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Architects. He has been an adjunct professor of engineering at Drexel
University since 1979 and at Temple University since 2009; he also taught at
the University of Pennsylvania. Dr. Plotnick is a past president of the
Philadelphia chapter of the Pennsylvania Society of Professional Engineers
and an active member of the state society, as well as of the American Society
of Civil Engineers, the Association for the Advancement of Cost Engineering
International, and the American Bar Association Forum on Construction. He
was a charter member and past vice president of the PMI College of
Scheduling. In 2010, Dr. Plotnick created—and now annually hosts—the
Construction CPM Conference.
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James J. O'Brien, P.E., PMP, CVS; Fredric L. Plotnick, Ph.D., Esq., P.E.: CPM in
Construction Management, Eighth Edition. ABOUT THE AUTHORS, Chapter (McGraw-
Hill Professional, 2016, 2010, 2006, 1999, 1993, 1984, 1971, 1965),
AccessEngineering
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Acknowledgments
C. Acknowledgments
The writing of this 8th edition has involved the assistance of numerous
individuals who have provided technical advice on the computer software
products discussed, feedback from the field for the case studies discussed,
editorial review to combine the writing styles of the two authors into one
more readable style, and moral support throughout the process of writing
and rewriting and editing and proofreading and publishing. Special
recognition is accorded the following individuals:
Lauren Poplawski, Pamela Pelton, and Donna Martone of McGraw-Hill
Raghavi Khullar of Cenveo Publisher Services
Rob Edwards of Deltek
Garrett Harley and Karen Pilla of Oracle Primavera
Heather Heide of Microsoft
Ron Winter, Dan Patterson, Kenji Hoshino, and Jim Zack
The many volunteers and members of AACEi and former PMICOS who have
contributed content and constructive criticism
Jim and Fred dedicate this 8th edition to the memory of:
Rita O'Brien, November 1, 2010
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Construction Management, Eighth Edition. Acknowledgments, Chapter (McGraw-Hill
Professional, 2016, 2010, 2006, 1999, 1993, 1984, 1971, 1965), AccessEngineering
Introduction to Logic Based Planning and
Scheduling
1. Introduction to Logic Based Planning and Scheduling
This introduction discusses some factors that make the case for why
planning and scheduling are best performed by the critical path method
(CPM). It covers some of the history behind the development of CPM planning
and scheduling and relays some thoughts on where the process may go in
the future. The interplay between the theory of mathematics that underlies
the methodology and the modifications needed to make the methodology
more practical is a theme that is woven throughout the text. The reader will
see that it is the scheduler who must balance these two ideals, mathematics
and engineering, to provide a useful and user-friendly tool to the users of
CPM in construction management, manufacturing, and software design, and
to other users of projects that must be finished on time and within budget.
1.1. Scheduling Is for Everyone
Scheduling is a discipline that is performed by every person, every day.

Should you first shave or brush your teeth in the morning? If you are
scheduling for one person only, the process is rather simple. You can prepare
a "to-do" list and then choose the order in which to perform the items on it.
However, the choice of what to do first is not completely random. Perhaps
there are physical restrictions, such as "shower before dressing" or "cook
breakfast before eating." Perhaps there are logistical restrictions, such as
combining one trip to buy milk, pick up the dry cleaning, and refuel your car,
rather than making three trips to accomplish these three items on your to-do
list. Perhaps the order of performance is pure personal choice, such as put
on the right shoe before the left shoe.
Even at this simple level, not all is what it seems to be. If you are in a hurry,
you might begin eating a portion of your breakfast while still cooking the
rest. If your dry cleaner is open only from 10:00 A.M. to 6:00 P.M. and if your
car is very low on gas, you may have to refuel on your way to work, pick up
your dry cleaning at lunch, and buy milk on the way home from work. If you
have a foot or leg injury, you may need to put on your left shoe first.
If you want to schedule the tasks of two or more persons or the work flow of
two or more machines (even if both are under the supervision of one person),
the process becomes much more complex.
1.2. We Teach Carpentry—Not "How to Use Your New Power

Saw"
If the process of scheduling were a simple matter, requiring merely rote

actions without the need for thought, perhaps good schedules could be
created by a software wizard. After clicking your way through a preset series
of screens, you would have your schedule. Perhaps then the request of an old
client for a device where building blueprints are fed in one end and a
schedule is printed out the other end would be feasible.
Alas, it is not so—scheduling is a complex process, and the mathematical

underpinning is at a level more complex than rocket science (which is merely
calculus). Scheduling is an application of special knowledge or judgment of
the mathematical, physical, or engineering sciences to the conception or
implementation of creative work. Scheduling, formal or informal, good or bad,
is practiced in the planning, progress, and completion of designs, analyses,
or implementation performed in connection with utilities, structures,
buildings, machines, equipment, processes, systems, works, projects, and
industrial or consumer products or equipment of a mechanical, electrical,
electronic, chemical, hydraulic, pneumatic, geotechnical, or thermal nature.
The wording of the preceding sentence is taken from the statute defining
engineering for a reason: scheduling is a branch of engineering.
Implicit in the teaching of engineering, or of the supporting fields of science

and mathematics, is the need to understand the process and not merely trust
the black box. It is important to understand the mathematical underpinning
of modern CPM software rather than to merely begin clicking away. Children
are still taught how to add and how to spell even though they have access to
calculators and computer word processing software aided by spell-check.
One reason is that even the best spell-check software can leave errors
uncaught. Another reason is to understand what the numbers on calculators
mean. Many of us may remember a freshman physics class where we were
taught that 2.5 × 3.01 is not equal to 7.525, but rather to 7.5, since the result
will never be more accurate than the least accurate input (for those who have
not taken freshman physics, 2.50 × 3.01 = 7.53 and 2.500 × 3.010 = 7.525).
Even the terminology can be misleading. CPM was once noted as a tool in the
process of planning and scheduling. First we must plan, then we can use the
computer to perform the rote calculations (that we understand and could
perform ourselves, given time) to generate the schedule, and finally we must
read the output with a knowledge of the assumptions and tolerances
involved. Today, however, we can purchase software that includes a wizard to
simplify or ignore the need for planning, perform the calculations while
allowing user overrides to generate the features and benefits or "how to use"
your new result, and provide killer report and graphics applications to
display the schedule results.
It is the purpose of this text to teach carpentry and not merely the features
and benefits of software programs or how to use your new power saw. It is
the purpose of this text to teach the process of planning and scheduling by
means of the critical path method of analysis. We can best start by reviewing
how this field of mathematics and engineering was developed.
1.3. History of Scheduling Systems
CPM was developed specifically for the planning of construction. The choice
was fortuitous, since construction accounts for more than 10 percent of the
annual gross national product. Almost every activity and person is affected to
some degree by new construction or the need for it. Most projects are
started well after the need has been established, seeming to follow the
whimsy, "If I'd wanted it tomorrow, I'd have asked for it tomorrow."
The construction industry is a heterogeneous mix of companies ranging in

size from large operations to one-person operations. No matter the size,
construction companies face similar situations and, to some degree, similar
pressures. Many factors, such as weather, unions, accidents, capital
demands, and workloads, are either beyond individual control or difficult to
control. New problems in project approvals due to increased public
awareness include pollution and ecological controls. CPM does not offer
clairvoyance, but it does assemble all the information for the project
managing team.
Initially, CPM spotlighted construction and the contractor. The owner,

architect, engineer, and public agencies involved in a project are like the
backer, producer, and director of a Broadway show. Without them, the show
cannot go on, and any lack of competence, motivation, or interest on the part
of any one of the team members can delay a project. However, the contractor
is the performer who ultimately makes or breaks the construction show.
The typical contractor is a planner who generally uses instinctive methods

rather than formal scheduling. Prior to 1957, contractors had little choice but
to operate this way because no comprehensive, disciplined procedures for
planning and scheduling construction projects existed. And prior to the mid-
1980s, contractors desiring to utilize the benefits of the newer methods had
to rely on outside consultants, who in turn had to rely on computer service
bureaus and their large mainframe computers.
One of the keys to the success of CPM is that it utilizes the planner's
knowledge, experience, and instincts in a logical way first to plan and then to
schedule. CPM can save time through better planning, and in construction,
time is money.
The Egyptians and Romans worked construction miracles in their day, and
surviving ruins attest to the brilliance of their architecture, but little is
known of their construction planning and scheduling. Other historical project
managers include Noah, Solomon, and the unknown architect who designed
the tower of Babel. Again, history records much about the construction
details but little about the methods of control.
1.4. The Ordered "To-Do" List
Many of us make lists of things to do (i.e., a to-do list). Those who are well
organized may make the list in a logical order, for example, a shopping list
based upon the layout of a store or supermarket. Perhaps a fanatic for
organization may first make a list of activities (or, from our example, items to
be purchased) and then copy it a second time to the preferred order in which
it is to be performed. The use of word processing or organizing software
adds a modern wrinkle to this age-old method of planning and scheduling.
However, there are no rules widely published to guide the development of to-
do lists.
1.5. Gantt Charts and Bar Charts
In the mid-nineteenth century, at least one writer discussed a work versus

time graphical representation very similar to today's bar charts, but it
remained for Henry L. Gantt and Frederick W. Taylor to popularize their
graphical representations of work versus time in the early 1910s. Their Gantt
charts were the basis for today's bar graphs, or bar charts. Taylor and
Gantt's work was the first scientific consideration of work scheduling.
Although their work was originally aimed at production scheduling, it was
readily accepted for planning and recording the progress of construction.
Today, the bar graph remains an excellent graphical representation of
activity because it is easy to read and understood by all levels of
management and supervision.
If the bar graph is so well suited to construction activity, why look for another
planning aid? Because the bar graph is limited in what information it can
retain. In preparing a bar chart, the scheduler is influenced almost
necessarily by the desired completion dates, often working backward from
the completion dates. The resultant mixture of planning and scheduling is
unfortunately no better than wishful thinking.
When a bar graph is carefully prepared, the scheduler goes through the
same thinking process as the CPM planner. However, the bar graph cannot
show (or record) the interrelations and interdependencies that control the
progress of the project. And at a later date, even the originator is often hard
pressed to explain the plan by using the bar graph.
Figure 1.5.1 is a simplified bar chart of the construction of a one-story office

building. Suppose, after this 10-month schedule has been prepared, the
owner asks for a 6-month schedule. By using the same time for each activity,
the bar chart can be changed as shown in Figure 1.5.2. Although the chart
looks fine, it is not based on logical planning; it is merely a juggling of the
original bar graph.
Figure 1.5.1. Bar chart for a one-story building.
Figure 1.5.2. Revised bar chart for a one-story building.
The general contractor usually prepares the overall construction plan, which
is sensible because the schedules of the other major subcontractors depend
on the general contractor's schedule. Note that in Figures 1.5.1 and 1.5.2 the
general contractor's work is broken down in some detail, with both the
mechanical and electrical work shown as continuous lines that start early
and end late. In conformance with the bar graph "schedule," the general
contractor will then often push the subcontractors to staff the project as
early as possible with as many mechanics as possible. Conversely, the
subcontractors want to come on the project as late as possible with as few
mechanics as possible. The result is that the general contractor will often
complain that the subcontractors are delaying the project through lack of
interest. At the same time, the subcontractors will often complain that the
general contractor is not turning work areas over to them, forcing them to
pull out all the stops to save the schedule.
As in most things, the truth lies somewhere between the extremes. CPM
offers the means to resolve these differences with specific information rather
than generalities. The bar chart often suffers from a morning glory complex:
it blooms early in the project but is nowhere to be found later on. We can
suppose some general reasons for this disappearing act. Prior to the
construction phase, the architect, the engineer, the owner, or all three are
trying to visualize the project schedule in order to set realistic completion
dates. Most contracts will require the submission of a schedule in bar graph
form soon after a contract is awarded. Once the project begins to take shape,
however, this early bar chart becomes as useful as last year's calendar
because it does not lend itself to planning revisions.
Although progress can be plotted directly on the schedule bar chart, the S
curve has become popular for measuring progress. The usual S curve
consists of two plots (Figure 1.5.3): the scheduled dollar expenditures versus
time and actual expenditures versus time. Similar S curves can be prepared
for labor hours, equipment and material acquisitions, concrete yardage, and
so on. Though this presentation can be interesting, it does not provide a true
indication of project completion. For instance, a low-value critical activity
could delay the project completion far out of proportion to its value.
Figure 1.5.3. Typical S curve.
Misuse of bar charts does not prove that they should be discarded. To throw
out bar charts is like throwing out the baby with the bathwater.
1.6. Development of the Critical Path Method of Scheduling
In 1956, the E. I. du Pont de Nemours Company set up a group at its Newark,

Delaware, facility to study the possible application of new management
techniques to the company's engineering functions. [1] The planning and
scheduling of construction projects was one of the first areas studied. Group
members had a UNIVAC I computer (the third unit built) at their disposal, and
they decided to evaluate the potential of computers in scheduling
construction work. Mathematicians worked out a general approach; they
theorized that if the computer was fed information on the sequence of work
and the length of each activity, it could generate a schedule of work. [2]
In early 1957, the UNIVAC Applications Research Center, under the direction
of Dr. John W. Mauchly, joined the effort with James E. Kelley, Jr., of Remington
Rand (UNIVAC) and Morgan Walker of DuPont in direct charge in Newark,
Delaware. The original conceptual work was revised, and the resulting
routines became the basic CPM. It is interesting that no fundamental
changes in this first work have been made. [3]
In December 1957, a test group was set up to apply the new technique (then
called the Kelley–Walker method). The test team (made up of six engineers,
two area engineers, a process engineer, and an estimator) and a normal
scheduling group were assigned to plan the construction of a $10 million
chemical plant in Louisville, Kentucky.
As a control, the new scheduling team worked independently of the normal

scheduling group. This is the only documented case of a comprehensive
comparative CPM application. The test group had not been part of the
development of the CPM method, but members were given a 40-h course on
the technique before starting the test.
The network diagram for the project was restricted to include only the
construction steps. The project was analyzed beginning with the completion
of its preliminary design. The entire project was subdivided into major areas
of scope, and each of the areas was analyzed and broken down into the
individual work activities. These activities were diagrammed into a network
of more than 800 activities, 400 of which represented construction activities
and 150 of which were design or material deliveries.
The ability of the first team was such that a larger-capacity computer
program had to be developed for support. By March 1958, the first part of
the network scheduling was complete. At that time, a change in corporate
outlook, plus certain design changes, caused a 40 percent change in the plan
of the project. Both planning groups were authorized to modify the plan and
recompute schedules. The revisions, which took place during April 1958,
required only about 10 percent of the original effort by the CPM test team,
substantially better than the normal scheduling group.
One significant factor involved the determination of critical delivery items.

The normal scheduling group arbitrarily assigned critical categories, while
the CPM group determined critical activities from its network analysis. From
the analysis, it was determined that only seven items were critical, and three
of these were not included in the normal scheduling group's list.
The initial test scheduling was considered successful in all respects. In July
1958, a second project, valued at $20 million, was selected for test
scheduling. It also was successfully scheduled. Since the first two projects
were of such duration that the complete validity of the system could not be
established, a shorter project, also at DuPont in Louisville, was selected for
scheduling.
The third project was a shutdown and overhaul operation involving neoprene,
and one of the materials in the process was self-detonating, so little or no
maintenance was possible during downtime. Although the particular
maintenance effort had been done many times, it was considered to be a
difficult test of the CPM approach.
In the first CPM plan, the average shutdown time for the turnaround was cut
from 125 to 93 hours, and in later CPM applications, it was further cut to 78
hours. The resultant time reduction of almost 40 percent far exceeded any
expectations. [4]
1.7. Development of the PERT Method of Scheduling

The development of CPM was enhanced when the U.S. Navy Polaris program
became interested in it. The Polaris program staff had developed their own
network system known as Performance Evaluation and Review Technique
(PERT ). The DuPont work is considered antecedent material for the
development of PERT.
The Polaris fleet ballistic missile (FBM) system was initiated in early 1957. To
manage the program, a Special Projects Office (SPO) was established under
the direction of then Rear Admiral (later Vice Admiral) William Raborn, Jr..
The SPO is generally credited with having developed the PERT system.
One of the key people involved in the development of PERT was Willard Fazar,
who noted that the various management tools available for managing the
Polaris program did not provide certain information essential to effective
program evaluation. In particular, they did not furnish the following:
1. Appraisal of the validity of existing plans in terms of meeting program

objectives
2. Measurement of progress achieved against program objectives
3. Measurement of potential for meeting program objectives
The search for a better management system continued throughout the fall of
1957. At that time, the Navy was cognizant of the development of CPM at
DuPont. In January 1958, the SPO initiated a special study to determine
whether computers could be used in planning and controlling the Polaris
program, and on January 27, 1958, the SPO directed a group to undertake the
task of formulating the PERT technique. [5]
The goal of the group was to determine whether improved planning and
evaluating research and development work methods could be devised to
apply to the Polaris program, which involved 250 prime contractors and more
than 9000 subcontractors.
The PERT program evolved, and it included the development of detailed

procedures and mechanics phases, which were reported in formal
documents. The PERT method, as described in the phase II report, was
designed to provide the following (in addition to the three items listed on the
previous page):
1. Increased orderliness and consistency in planning and evaluating
2. An automatic mechanism for identifying potential trouble spots
3. Operational flexibility for a program by allowing for a simulation of

schedules
4. Rapid handling and analysis of integrated data to permit expeditious

corrections
The PERT system, programmed at the Naval Ordinance Research Calculator,

was implemented in the propulsion component, which was followed by an
extension to the flight control and ballistic shell components, and finally to
the reentry body and guidance component. About a year after the start of
the PERT research, the system was operational. This was outstanding
considering the typical 36 percent time overrun for developing other
weapons systems.
Following its success in the Polaris program, PERT was incorporated

voluntarily in many aerospace proposals in 1960 and 1961. In some proposals,
PERT was added principally as window dressing to make the proposal more
attractive to the government. But thanks to its basic soundness and the
acumen of the engineering staff members involved, PERT often stayed on as
a useful planning tool even though it had entered some companies through
the back door.
1.8. Comparison of CPM and PERT
The key difference between CPM and PERT is that one identifies activities of
finite and reasonably estimated duration while the other identifies events of
zero duration separated by "some form of activity," only loosely understood to
be performed within a range of possible durations. The range of durations in
PERT varies from an optimistic estimate (or shortest time until the next event
will occur) to a most likely estimate to a pessimistic estimate. This dichotomy
was understandable since the duration of an activity, relating to a known
quantity of work, was fairly capable of estimation; the duration between
events, based upon a scope only vaguely understood, was much more a
guesstimate.
The theory behind the PERT method was based upon the interplay between
these estimates of duration and the statistical likelihood of a project
outcome, as the actual duration experienced may fluctuate among the three.
However, the early computers of the 1950s and even the 1960s did not have
the necessary speed or memory to fully utilize the theory, and the three
estimates were usually combined into one (often by separate calculation by
hand alongside the computer ) using the formula
where O = optimistic
M = most likely
P = pessimistic
The important distinction to remember, before considering the newer

offshoots of CPM, is that CPM measures the performance of defined activities
and the durations of defined activities, while PERT measures the reaching of
defined events and the passage of time between these events. Another
important difference is that CPM durations are of defined events, while PERT
durations are of undefined activity between events. These differences are
highlighted in Figure 1.8.1.
Figure 1.8.1. Comparison of ADM and PERT.

Also of note in Figure 1.8.1 is the requirement of the earliest of CPM
software programs to have a dedicated starting and completion activity, and
specified event node numbering beginning with 0001 and ending with the
highest number the system could handle, typically 9999.
1.9. Precedence Diagramming Method
Professor John W. Fondahl, of Stanford University, the early 1960 expert on

noncomputerized solutions to CPM and PERT networks, was one of the early
supporters of the precedence diagramming method (PDM). He called it the
Circle and Connecting Arrow Technique. His study for the Navy's Bureau of
Yards and Docks included descriptive material and gave the technique early
impetus, particularly to Navy projects.
An IBM brochure credited the H. B. Zachry Company of San Antonio with the
development of the precedence form of CPM. In cooperation with IBM, Zachry
developed computer programs that could handle precedence network
computations on the IBM 1130 and IBM 360. This was particularly significant
because in 1964, C. R. Phillips and J. J. Moder indicated the availability of only
1 computerized approach to precedence networks versus 60 for CPM and
PERT. Creation of an alternate format for preparing CPM networks required
new naming conventions to distinguish between the two. The form for
traditional CPM networks was originally termed the AOA or "activity on
arrow" variant of CPM. The form for new-style precedence networks was
originally termed the AON or "activity on node" variant of CPM. In the AON
variant, the activity description is shown in a box (or node) with the
sequence, or flow, shown by interconnecting lines. In most cases, arrowheads
are not used, although this leaves greater opportunity for ambiguous
network situations.
Because the terms "AOA" and "AON" are similar, and possibly because a box
only represents a node to a mathematician, AOA became known as the arrow
diagramming method (ADM), and AON became known as PDM. Often,
specifications copied from older specifications may refer to the CPM being
prepared in the AOA or AON method. A sad reflection upon the care in which
such engineering documents are written is that it is not unusual for a
specification to require the CPM to be prepared using the AOA methodology
and to run the schedule on the latest version of Primavera software (which
supports only PDM).
Many users prefer the PDM format, claiming the PDM diagram is "cleaner"
and therefore easier to follow. The simplifying factor results from the fact
that "redundant" restraints are not required in PDM (as they are in CPM) to
create unique activity numbers (i.e., when activities span between the same
two events).
PDM programs proliferated in the 1970s, and most scheduling software

products could perform CPM calculations in either ADM (activity-on-arrow) or
PDM (precedence diagramming method). Primavera's original scheduling
software, developed for use running on the MSDOS operating system, was
typical of this two-way option (i.e., ADM or PDM). However, when Primavera
software writers created a Windows version, they opted to use PDM as the
platform for the flagship program. The impact on scheduling in the
construction industry was substantial and is addressed in this book.
1.10. SPERT and GERT
CPM and PERT are based upon mathematics, and professors of mathematics
were quick to note many of the new insights opened up by this new branch
of mathematics. If an estimate of duration is merely an estimate and subject
to a level of uncertainty, then what might happen if randomly some of the
durations were raised and others lowered? If two or more paths of the logic
network were fairly close, this modification may well shift the critical path
and overall duration of the project. CPM provides a set date upon which a
project is expected to be completed. What is the probability of the project
finishing on that date, on an earlier date, or on a later date? If each of the
durations of activities (in CPM) or between events (in PERT) were randomly
chosen from the optimistic, most likely, and pessimistic durations, we would
get one value for an end date. If we repeat this process 100 or 1000 times, we
get probabilities of completion over a range of dates.
The process of repeated calculations using randomized change to data is

called a simulation, and thus from PERT was created SPERT. Unfortunately,
computers in the 1950s were not powerful enough to perform such analyses
for more than demonstration logic networks of few activities. Today, there are
software programs (and supporting hardware) that can perform 1000
iterations for logic networks of several thousand activities in nanoseconds.
Thus, not only can the scheduler determine the date on which the project can
be expected to be completed but also the probability of that expectation.
The mathematics behind neither CPM nor PERT permits boolean •OR• logic.
If an activity in logic network A is followed by two other activities B and C, it
is assumed that both can start upon the completion of A. It is also assumed
that B can start independently of C and vice versa, either starting before the
other or both starting at once. In the real world this is not always true;
sometimes you can start B or C but only one at a time (the boolean •OR•).
Sometimes you can perform B and C only if both are performed concurrently.
Sometimes the choice of which can be performed first is subject to the status
(started or completed) of a fourth activity D. And sometimes the choice of
successor is based upon a test: pass and go down one path, fail and go down
the other path. In the case of a failed test, the logic network can even loop
around to retake the test after corrective measures have been made. None of
these possibilities are supported by the mathematics of CPM or PERT.
However, many of these possibilities are supported by mathematical models
envisioned in the 1950s through today and more recently supported (at least
in part) by modern software programs generically noted as GERT programs.
As PERT was the acronym for Performance Evaluation and Review Technique,
GERT became the acronym for Generalized Evaluation and Review Technique.
1.11. Relationship Diagramming Method
As of the turn of the millennium, PDM supplanted ADM in the majority of the
scheduling world. And yet, numerous serious practitioners noted flaws in the
implementation of PDM, and many bemoaned the loss of rigor of the ADM
system. A common thread to many of these concerns was that commercial
software tended to focus upon information relating to individual activities
and groups of activities while, relatively speaking, ignoring the restraints
and relationships between activities that had been the hallmark of the
original ADM and PERT methodologies.
Key among these concerns was a lack of a specific definition of restraints

between activities other than the traditional "finish 100 percent to start next"
restraint, the description of the reason for a specific restraint between
activities and whether the restraint is mandatory or optional; the ability to
footnote the duration between activities (lag) to the same degree as that
afforded durations of activities; and the failure to calculate or provide access
to the calculation of the attributes of these relationships. Research
publications submitted to various technical venues, including the Project
Management Institute's College of Scheduling, the Association for
Advancement of Cost Engineering International, and the American Society of
Civil Engineers, all raised these issues and suggested various means to work
around the problems. Invariably, the proposed solutions suggested
something akin to the need for "dummy activities" that carry logic between
"real activities" (this being the hallmark of the original ADM system).
The issue was raised to a head in a cover story entitled "Off the Critical Path,"
published in Engineering News Record (ENR), May 28, 2003. In one of the
letters to the editor, written in the aftermath of the article, Jim Kelley (one of
the founders of CPM, as discussed in Chapter 1) wrote:
In the early days of CPM, computing capability was at a premium.

Rooting out inconsistencies in scheduling data had to be left
completely to the planner. In practice, this meant deliberately
breaking the rules of the "flexibility" features. Today, the desktop
computer I'm using to compose this letter on has far more capability
than the UNIVAC we used for our first CPM calculations. Thus,
there is no reason why the computer cannot be programmed to tell
me why my scheduling input is inconsistent and why.
The 6th edition of this text, largely as a response to this challenge, posited a
new system that addressed many of these concerns. Since the focus of the
majority of these embellishments is related to the relationships between
activities, this is called the relationship diagramming method (RDM) and
meant to be the next level of evolution of ADM to PDM and now RDM.
The fully integrated system that has been developed to support RDM is made
available for general dissemination. In an effort to avoid the balkanization of
many different implementations of PDM (resulting in the same input data
yielding differing results based upon which software is used), an evolving
standard has been established, and developers may choose to have
implementations-determined compliance via a certification mark RDCPM
(further details are available at www.RDCPM.com).
The key aspects of the RDM system are a restoration of identifying events (or
points in time) that were represented by the nodes in ADM (and were the
mathematical basis for its rigor), a better definition of the bases of duration
input, and the ability to record both explicit data and metadata on the
restraints between activities. This is not in any manner revolutionary; rather
the process is a natural evolution from the Gantt chart to ADM to the PDM
process. Recalling that CPM is but a mechanized means to re-create (and
hopefully supplement) the preparation of a bar chart mostly by recording
(some of) the reasons for arranging the activities (or bars) in a specific order,
RDM merely attempts to collect and record more of the thought processes of
that manual effort.
The recording of events (points in time) is not limited to that of ADM, at the
start and finish of each activity, but is expanded to events within an activity.
The restoration of these event nodes permits the software to more accurately
model the thought processes of the preparer of a bar chart. An overlap of
two activities, as in PDM, may be accomplished either by a start-to-start
restraint measuring time from the calculated or reported actual start of an
activity or by a progressed-to-start restraint emanating from an event (point
in time) when a specified portion (or percentage) of an activity has been
completed. Similarly, the event (point in time) representing when some
(defined) portion of an activity cannot continue prior to the completion of
another activity may be represented by a finish-to-remainder restraint, to be
compared to the generic finish-to-finish restraint.
It should be stressed that RDM is not merely a return to, or a form of, ADM.
Although an activity may be bounded by an i node and j node (and have one
or more k nodes embedded within), activities are connected solely by
restraints and the j node of one activity may never be the i node of another.
Some of the additional functionalities that may follow the recording of this
known but previously discarded data in this new format include these:
Identify the rationale or reason for each restraint, by both a code and a
description thereof. A physical restraint (erect the walls before the roof) is
the most obvious example. Other types of restraint are resources including
crew, equipment, reusable forms, and others, which are already part of the
thinking of the team preparing the CPM. However, by expanding the
recording of assumptions behind the plan used to prepare the schedule,
additional power may be gained, such as (1) automated guarantees that
each activity in the network is preceded by a physical restraint; (2)
permitting "what if" analyses of the impact of limiting or not limiting crews
by various craft, reusable forms, or other specific resources; (3) sorting
and selecting by reason for relationship; and (4) providing an automated
guide to areas of possible corrective action when various events threaten
to delay or disrupt timely completion of a project.
Expand, sort, and select capabilities to the text of the activity description
and various activity codes of the predecessors and successors of an
activity. For example, a selection may highlight each instance where work
by the mechanical subcontractor is immediately followed by work by the
electrical subcontractor.
Expand the types of relationships and restraints between activities to

account for how people actually plan their actions, rather than to match
the options set by software designers. For example, few people would say,
"Bob is starting a 30-day activity next week and Mary will start her activity
15 days after Bob has started without regard to how much progress Bob
has made." Rather, more people will say, "Bob is starting a 30-day activity
next week, and Mary will start her activity when Bob is 50 percent
complete." Thus, if the scope of Bob's activity changes or if his productivity
is other than expected, there will be an automatic change to the lag
between the start of work for Bob and Mary.
Expand the types of relationships and restraints between activities to

account for how people actually plan their actions, rather than to match
the options set by software designers. Not all measures of progress are
based upon time. The original note of Professor Fondahl in creating the "to
be hand-calculated" PDM format included the possibility of saying, "May
start paving base course when ¼ mile of drainage stone is complete; may
complete last ½ mile of paving base course when 100 percent of drainage
stone is complete." Possible restraints may be based upon elapsed time
passed, days of work performed (compared to the original estimate of
duration), volume of work performed (in user-selected units of
measurement), or percentage of work performed (tied to estimated original
duration, volume, or other metric).
Provide the same level of control over lag durations (between activities) as
is (1) provided for activities, such as choice of calendar and (2) range of
duration, for those systems that support PERT and SPERT style of
calculations.
Expand the algorithms used to handle situations where actual
performance bypasses the planned logic and where work is performed out
of sequence. The current choice "retained logic" assumes an activity
started out of sequence to be suspended until its predecessors are 100
percent complete. The current choice "progress override " that assumes
that once an activity is started out of sequence, the violated predecessor
logic is no longer important. A third and new choice may be a "modified
progress override" that assumes that the activity started out of sequence
may continue to zero remaining duration, but that successors thereof may
not start until its predecessors are complete. The choice of algorithm
should further be expanded from a projectwide decision to one that may be
set by type of restraint ("retained logic" for "physical " restraints, "modified
progress override" for "resource" restraints) or even on a restraint-by-
restraint setting by the scheduler.
Identify nodes representing events or points of time at each point where

restraints converge. Such nodes will be similar to the i node of ADM but
are established not for the purpose of data entry (as in ADM), but rather
for identifying points of merge bias (where several restraints or logic lines
come together) and the "mini-milestones" that these points represent.
Expand the types of duration to include a trend duration (TD) based upon
an adjustably damped comparison between original and actual durations
classified by similar work scopes. A separate SPERT-style calculation could
then be run based upon both the original and trend durations.
Wrap in the power of GERT types of relationships including (1) B or C to

follow A but not both at once; (2) logical loops to cover test failure,
corrective action, and retesting; and (3) choice of action based upon
progress or status of other activities within the logic network.
Many other academic users and practitioners of CPM have suggested similar
and other extensions to CPM. Many variants of CPM and extensions thereto
exist in university computers. Eventually one of the established software
vendors or a new entrant will make such extensions commercially available,
and if they are successful, all other vendors will rush to copy the new
algorithms. Thus, just as PDM replaced ADM and has become the primary
method used in the construction industry today, so too will RDM or some
other diagramming method become the standard of tomorrow. That
notwithstanding, the basic rules of planning and scheduling are immutable,
and it is the hope of the authors that all users of CPM will understand and
appreciate the basics, whichever conventions and/or software is used.
1.12. Summary
The concept of scientific scheduling is barely a century old. The to-do list was
supplanted by the Gantt chart only in 1910. The concept of CPM, replacing
intuition and brute-force arranging and rearranging of bars with a fixed
mathematical algorithm (which could then be performed by a computer), was
introduced in 1956. Implementation of CPM was then—and always will be
—limited to the capabilities of the most current computer hardware and
operating systems. In 1956, this required the rules of (what is now called)
ADM, the arrow diagramming method. Concurrently developed was the PERT
or Project Evaluation Review Technique method. By 1964, improvements in
computer hardware (giving us random access memory, or RAM) permitted
machine calculation of PDM, the precedence diagramming method, which had
been initially developed as not capable of computer solution. A "flaw" of the
concept and implementation was to drop the use of event nodes representing
discrete points in time. This flaw was addressed in 2004 with the
development of RDM, the relationship diagramming method. While some
elements of RDM have been incorporated into Primavera Pertmaster (now
marketed as Oracle Primavera Risk Analysis, or PRA) versions 8.2 through
8.6, full implementation has not yet been provided in a commercially available
software product.
[1]Hayward and Robinson, Preliminary Analysis of the Construction

Scheduling Problem , internal paper, Engineering Department, DuPont
Company, December 1956.
[2]James E. Kelley and Morgan R. Walker, "Critical Path Planning and

Scheduling," Proceedings of the Eastern Joint Computer Conference , pp.
160–173, December 1–3, 1959; see also James E. Kelley, "Critical-Path Planning
and Scheduling: Mathematical Basis," Operations Research , vol. 9, no. 3, pp.
296–320, 1961.
[3]James E. Kelley, "Computers and Operations Research in Road Building,"

Operations Research, Computers and Management Decisions , Symposium
Proceedings, Case Institute of Technology, January 31–February 1 and 2,
1957.
[4]Hayward and Robinson, "Preliminary Analysis of the Construction

Scheduling Problem," Engineering Department, DuPont Company, December
1956.
[5]D. G. Malcolm et al., "A Network Flow Computation for Project Cost Curves,"
Rand Paper P-1947, Rand Corporation, March 1960; D. G. Malcolm, J. H.
Roseboom, C. E. Clark, and W. Fazar, "Applications of a Technique for
Research and Development Program Evaluation," Operations Research , vol.
7, no. 5, pp. 646–699, 1959; and W. Fazar, "The Origin of PERT," The
Controller , vol. 30, pp. 598ff., December 1962.
Citation
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Construction Management, Eighth Edition. Introduction to Logic Based Planning and
Scheduling, Chapter (McGraw-Hill Professional, 2016, 2010, 2006, 1999, 1993,
1984, 1971, 1965), AccessEngineering
The Pure Logic Diagram
2. The Pure Logic Diagram
2.0. Pure Logic Network Construction
Chapter 1 discussed the concept and the fundamentals of construction of the

CPM network. This chapter covers the practical mechanics of network
construction. Since CPM is a logical and organized planning system, it is
important that the physical layout of the network reflect the same logical
organization. The thought required to separate the network's parts into
practical subdivisions enhances the overall plan. The network is often used
to present the plan to strangers to the project. If the physical layout is clear,
concise, and well arranged, first impressions will be good. However, CPM can
also expose poor planning. Figure 2.1.1 shows two networks with the same
information. Both are logically correct, but the top network was drawn
directly from a problem description without careful attention to physical
layout. The bottom network is a rearrangement of the top one. It has only 12
activities. In a project network, the differences between network layouts and
the possible resulting confusion would be multiplied 100-fold.
Figure 2.1.1. Typical activity depicted as an arrow or a box.
2.1. The Logic of the Logic Network
The backbone of the traditional implementation of the CPM is a graphical

model of a project. A basic component of the model is an activity defining
some scope of measurable performance. (This is distinguished from PERT for
which the basic component is an event .) This basic component may be
represented by an arrow or by a flowchart box. Traditionally, construction
practitioners typically represent activities with an arrow, while IT
practitioners will use a box. (Since the software manuals for popular software
are written by IT types, they do tend to favor the use of boxes.)
Each arrow represents one activity in the project. The tail of the arrow
represents the starting point of the activity, and the head represents the
completion. The arrow is not a vector and it is not drawn to scale. It can be
curved or bent as required; however, it cannot be interrupted because it is a
separate entity.
As depicted in Figure 2.1.1, the arrow format also conveys logic to the next
activity, while a box must be preceded and succeeded by one or more arrows.
In practice, some practitioners may desire to contain descriptions of activities
(and associated data such as duration and related codes such as resources,
location, etc.) within a box, even if building the network with "arrows," and
some building with boxes may squeeze in an extra activity with a description
printed above an arrow between boxes.
2.2. Pure Logic Diagrams
The arrows or boxes are arranged to show the plan, or logical sequence, in
which the activities of a project are to be accomplished. This is done by
answering two questions with each activity:
1. Which activities must precede this one?
2. Which activities must follow this one?
The resulting logical flowchart is a network of activities, usually referred to

as either the logic diagram or the network. For example, consider a routine
checkup of your car as a project. Assume that you want the following work
done:
Rotate tires
Lubricate
Change oil
Wax and polish
Drain antifreeze
CPM is often referred to as a "decision maker." This is a misnomer because

CPM, being inanimate, cannot make decisions. However, the use of CPM
encourages the user to make decisions to draw the arrow diagram.
In this example, a decision is required before any arrows can be drawn. The
mechanic must decide whether to do the hoist work first or last. Assume that
the mechanic decides to do the hoist work first. Accordingly, the first arrow
will be
Following this are all of the arrows that could logically follow hoisting the car.
From the work list, they are rotate tires, lubricate, and change oil.
When the activity, lower car, is added, note that the general work list is not
broken down into enough detail to show the mechanic's work plan. Adding
this activity after the hoist work:
What does this really say? It says that the activities cannot start until the
hoist is raised and must finish before the hoist is lowered. Something is
missing, however. The activity, rotate tires, indicates that the mechanic must
get the spare tire out while the car is on the hoist. That is not logical, and it
certainly is not what the mechanic might be expected to do. Also, it is usual
practice for the mechanic to loosen the tire lug nuts before raising the
wheels clear of the ground.
This part of the network then becomes
For lubricate, the first network indicates that oiling and checking items
under the hood (battery, alternator, radiator, brake fluid, etc.) must be done
while the car is up on the hoist. To do this, the mechanic would need stilts or
a ladder.
Similarly,
This part of the network then becomes
Combining the portions of the network and adding the two activities not
previously shown, drain antifreeze and polish and wax car, the arrow diagram
representing this everyday operation is as shown in Figure 2.2.1.
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DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI
Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)
The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.
NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA
I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.
MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]
MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY
With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
“We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
BRAZIER
Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT
SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB
CUTTING THE EDGE

FINISHING THE BOTTOM
LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING
FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE
TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL
NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK
DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG
REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

BEATING THE BARK
WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT
MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN

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CPM in Construction Management,

Eighth Edition – Ebook PDF Version

© 2012 The McGraw-Hill Companies. All rights reserved.

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Rita O'Brien, November 1, 2010

© 2012 The McGraw-Hill Companies. All rights reserved.

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1. Introduction to Logic Based Planning and Scheduling

1.1. Scheduling Is for Everyone

Scheduling is a discipline that is performed by every person, every day.

1.2. We Teach Carpentry—Not "How to Use Your New Power

If the process of scheduling were a simple matter, requiring merely rote

Alas, it is not so—scheduling is a complex process, and the mathematical

Implicit in the teaching of engineering, or of the supporting ﬁelds of science

1.3. History of Scheduling Systems

The construction industry is a heterogeneous mix of companies ranging in

Initially, CPM spotlighted construction and the contractor. The owner,

The typical contractor is a planner who generally uses instinctive methods

1.4. The Ordered "To-Do" List

1.5. Gantt Charts and Bar Charts

In the mid-nineteenth century, at least one writer discussed a work versus

Figure 1.5.1 is a simpliﬁed bar chart of the construction of a one-story oﬃce

Figure 1.5.1. Bar chart for a one-story building.

Figure 1.5.2. Revised bar chart for a one-story building.

1.6. Development of the Critical Path Method of Scheduling

In 1956, the E. I. du Pont de Nemours Company set up a group at its Newark,

As a control, the new scheduling team worked independently of the normal

One signiﬁcant factor involved the determination of critical delivery items.

1.7. Development of the PERT Method of Scheduling

1. Appraisal of the validity of existing plans in terms of meeting program

2. Measurement of progress achieved against program objectives

3. Measurement of potential for meeting program objectives

The PERT program evolved, and it included the development of detailed

2. An automatic mechanism for identifying potential trouble spots

3. Operational ﬂexibility for a program by allowing for a simulation of

4. Rapid handling and analysis of integrated data to permit expeditious

The PERT system, programmed at the Naval Ordinance Research Calculator,

Following its success in the Polaris program, PERT was incorporated

1.8. Comparison of CPM and PERT

The important distinction to remember, before considering the newer

Figure 1.8.1. Comparison of ADM and PERT.

1.9. Precedence Diagramming Method

Professor John W. Fondahl, of Stanford University, the early 1960 expert on

PDM programs proliferated in the 1970s, and most scheduling software

1.10. SPERT and GERT

The process of repeated calculations using randomized change to data is

1.11. Relationship Diagramming Method

Key among these concerns was a lack of a speciﬁc deﬁnition of restraints

In the early days of CPM, computing capability was at a premium.

Expand the types of relationships and restraints between activities to

Expand the types of relationships and restraints between activities to

Identify nodes representing events or points of time at each point where

Wrap in the power of GERT types of relationships including (1) B or C to

[1]Hayward and Robinson, Preliminary Analysis of the Construction

[2]James E. Kelley and Morgan R. Walker, "Critical Path Planning and

[3]James E. Kelley, "Computers and Operations Research in Road Building,"

[4]Hayward and Robinson, "Preliminary Analysis of the Construction