The Kia Kias are extremely lazy, we find; in many little ways they show that they will not exert themselves in the slightest if they can avoid doing so. If one of them is walking along and happens to see something lying on the ground that he desires, will he stoop to pick it up? Never! He simply grasps the object between his great and second toe and raises the foot to his hand, and he does it gracefully, never losing his poise or missing his stride.
On an afternoon, shortly after the heat of midday, the men gather in the shade of the cocoas back of the kampong to discuss the latest scandal or politics. Inasmuch as the kapala kampong, or chief, holds his position solely by the sufferance of the others, or possibly because of some trait of natural leadership inherent in him, changes in administration frequently occur. These are in the main caused by the chief’s forming a liaison with the wife or daughter of another influential member of the tribe without giving sufficient remuneration. Then the fight is on. It takes the form of lengthy diatribes by the injured party and much muckraking. The daily papers (the ladies) drop in to listen at first and then monopolize the conversation, as is the general custom elsewhere. They settle the argument, for they get in the last word. Here in Kia Kia Land the women literally “run the ranch.” It behooves the aspirant for leadership to stand well with them, for in the end it is their will that is done. The only thing that the women have not been successful in is to make the men work. They often make them fight, but it is much easier for them to do the chores themselves than to try to force the men to do them. Hence, all Kia Kia men are gentlemen of leisure.
[Illustration: One little fellow takes great delight in hearing his mother describe the battles in which his father collected his trophies]
[Illustration: After the heat of midday the men gather in the shade to discuss the latest scandal or politics]
As the heat is almost intolerable under our tent, we, too, withdraw to the grateful shade of the fringe of the jungle, and they clear a space for us most genially. There is a little group of them sitting on our left. What they are doing is very interesting. They are eating dried mud. That’s it,—just plain dried mud. We hardly believe it when first it comes to our notice, but upon close examination—and invitation, too, to join them—we find it to be true. The dirt is a sort of heavy yellow clay, of which they have several large chunks. From time to time one or another of them breaks off a portion and crumbles off pieces the size of a thimble which he munches with apparent relish. The dogs, of which there are many, sit within the circle of the group and with hungry eyes watch the proceedings. They refuse the clay if it is offered them, but continue to gaze at their masters just as though they thought the men were fooling them and were in reality eating something palatable to the canine taste.