Dwnload Full Fundamentals of Business Mathematics in Canada Canadian 2nd Edition Jerome Solutions Manual PDF
Dwnload Full Fundamentals of Business Mathematics in Canada Canadian 2nd Edition Jerome Solutions Manual PDF
Dwnload Full Fundamentals of Business Mathematics in Canada Canadian 2nd Edition Jerome Solutions Manual PDF
Fundamentals of Business
Mathematics in Canada Canadian 2nd
Edition Jerome Solutions Manual
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Intermediate Problems
9. 4a(3ab – 5a + 6b) = 12a2b – 20a2 + 24ab
10. 9k(4 – 8k + 7k2) = 36k – 72k2 + 63k3
11. – 5xy(2x2 – xy – 3y2) = – 10x3y + 5x2y2 + 15xy3
12. (3p2 – 5p)(– 4p + 2) = – 12p3 + 6p2 + 20p2 – 10p = – 12p3 + 26p2 – 10p
13. 3(a – 2)(4a + 1) – 5(2a + 3)(a – 7) = 3(4a 2 + a – 8a – 2) – 5(2a2 – 14a + 3a – 21)
= 12a2 – 21a – 6 – 10a2 + 55a + 105
= 2a2 + 34a + 99
14. 5(2x – y)(y + 3x) – 6x(x – 5y) = 5(2xy + 6x2 – y2 – 3xy) – 6x2 + 30xy
= – 5xy + 30x2 – 5y2 – 6x2 + 30xy
= 24x2 + 25xy – 5y2
18 x 2
15. = 6x
3x
6a 2 b a
16. = 3
2ab 2 b
x 2 y xy 2
17. x–y
xy
4x 10x 2 6x 3
18. = 8 – 20x + 12x2
0.5x
12x 3 24x 2 36x x 2 2x 3
19.
48x 4
Advanced Problems
2x + 9
31. 1.2x 1 = 0.5x + 2.25 – 1.2x + 1.2 = – 0.7x + 3.45
4
x 4 4 1
32. x 2 0 .2 x 2 x + = 0.5x – x2 + 0.8 – 0.2x2 – 0.8x + 0.5
2 5 5 2
= – 1.2x2 – 0.3x + 1.3
8 x 5. 5 x
33. 0.54.6 x 17 = 16x + 0.5x + 2.3x – 8.5 = 18.8x – 8.5
0.5 11
2x 2.016 x x
34. = 1.9139x – 0.6720x + 0.5x = 1.7419x
1.045 3 2
1 i n 1 1.085 3 1
35. R $550 $550 0.2772891 = $1794.22
i 0.085 0.085
R 1 $630 1
37. 1 1 = $1071.77
i 1 i n 0.115 1.115 2
Exercise 2.2
Basic Problems
1. I = Prt
$6.25 = P(0.05)0.25
$6.25 = 0.0125P
$6.25
P= = $500.00
0.0125
PMT
2. PV =
i
$900
$150,000
i
$150,000i = $900
$900
i= = 0.00600
$150,000
3. S = P(1 + rt)
$3626 = P(1 + 0.0049)
$3626 = 1.036P
$3626
P= = $3500.00
1.036
4. N = L(1 – d)
$891 = L(1 – 0.10)
$891 = 0.90L
$891
L= = $990.00
0.90
5. N = L(1 – d)
$410.85 = $498(1 – d)
$410.85
=1–d
$498
0.825 = 1 – d
d = 1 – 0.825 = 0.175
[10]
The reader will agree that no undue amount of intellect has been
lavished on this ditty, but this is a trait common to all native songs
here in the South. Even those acknowledged virtuosi, my
Wanyamwezi, cannot do very much better in this respect. Here we
have really every right to say, “We Wazungu are better singers after
all!”
MOUNTAINS NEAR MASASI. DRAWN BY SALIM MATOLA
CHAPTER V
LOOKING ROUND
Our manner of life here is, of course, essentially different from that
followed on the march. Life on the march is always full of charm,
more especially in a country quite new to one; and mine has so far
been entirely without drawbacks. In African travel-books we find
that almost every expedition begins with a thousand difficulties. The
start is fixed for a certain hour, but no carriers appear, and when at
last the leader of the expedition has, with infinite pains, got his men
together, they have still endless affairs to settle, wives and
sweethearts to take leave of, and what not, and have usually vanished
from the traveller’s ken on the very first evening. In my case
everything went like clockwork from the start. I can blame no one
but myself for the quarter of an hour’s delay in starting from Lindi,
which was caused by my being late for breakfast. On the second
morning the askari could not quite get on with the folding of the
tent, and Moritz with the best will in the world failed to get my
travelling-lamp into its case, which was certainly a very tight fit. But
with these exceptions we have all behaved as if we had been on the
road for months. Anyone who wants a substantial breakfast first
thing in the morning, after the English fashion, should not go
travelling in Africa. I have given directions to wake me at five.
Punctually to the minute, the sentinel calls softly into the tent,
“Amka, bwana” (“Wake up, sir”). I throw both feet over the high
edge of the trough-like camp bed, and jump into my khaki suit. The
water which Kibwana, in the performance of his duties as
housemaid, has thoughtfully placed at the tent door overnight, has
acquired a refreshing coolness in the low temperature of a tropic
night in the dry season. The shadow of the European at his toilet is
sharply outlined on the canvas by the burning lamp, which, however,
does not confine its illumination to its owner, but radiates a circle of
light on the shining brown faces of the carriers and the askari. The
former are busy tying up their loads for the march, while the soldiers
are ready to rush on the tent like a tiger on his prey, so soon as the
white man shall have finished dressing and come out. In the
twinkling of an eye the tent is folded, without a word spoken, or a
superfluous movement; it is division of labour in the best sense of
the word, faultlessly carried out. Meanwhile the traveller goes to his
camp-table, takes a hurried sip of tea, cocoa, or whatever his
favourite beverage may be, eating at the same time a piece of bread
baked by himself, and now stands ready for the march. “Tayari?”
(“Ready?”) his voice rings out over the camp. “Bado” (“Not yet”) is
the invariable answer. It is always the same lazy or awkward
members of the party who utter this word beloved of the African
servant. The beginner lets himself be misled by it at first, but in a few
days he takes no more notice of the “Bado,” but fires off his “Safari!”
(literally “Journey!”) or (as speedily introduced by me), “Los!”[13] at
the band in general, flourishes his walking-stick boldly in the air,
thereby indicating to the two leading askari the direction of the
march, and the day’s work has begun.
I do not know how other tribes are accustomed to behave at the
moment of starting, but my Wanyamwezi are certainly neither to
hold nor to bind on these occasions. With evident difficulty each one
has got his load lifted to head or shoulder, and stands in his place
bending under the weight. At the word of command arises an uproar
which baffles description. All the pent-up energy of their throats
rings out into the silent forest; stout sticks rattle in a wild, irregular
rhythm on the wooden cases, and, alas! also on the tin boxes, which
furnish only too good a resonator. The noise is infernal, but it is a
manifestation of joy and pleasure. We are off! and, once on the
march, the Wanyamwezi are in their element. Before long the chaos
of noise is reduced to some order; these men have an infinitely
delicate sense of rhythm, and so the din gradually resolves itself into
a kind of march sung to a drum accompaniment, whose charm even
the legs of the askari—otherwise too dignified for such childish
goings-on—cannot resist.
CAMP AT MASASI
Here at Masasi the tables are turned; my men have a good time,
while I can scarcely get a minute to myself. My escort are quite
magnificently housed, they have moved into the baraza or council-
house to the left of my palatial quarters and fitted it up in the native
way. The negro has no love for a common apartment; he likes to
make a little nest apart for himself. This is quickly done: two or three
horizontal poles are placed as a scaffolding all round the projected
cabin, then a thick layer of long African grass is tied to them, and a
cosy place, cool by day and warm by night, is ready for each one. The
carriers, on the other hand, have built themselves huts in the open
space facing my abode, quite simple and neat, but, to my
astonishment, quite in the Masai style—neither circular hut nor
tembe. The circular hut I shall discuss in full later on, but in case
anyone should not know what a tembe is like, I will here say that the
best notion of it can be got by placing three or four railway carriages
at right angles to one another, so that they form a square or
parallelogram, with the doors inward. This tembe is found
throughout most of the northern and central part of German East
Africa, from Unyamwezi in the west to the coast on the east, and
from the Eyasi and Manyara basin in the north to Uhehe in the
south. The Masai hut, finally, can best be compared with a round-
topped trunk. Though the Masai, as everyone knows, usually stand
well over six feet, their huts, which (quite conformably with the
owners’ mode of life as cattle-breeders par excellence) are neatly and
fragrantly plastered with cowdung, are so low that even a person of
normal stature cannot stand upright in them. My Wanyamwezi,
however, never attempt to stand up in their huts; on the contrary,
they lie about lazily all day long on their heaps of straw.
My activities are all the more strenuous. The tropical day is short,
being only twelve hours from year’s end to year’s end, so that one has
to make the fullest possible use of it. At sunrise, which of course is at
six, everyone is on foot, breakfast is quickly despatched, and then the
day’s work begins. This beginning is curious enough. Everyone who
has commanded an African expedition must have experienced the
persistence of the natives in crediting him with medical skill and
knowledge, and every morning I find a long row of patients waiting
for me. Some of them are my own men, others inhabitants of Masasi
and its neighbourhood. One of my carriers has had a bad time. The
carrier’s load is, in East Africa, usually packed in the American
petroleum case. This is a light but strong wooden box measuring
about twenty-four inches in length by twelve in width and sixteen in
height, and originally intended to hold two tins of “kerosene.” The
tins have usually been divorced from the case, in order to continue a
useful and respected existence as utensils of all work in every Swahili
household; while the case without the tins is used as above stated.
One only of my cases remained true to its original destination, and
travelled with its full complement of oil on the shoulders of the
Mnyamwezi Kazi Ulaya.[14] The honest fellow strides ahead sturdily.
“It is hot,” he thinks. “I am beginning to perspire. Well, that is no
harm; the others are doing the same.... It is really very hot!” he
ejaculates after a while; “even my mafuta ya Ulaya, my European
oil, is beginning to smell.” The smell becomes stronger and the
carrier wetter as the day draws on, and when, at the end of the
march, he sets down his fragrant load, it is with a double feeling of
relief, for the load itself has become inexplicably lighter during the
last six hours. At last the truth dawns on him and his friends, and it
is a matter for thankfulness that none of them possess any matches,
for had one been struck close to Kazi Ulaya, the whole man would
have burst into a blaze, so soaked was he with Mr. Rockefeller’s
stock-in-trade.
Whether it is to be accounted for by a strong sense of discipline or
by an almost incredible apathy, the fact remains that this man did
not report himself on the first day when he discovered that the tins
were leaking, but calmly took up his burden next morning and
carried it without a murmur to the next stopping place. Though once
more actually swimming in kerosene, Kazi Ulaya’s peace of mind
would not even now have been disturbed but for the fact that
symptoms of eczema had appeared, which made him somewhat
uneasy. He therefore presented himself with the words a native
always uses when something is wrong with him and he asks the help
of the all-powerful white man—“Dawa, bwana” (“Medicine, sir”),
and pointed significantly, but with no sign of indignation, to his
condition. A thorough treatment with soap and water seemed
indicated in the first instance, to remove the incrustation of dirt
accumulated in seven days’ marching. It must be said, in justice to
the patient, that this state of things was exceptional and due to
scarcity of water, for Kazi Ulaya’s personal cleanliness was above the
average. I then dressed with lanoline, of which, fortunately, I had
brought a large tin with me. The patient is now gradually getting over
his trouble.
Another case gives a slight idea of the havoc wrought by the jigger.
One of the soldiers’ boys, an immensely tall Maaraba from the
country behind Sudi, comes up every morning to get dawa for a
badly, damaged great toe. Strangely enough, I have at present
neither corrosive sublimate nor iodoform in my medicine chest, the
only substitute being boric acid tabloids. I have to do the best I can
with these, but my patients have, whether they like it or not, got
accustomed to have my weak disinfectant applied at a somewhat
high temperature. In the case of such careless fellows as this
Maaraba, who has to thank his own lazy apathy for the loss of his
toe-nail (which has quite disappeared and is replaced by a large
ulcerated wound), the hot water is after all a well-deserved penalty.
He yells every time like a stuck pig, and swears by all his gods that
from henceforth he will look out for the funsa with the most
unceasing vigilance—for the strengthening of which laudable
resolutions his lord and master, thoroughly annoyed by the childish
behaviour of this giant, bestows on him a couple of vigorous but
kindly meant cuffs.
As to the health of the Masasi natives, I prefer to offer no opinion
for the present. The insight so far gained through my morning
consultations into the negligence or helplessness of the natives as
regards hygiene, only makes me more determined to study other
districts before pronouncing a judgment. I shall content myself with
saying here that the negro’s power of resisting the deleterious
influences of his treacherous continent is by no means as great as we,
amid the over-refined surroundings of our civilized life, usually
imagine. Infant mortality, in particular, seems to reach a height of
which we can form no idea.
Having seen my patients, the real day’s work begins, and I march
through the country in the character of Diogenes. On the first few
days, I crawled into the native huts armed merely with a box of
matches, which was very romantic, but did not answer my purpose. I
had never before been able to picture to myself what is meant by
Egyptian darkness, but now I know that the epithet is merely used on
the principle of pars pro toto, and that the thing belongs to the whole
continent, and is to be had of the very best quality here in the plain
west of the Makonde plateau. The native huts are entirely devoid of
windows, a feature which may seem to us unprogressive, but which is
in reality the outcome of long experience. The native wants to keep
his house cool, and can only do so by excluding the outside
temperature. For this reason he dislikes opening the front and back
doors of his home at the same time, and makes the thatch project
outward and downward far beyond the walls. My stable-lantern,
carried about the country in broad daylight by Moritz, is a great
amusement to the aborigines, and in truth our proceeding might well
seem eccentric to anyone ignorant of our object. In the darkness of a
hut-interior, however, they find their complete justification. First
comes a polite request from me, or from Mr. Knudsen, to the owner,
for permission to inspect his domain, which is granted with equal
politeness. This is followed by an eager search through the rooms
and compartments of which, to my surprise, the dwellings here are
composed. These are not elegant, such a notion being as yet wholly
foreign to the native consciousness; but they give unimpeachable
testimony to the inmates’ mode of life. In the centre, midway
between the two doors is the kitchen with the hearth and the most
indispensable household implements and stores. The hearth is
simplicity itself: three stones the size of a man’s head, or perhaps
only lumps of earth from an ant-heap, are placed at an angle of 120°
to each other. On these, surrounded by other pots, the great earthen
pot, with the inevitable ugali, rests over the smouldering fire. Lying
about among them are ladles, or spoons, and “spurtles” for stirring
the porridge. Over the fireplace, and well within reach of the smoke,
is a stage constructed out of five or six forked poles. On the cross-
sticks are laid heads of millet in close, uniform rows, and under
them, like the sausages in the smoke-room of a German farmhouse,
hang a great number of the largest and finest cobs of maize, by this
time covered with a shining layer of soot. If this does not protect
them from insects, nothing else will; for such is the final end and aim
of the whole process. In the temperate regions of Europe, science
may be concerned with preserving the seed-corn in a state capable of
germination till sowing-time; but here, in tropical Africa, with its all-
penetrating damp, its all-devouring insect and other destroyers, and,
finally, its want of suitable and permanent building material, this
saving of the seed is an art of practical utility. It will be one, and not
the least welcome, of my tasks, to study this art thoroughly in all its
details.
As to the economy of these natives, their struggle with the
recalcitrant nature of the country, and their care for the morrow, I
am waiting to express an opinion till I shall have gained fuller
experience. In the literature dealing with ethnology and national
economy, we have a long series of works devoted to the classification
of mankind according to the forms and stages of their economic life.
It is a matter of course that we occupy the highest stage; all authors
are agreed on one point, that we have taken out a lease of civilization
in all its departments. As to the arrangement of the other races and
nations, no two authors are agreed. The text-books swarm with
barbarous and half-barbarous peoples, with settled and nomadic,
hunter, shepherd, and fisher tribes, migratory and collecting tribes.
One group carries on its economic arts on a basis of tradition,
another on that of innate instinct, finally, we have even an animal
stage of economics. If all these classifications are thrown into a
common receptacle, the result is a dish with many ingredients, but
insipid as a whole. Its main constituent is a profound contempt for
those whom we may call the “nature-peoples.”[15] These books
produce the impression that the negro, for instance, lives direct from
hand to mouth, and in his divine carelessness takes no thought even
for to-day, much less for to-morrow morning.
The reality is quite otherwise, here and elsewhere, but here in an
especial degree. In Northern Germany, the modern intensive style of
farming is characterized by the barns irregularly distributed over the
fields, and in quite recent times by the corn-stacks, both of which,
since the introduction of the movable threshing-machine, have made
the old barn at the homestead well-nigh useless. Here the farming
differs only in degree, not in principle; here, too, miniature barns are
irregularly scattered over the shambas, or gardens; while other food-
stores which surprise us by their number and size are found close to
and in the homestead. If we examine the interior of the house with a
light, we find in all its compartments large earthen jars, hermetically
sealed with clay, containing ground-nuts, peas, beans, and the like,
and neatly-made bark cylinders, about a yard long, also covered with
clay and well caulked, for holding maize, millet and other kinds of
grain. All these receptacles, both outdoor and indoor, are placed to
protect them from insects, rodents and damp, on racks or platforms
of wood and bamboo, from fifteen inches to two feet high, plastered
with clay, and resting on stout, forked poles. The outdoor food-stores
are often of considerable dimensions. They resemble gigantic
mushrooms, with their thatched roofs projecting far beyond the
bamboo or straw structure, which is always plastered with mud
inside and out. Some have a door in their circumference after the
fashion of our cylindrical iron stoves; others have no opening
whatever, and if the owner wishes to take out the contents, he has to
tilt the roof on one side. For this purpose he has to ascend a ladder of
the most primitive construction—a couple of logs, no matter how
crooked, with slips of bamboo lashed across them a yard apart. I
cannot sketch these appliances without a smile, yet, in spite of their
primitive character, they show a certain gift of technical invention.
The keeping of pigeons is to us Europeans a very pleasing feature
in the village economy of these parts. Almost every homestead we
visit has one or more dovecotes, very different from ours, and yet
well suited to their purpose. The simplest form is a single bark
cylinder, made by stripping the bark whole from the section of a
moderately thick tree. The ends are fastened up with sticks or flat
stones, a hole is cut in the middle for letting the birds in and out, and