Through Africa with Lipstick and Camera

MRS. COREY FORD

In Which the Wife of a Famous Explorer Explains the Proper Use of Cosmetics in the Jungle

EDITOR'S NOTE: Stimulated by the recent flood of articles by Mrs. Martin Johnson, in which this modest exploress has listed carefully the various cosmetics and facial creams which she uses during her jungle trips with her husband. Vanity Fair has persuaded Mrs. Corey Ford, wife of the worldfamous adventurer and travel-lecturer, to reveal to our fascinated readers some of her own Beauty Secrets practised on safari. The ensuing article will show how she earned the reputation of being the most beautiful white woman at Lake Zion. She also had the distinction of being the only white woman to visit Lake Zion.

ZAZA, you haven't changed a bit!"

My girl-friend gathered me into her arms and planted a good big kiss on my cheek, then held me out at arms'-length and examined me again. This was the first time she had seen me since my four years' isolation with my husband, photographing big game on the shores of Lake Zion, in British East Africa —four of the happiest years of my life. I knew just what she was going to say.

"This is the first time I have seen you since your four years' isolation with your husband, photographing big game on the shores of Lake Zion, in British East Africa," she said, "and yet in your pictures you show no signs of the perils and hardships you have undergone. Alongside this rhinoceros, in fact, you are positively beautiful. Tell me, Zaza, how do you ever do it?"

I SMILED. Her request was a common one. Ever since Corey first asked me to go along with him on a camera-expedition into the unknown jungles, in order to supply a little Human Interest in his pictures for the rotogravure editors, I have constantly amazed my friends by my ability to appear beautiful under the most trying circumstances. I have posed on slain animals from which the average woman would shrink; but never have I lost that certain elusive feminine appeal so indispensable to the modern Nature-Picture. During my career I have had my photograph taken sitting on the heads of 1267 dead rhinoceri, 269 annihilated lions, 412 slaughtered tigers, and any number of deceased ibex and gnus. I have coiled inside approximately 500 slain elephants' ears. My French heel has been planted in the eyes of between 60 and 70 punctured hartebeests. Yet in all these pictures I have never failed to register that same wide, steady shark-smile. Small wonder, then, that people ask me again and again: "How do you do it?"

When I set out with my husband for Africa, my friends all thought I was mad. "Africa!" they said. To be sure, I do not deny that there are terrific dangers to be faced; but, after one or two experiences, one soon learns to be prepared for any emergency. Never shall I forget the harrowing incident which occurred to me on our first trek to beautiful Lake Zion, the jungle paradise where Corey and I have made our home. Naturally I was somewhat nervous; and in making my toilette I neglected to take the proper precautions. As we pushed through the jungle, there arose suddenly a terrific crashing in the bushes; and without further warning a party of savage cannibals burst

upon us, decked in all their war-paint. You can imagine my mortification when I discovered that I didn't have so much as a dab of rouge on my cheeks. I was never so embarrassed in all my life.

This incident, however, taught me my lesson; and since then—and here comes my little secret!—I have never neglected to equip myself with a complete vanity-outfit, which I carry with me in the jungle at all times. I am never caught in the woods any more without a well-stocked compact slung over my shoulder, filled with powder, and my trusty lip-stick swinging in its holster at my side. By dint

of daily practice before my mirror, I have also developed an uncanny aim with my eyebrow-pencil. These are precautions which every lady-explorer should take; and more than once this "ounce of prevention" has avoided serious and perhaps fatal consequences.

One day, while searching through the jungle for some dead animals which Corey could photograph that afternoon, a blood-curdling snort sounded in my ear; and the next moment a bull-rhinoceros charged me in a frenzy of rage. I had barely time to whip out my lipstick, level it to my lips, and give the last finishing touches to my expression, as Corey raised his camera and shot us both in the nick of time. The very thought of the horrible picture I might have presented in the rotogravure sections, had not my lip-stick been handy, haunted me for weeks afterward.

Needless to say, the technique of posing with the jungle-animals is not one which can be mastered in a day; and years of experience have taught me that the strictest etiquette in dress and deportment is essential to good results. Perhaps a hint or two at this point from my own wealth of experience will prove of value to future explorers' wives.

In the first place, the lady should select only those animals to which she can adapt herself with ease and grace. If madame, for example, is given to stoutness, she should scrupulously avoid posing on the head of a hippopotamus, as it is inclined to accentuate her figure. The gazelle, on the other hand, offers a pleasing contrast for the lady with thick ankles. Personally I usually dislike being photographed with a giraffe, since it always shows up my own freckles.

The choice of costume to adopt when sitting on the head of a deceased animal is equally important. I have found on the whole that a flowered organdie or some bright-patterned crêpe-de-chine goes best with a spotted animal, like a leopard. On the other hand, a striped French serge is more satisfactory for zebras, though care should be taken to have the stripes of the material run the same way as those of the zebra. With boa-constrictors, I usually select a low-cut evening dress of jet, sheer stockings, and a bunch of orchids at the waist. For coiling inside elephants' ears or peeking slyly between the horns of a rhinoceros, on the other hand, I wear a smart hunting-suit of khaki, with perhaps just a touch of lace at the throat.

THE arrangement of the hair "on safari" depends more or less upon the individual tastes of the exploress. Personally I have always drawn my locks back loosely into a knot, because I feel that this style expresses in its flowing curves the lissome sweep of the jungle; while the silvery part in the center suggests the jungle trail in moonlight (to me, anyway). Others may feel that in a stylish bob they will echo more accurately the spirit of the cocoanut-palms.

As with the dress, too much care likewise cannot be shown in the selection of the proper attitude and facial expression to adopt when sitting on a corpse. I always make it my mission to endeavour to express somehow the feel of the dead beast, and echo in my mood his late character. (For I think that animals have character, just like humans.) For example, when I sit on the head of a hippopotamus, I am always a trifle pensive and sad; whereas, when I sit on a leopard's head, I lower my eyes and peer seductively from beneath the lashes. I prefer to smile broadly whenever seated on a crocodile's head, as his huge teeth make my own seem considerably smaller; in fact, Corey says that my mouth is a veritable Cupid's bow in comparison. My favourite position on an elephant's head is just behind the left ear, peering coyly over the tip. I seldom sit on a rhinoceros' head, owing to the painfully inconvenient location of his horns. Gnus, on the other hand, I simply straddle.

Inasmuch as all the packing "on safari" must be done on the broad backs of native coolies, the lady-explorer must be prepared to face a little hardship and inconvenience on her travels, and learn to content herself with the barest necessities. On our last voyage to Lake Zion, for example, Corey and I brought only those articles which we could not possibly do without. Of our modest train of a hundred coolies, the first five or ten carried trunks on their backs containing my evening-wraps, slippers and cloaks. The next dozen brought a few little changes for early afternoon wear, and some simple morning frocks; the succeeding four or five staggered under my array of chemises, negligees, stockings and other personal effects; the next squad carried my shoes and slippers; the next twelve my hats; while the succeeding forty-odd coolies carried such indispensible articles of my toilet as cosmetics, facial creams, powders, rouge, and some framed photographs of myself to decorate my boudoir. The last coolie brought up the rear with my bath-salts, and Corey's suit-case.

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Our first act upon our arrival at Lake Zion was to set up our little camp. We had originally intended to construct a more or less permanent encampment in which we could he really comfortable; but inasmuch as we planned to be on the trail most of the time, we finally decided to content ourselves with a rough-and-ready lean-to of twenty-seven rooms and six baths. This homely little shark Corey and I constructed with our own hands, out of some walls, ceilings, a pair of stairs and a roof that our natives had brought over the Kaisoot jungle from Nairobi. Articles of furniture, like the bath-tub and the kitchen stove, I fashioned myself out of a pair of old spools and some colored worsted.

Naturally, in the course of our hunts around our jungle paradise, we take every precaution to safeguard ourselves against undue danger. As soon as a rhino is sighted, for example, Corey and I immediately climb a tall tree and send the natives ahead to catch the beast and tie it up with a stout rope. When they have dragged it back, trussed securely and fastened to a nearby stump, we then pump bullets into it steadily for half an hour from our 500-bore express rifles, before we venture down from the tree in which we have stationed ourselves. We next throw heavy rocks at it from a safe distance, spray it with machine-gun fire, and finally gallop around and around it on horseback, yipping and Shooting it full of arrows. At last we send one of the natives up to prod it with a long pole and see whether it still quivers.

Once we have made sure in this manner that the creature is actually dead, Corey unties the ropes and props the carcass against a tree in a life-like posture, while I don my snappy riding pants, add a last dab of powder to my nose, and squat between "Old Rhino's" paws, holding my little twenty-two conspicuously across my knees, and cocking my head ever so slightly until the tip of his forward horn peeks bewitchingly over the brim of my hat. This pose has never failed to prove popular with rotogravure editors, particularly above a caption explaining how I shot down the animal in the nick of time, as it was about to attack my defenceless husband.

And now perhaps it will be of interest if I conclude my little article with a description of the typical day in the life of a lady-explorer "on safari

I am always up bright and early, often by ten o'clock; and after a light petit dejeuner of orange-juice, rolls and coffee, I slip into my cunning portable boudoir and attend to my toilette. This is a highly important item of our expedition, and often occupies me for hours. After coating my face thoroughly with a specially-prepared coldcream, I follow this with a witch-hazel sponge and then a thin coating of powder and perhaps a dash of Nuit de Passione; this serves as an excellent ground-work for any expression I may care to adopt.

The following hour from eleven to twelve, I devote to my smile-practice. Standing before my mirror, I draw my lip-stick from the holster and rapidly work up an attractive expression, which I hold steadily for several minutes until it has hardened. I have indeed become quite a sharp-shooter with my lipstick; and recently I loaded it, aimed it at my mouth, and produced a perfect smile within the record space of fourteen seconds. I can likewise score heavily with my eyebrow-pencil.

When all is in readiness I select a brisk smile, fix it on my lips, and wander out in a chic frock for my daily work. While Corey grinds the crank of the camera, I pose successively on the various heads of the animals which the natives have found lying around the woods that morning. Of course, I always throw my whole soul into my work; and often an hour or so of steady "registering" before the lens will leave me so exhausted that Corey has to carry me back into my boudoir, where I devote the rest of the afternoon to my "beauty nap" and a massage.

Sometimes, after supper, the Martin Johnsons will drive over in their armorplated tank from their nearby home on Paradise Lake; and evening will speed by in this congenial company, with perhaps a hand of whist or a "talk-fest". While the men-folks are in a corner discussing the latest handgrenades, high-explosive shells and rapid-fire Lewis guns with which they hunt big game, or perhaps while Mr. Johnson is showing Corey the new long-range twelve-inch naval piece which he brought from the coast especially for predatory beetles and field-mice, Osa and I inspect each other's frocks, or indulge in some racy gossip of the water-hole.

It is late that night. The Johnsons have gone at last. In the silence Corey takes me on his knee; and while the jungle closes in around us, and the vicious fireflies blink hungrily in the bushes, he hums softly:

"And we shall be the best of pals, As we grind out reel after reel;

While I supply the animals,

You lend the Sex Appeal."

I only snuggle closer. The silent jungle stretches on all sides, and yawns.