the case and decides to appeal the decision, the
one who files the appeal is the appellant and the other party is the respondent. Note that
the appellant can be either the former plaintiff or the former defendant.
Feedback: The person who is suing is the plaintiff and the person being sued is the
defendant. If one party is dissatisfied with the outcome of the case and decides to appeal
the decision, the one who files the appeal is the appellant and the other party is the
respondent. Note that the appellant can be either the former plaintiff or the former
defendant.
Diff: 2
Type: ES
Page Reference: 3i
Skill: Recall
Answer: a
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 3j
Skill: Recall
Answer: a
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 3k
Skill: Recall
16) A criminal matter is usually offensive conduct considered serious enough for the
government to get involved and punish the wrongdoer.
a. True
b. False
Answer: a
Diff: 1
Type: TF
Page Reference: 3l
Skill: Recall
17) What role does the civil code system of law play in Canada?
Answer:
Quebec uses a civil code for areas that fall under its jurisdiction.
Feedback: Quebec uses a civil code for areas that fall under its jurisdiction.
Diff: 1
Yet even a man like Zuza cannot change his skin. After inspecting
every part of the interior, we walked round the house; and I noticed
an object hanging from a stick fixed under the eaves, strongly
resembling a large sausage. It was the fruit of the Kigelia, which is
called by Europeans the “German sausage tree,” though its
resemblance to a sausage ends with its appearance. Zuza, after some
hesitation, explained that this fruit was dawa—a medicine or a
charm, or whatever is the proper name for such a preservative. Its
task was no easy one, and consisted in protecting the house against
the whirlwinds which habitually blow here with such violence that it
is said they frequently carry away the roofs of huts. What association
of ideas led these people to attribute to this inoffensive fruit the
power of vanquishing Nature in her strongest manifestations, Zuza
could not or would not inform me.
Not only our halt at this place, but the preceding march through
the bush gave me the opportunity for one or two interesting
observations. We had halted for breakfast at a comparatively green
spot in the bush—my caravan lying on the ground in picturesque
confusion, Knudsen and I seated somewhat apart, as my olfactory
nerves were at this stage of the fever more sensitive than usual.
Suddenly I heard shouts whose import resembled the coarse
witticisms uttered by our soldiers at home when any being of the
female sex passes within earshot of a
company. In fact, when I looked, I saw a
young woman trying to avoid the group of
strangers by making a circuit of twenty or
thirty yards. This in itself was nothing
particularly exciting, but suddenly my men,
who have long ago discovered what interests
me, shouted all together, “Kipini, bwana!”
(“The nose-pin, sir!”) In another second, some
YAO WOMEN WITH of them had brought the fair one before me.
NOSE-STUDS She had, in fact, an exceptionally fine
specimen of an ebony stud in her left nostril,
inlaid with tin if possible still more prettily and gracefully than usual.
At first she flatly refused all offers to purchase, but in the end the fear
of so many strange men, wild-looking ones, too, seemed to be more
effectual than even the lustre of a quarter-rupee. Hesitatingly she put
her left hand to her nose, the right following almost instantaneously.
She must have taken out the kipini with a dexterous pressure of the
former, for the next moment she was already handing over the
ornament, while all the time, with an inexplicable shyness and
persistency, she kept her nose covered so that the process of
extraction was quite invisible. Even long after receiving her piece of
silver, she still held her hand to her face, in spite of a renewed fire of
jokes from my men. Undoubtedly the removal of the kipini is felt to
be a breach of modesty, hence the instinctive concealment of the
exposed spot.
Such a displacement, as we may call it, of the sense of modesty is
nothing rare in ethnography. It is a never-failing delight to me to re-
read the passage in what I may call my Bible, viz., Peschel’s
Völkerkunde, where the author describes the feelings of a pious
Muslim from Ferghana if he were to be present at a European ball.
Peschel thinks that the bare shoulders of our wives and daughters,
the quasi-embraces of our round dances, would fill him with silent
wonder at the long-suffering of Allah, who has not yet rained down
fire and brimstone on this sinful and shameless generation. It is
quite consistent with the same views that the Arab woman should
bare her foot, leg or bosom without embarrassment, while to let
anyone see the back of the head is supposed to be still more indecent
than the exposure of the face, carefully as the latter is hidden. Still
more divergent from our ideas are those of the Chinese, who would
think it the height of immodesty for a woman to show a man her
deformed foot, of which, in fact, it is improper even to speak. If we
were in this way to make a survey of the whole world, we should
encounter an immeasurable mass of the most various and, according
to our ideas, the strangest notions, as to what is proper and
improper. Our own views on this point are only a single item in a
long series, and they have no better foundation than any of the rest;
for all these opinions have this in common as regards their origin,
that nothing appears reprehensible or objectionable a priori. Only
after a definite view has been formed as to which parts of the body
are to be covered and which left uncovered, a breach of the rule
becomes an act to be reprobated—not before.
The other observation is of a more serious
nature. While riding through the pori, half
dozing in the heat, I suddenly found myself
nearly thrown out of the saddle, and saw, on
recovering my balance, that my mule had
shied at a mysterious object rising obliquely INFANT’S GRAVE
from the ground. This on closer inspection (MAKUA)
resolved itself into a bark cylinder half buried
in the earth. The thing is about half-a-yard in
length and closed at the uncovered upper end with two or three slabs
of bark stuck into the ground in front of the opening. None of our
men knew what to make of this, but some local natives happening to
come along at the time, explained that it was the grave of a still-born
child. The Makua, it appears, always bury them in this fashion.
After a short rest at Zuza’s, we started once more in order to reach
Chingulungulu the same day. On the march, Knudsen and I were
again attacked by fever. I could only maintain myself in the saddle by
convulsively clinging on, and Knudsen had the greatest difficulty in
keeping on his feet. We could see no end to the deadly monotony of
the open scrub gliding past us, tree after tree. I had lost all feeling in
my legs; the incessant throbbing and hammering in my skull
amounted to torture; and the misery of our progress lengthened out
the hours seemingly to infinity, so that I caught myself looking at my
watch every few minutes.
At length there appears a fixed point in the boundless ocean of
trees; a fallen giant blocks our path. The Norwegian sinks down on it
like a log, and only by long-continued persuasion can I induce him to
make a fresh start. We struggle on once more, till suddenly a
confused murmur of voices breaks on the ear. As if through a haze I
recognize Matola, whom I have already met at Masasi, surrounded
by a number of men dressed in white; they keep on bowing solemnly,
while I smile and wave my hand. We come to a house with many
pillars. I dismount with infinite trouble, my teeth chattering in spite
of the almost vertical sun. With a pleasant smile, Matola places his
pillared mansion at my disposal and offers me a jug of deliciously
cool milk. My thoughts are not fixed on material enjoyments—I want
nothing but rest and darkness. My eye seeks Knudsen and finds him
just as he vanishes staggering into the tent the men have hastily set
up. Two minutes later I, too, am wrapped in a couple of warm
camel’s hair blankets, to my inexpressible comfort! And now here
goes for my first fever.
Note.—It is a little surprising to find Dr. Weule complaining (see p. 108) that he
should have been unable, in a stay of less than a fortnight, to get at the psychology
of the native. His disappointment at Matola’s, in the next chapter, (p. 139) seems
even less reasonable, and it seems strange that he should have expected to get
information on subjects of which natives are never very eager to talk, by means of
direct leading questions. This, quite apart from the fact that, by his own admission,
his methods were not always conciliatory.—[Tr.]
MATOLA’S COMPOUND
CHAPTER VIII
AT MATOLA’S
With all its evils, a downright good fever has one advantage,—when it
is over the convalescent has such an appetite that “eating” is far too
mild a term to apply to the process of gratifying it. In this state of
health a whole roast fowl is just about enough for a breakfast, that is
if it has been preceded by a large plate of tinned soup and is to be
followed by a still larger omelette with bananas. But when this stage
is reached the patient is well on the way to recovery, and soon begins
to enjoy his cigar, which, according to Wilhelm Busch,[24] is the
surest test of fitness. Only a certain feeling as if the brain did not
quite fill its allotted space and therefore broke in waves at the edges
every time you move your head, remains for some days as an
unpleasant reminder of the attack.
“Reality” versus “Dream,” or “Prose” versus “Poetry,” might be a
very good name for the famous Chingulungulu. One would need to
have lived for ten years in the bush, like Nils Knudsen, to look on this
emporium of mud, dirt, and dust as the paradise which he still
honestly believes it to be. Of course we have taken up our abode in
the famous baraza, which is, in fact, quite a handsome building.
True, it is nothing but a thatched roof supported on posts; but it is no
less than sixteen yards across, and the ridge of the roof is at least
twenty feet from the floor. It is no contemptible achievement as
regards architecture; the posts are arranged in three concentric
circles round the central pillar, and the floor is of beaten clay mixed
with ashes. To bring it to the proper degree of firmness and
smoothness they use a wooden beater, bent into an obtuse angle and
ending in a broad, flat surface. A raised ledge, about fifteen inches
high, and broken by three openings at angles of 120°, runs round the
building. This represents the seats of the “thingmen,” for the baraza
is in fact neither more nor less than the parliament-house of the
village elders. The chief sits in the middle of the spacious building,
and round him in a serried throng squat, sit, or stand his black
fellow-citizens. Every native village has such a baraza, but the
Chingulungulu one is the most famous of all. Matola is naturally not
a little proud of being able to lodge his guests in so distinguished a
building.
But even his private residence is a notable feat of architecture. It is
surrounded, like all other houses, by a verandah, the ground under
the wide eaves being raised a few inches out of the wet. Here Matola
holds his court every day and all day long, which is interesting, but
hardly agreeable, as far as I am concerned, since the auditorium is
hardly thirty yards from my seat, and native voices are little
accustomed to restraint. And when the women take part in the
general discussion, or conduct their own defence in a trial, the noise
becomes appalling.
The interior of Matola’s house is scarcely in keeping with its
spacious dimensions. The whole front is taken up by what Matola
calls his evening baraza, a long narrow apartment, into which the
inmates of the house and their friends withdraw on wet or stormy
evenings. The furniture consists of a single kitanda, or coast-fashion
bedstead. The rest of the house is occupied by three rooms of about
fifteen feet by fifteen each. The two lateral ones are intended for
sleeping-rooms, as shown by a couple of bedsteads and large heaps
of ashes, the remains of the fire which every native keeps up beside
his couch at night. These rooms are only accessible through doors
leading from the central one, windowless, and therefore pitch dark.
The central room serves as a kitchen, but how elementary and
primitive is Matola’s hearth compared with Zuza’s! The latter has a
substructure for the system of cooking-stones, pots and other
culinary appurtenances, which is quite correct in material and
workmanship, while at Matola’s there is nothing but a chaos of ashes,
in the midst of which two or three lumps, as big as a man’s head, of
earth from an ant-heap indicate where the royal meals are prepared.
At the same time this Yao chief has the reputation of being a wealthy
man, as wealth goes in Africa, and of having great hoards of bright
silver rupees hidden somewhere about his huts.
BEER-DRINKING
The Dark Continent has no love for me; on the march it persecuted
me daily with its whirlwinds, and here at Chingulungulu it pursues a
systematic plan for expelling me from its interior. Knudsen and I
dine between twelve and one. Originally the hour had been fixed at
twelve precisely. With measured step Moritz and Knudsen’s Ali
approach from the direction of the kitchen with the inevitable plate
of tinned soup. We are ready to fall to cheerfully, each—as is
customary out here—at his own camp-table, when we hear the sound
of a rushing mighty wind coming nearer and nearer. Dust, grass, and
leaves are whirled into the air; one instinctively holds one’s hand or
one’s cap over the plate, but all in vain—a gyrating chaos of ashes,
dust, tufts of grass, and all the various kinds of dirt which can only be
studied in this country, overwhelms us from behind; the baraza
groans in all its beams; the boys fly out, unresisting and helpless into
the open space in front; and then all is over. When we can open our
eyes under the crust of foreign matter which covers our faces and
everything else, we are just in time to see the thatch of the huts
waltzing through the air before the whole phenomenon vanishes into
the pori. On the first day, of course, we were quite helpless; on the
second we were again overwhelmed while thinking no evil; on the
third I suggested that dinner should be postponed for a quarter of an
hour. It was no use, the whirlwind came just a quarter of an hour
later. We have gone on waging a regular war against this midday
whirlwind, and, so far, we have been beaten all along the line. It
always springs up the moment the soup is brought in. Moritz and Ali
have scarcely time to clap the lids of a couple of tins over our plates
when it is upon us. To protect ourselves against it, and also, it must
be said, against the troublesome curiosity of the children of the land,
small and great, we have built ourselves in under Matola’s baraza by
carrying a screen of millet stalks right across the hall high enough to
reach the roof, and erecting two other screens at the ends of the first
and converging on each other, so that we are now in a closed room.
But my intimate enemy, the chimbunga, penetrates even into this
carefully protected apartment.
The water-supply of this region forms a subject by itself. Of all the
charms of Chingulungulu this was what Knudsen had dwelt on most
lovingly—one might be ever so ill and wretched, but a draught from
this unrivalled spring would restore health to the most infirm. One of
our first walks after getting through the fever which marked our
arrival at this place, was to its principal wells. They are close to the
road from Zuza’s, and I should have seen them just before we arrived
had I not been at that time more dead than alive. With expectations
raised to the highest pitch, I walked along the path leading to the
spot in question—two hundred yards distant at most—followed by a
long train of boys and half-grown lads. “Here we are,” said my
companion suddenly, as we caught sight of a number of women and
several young girls squatting in three roomy pits about six feet deep.
“Well, how about the spring?” I asked, the Norwegian’s glowing
descriptions being still present to my mind’s eye.
“Why, down there—those holes—those are the springs; don’t you
see the women drawing water?” That I certainly did see, and my
illusions vanished in the twinkling of an eye. But their place was
taken with equal rapidity by the scientific interest attaching to the
hydrography of the country in general and Chingulungulu in
particular; and of this I was enabled to get a fairly clear notion after
walking round the three pits and scrambling down into each of them.
WATER-HOLES AT CHINGULUNGULU
The rivers and streams here on the inland slope of the Makonde
plateau are of the kind called wadi in North Africa or Omurambe in
the distant German territory of the south-west—that is to say, they
have water all the year round, but only in the subsoil; on the surface
the water does not flow except in the rainy season, and immediately
after it. The rains, which are extremely abundant, were over months
ago, so that it is no wonder if the people have to dig deeper every day
into the stream-beds to find water. Here they have in places
penetrated right through the superincumbent strata, and Moritz
cannot say enough in praise of this water which comes straight from
the living rock. It may indeed be comparatively poor in bacteria and
innocuous even for Europeans, but what I have seen of the way in
which it is obtained has induced me to keep up, from the moment of
my arrival, and insist on having scrupulously carried out, the
procedure customary with me ever since we left Lindi, of having all
the drinking-water treated with alum, filtered, and boiled.
In no department of daily life is the contrast between Europe and
Africa more sharply defined than in this matter of the water-supply.
Instead of the brass tap and clear, cool water in a clean glass, we find,
brooding over a muddy water-hole, an almost equally muddy
woman. Behind her, on the high bank, stands her portly earthen jar.
She sits gazing apathetically into the narrow opening, the usual ladle
(the half-cocoa-nutshell with a wooden handle stuck through it) in
her right hand. At last enough fluid has accumulated to make it
worth while to plunge the dipper under the turbid surface; not
ungracefully, with the rocking motion peculiar to the negress, she
reaches the top of the bank, and the water pours in a milky jet into
the large jar, the process being repeated as often as necessary till it is
full. Then she walks to the nearest bush and comes back with a
handful of fresh green twigs, which she carefully inserts into the neck
of the jar. This is no manifestation of a decorative instinct, or of any
feeling for the beauties of nature—neither man nor woman in this
country has advanced so far; in fact, highly as we Europeans think of
ourselves, this feeling for nature is even with us of comparatively
recent growth. The native is, in the first instance, practical—in fact,
he is nothing if not practical. Without this bunch of leaves, the water-
jar, filled to the brim, would slop over at every step, drenching the
bearer’s head and body; but, as it is, not a drop is spilt, the twigs and
leaves hindering all undulatory motion in the narrow space.
Probatum est.
MAKONDE WOMEN FROM MAHUTA