Full Download Test Bank For Economics 13th Edition Michael Parkin PDF Full Chapter
Full Download Test Bank For Economics 13th Edition Michael Parkin PDF Full Chapter
Full Download Test Bank For Economics 13th Edition Michael Parkin PDF Full Chapter
2
Copyright © 2019 Pearson Education, Inc.
5) Prior to international trade, if country A has a lower price of good X than does country B, then we
know definitely that
A) country B has an absolute advantage in the production of good X.
B) country B has a comparative advantage in the production of good X.
C) country A has an absolute advantage in the production of good X.
D) country A has a comparative advantage in the production of good X.
Answer: D
Topic: Comparative Advantage
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Reflective thinking
6) When the principle of comparative advantage is used to guide trade, then a country will specialize by
producing only
A) goods with the highest opportunity cost.
B) goods with the lowest opportunity costs.
C) goods for which production takes fewer worker-hour than another country.
D) goods for which production costs are more than average total costs.
Answer: B
Topic: Comparative Advantage
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Reflective thinking
7) The United States decides to follow its comparative advantage and specialize in the production of
airplanes. Which of the following will occur?
A) More airplanes will be produced in the United States.
B) There will be no change in the price of airplanes in the United States.
C) The world price of airplanes will increase.
D) The quantity of airplanes demanded in the United States will increase.
Answer: A
Topic: Gains from Trade, Changes in Production
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Analytical thinking
8) A country specializes in the production of goods for which it has a comparative advantage. We find
that
A) some producers and consumers win, some lose, but overall the gains exceed the losses.
B) all producers win.
C) all consumers win.
D) producers win, consumers lose, but overall the gains exceed the losses.
Answer: A
Topic: Gains from Trade
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Analytical thinking
3
Copyright © 2019 Pearson Education, Inc.
9) Consider a market that sells some of its goods as exports. Who does NOT benefit?
A) domestic consumers
B) domestic producers
C) workers in the industry
D) foreign consumers
Answer: A
Topic: Gains from Trade
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Analytical thinking
11) Consider a market that, with no international trade, is initially in equilibrium with quantity
demanded equal to quantity supplied at a price of $20. If the world price of the good is $10 and the
country opens up to international trade then in this market
A) imports will increase, price will fall, and quantity supplied will fall.
B) exports will increase, price will be unchanged, and quantity supplied will increase.
C) imports will increase, price will decrease, and the supply curve will shift to the left.
D) quantity demanded will decrease, quantity supplied will decrease, and price will decrease.
Answer: A
Topic: Gains from Trade, Imports
Skill: Conceptual
Status: Old
AACSB: Analytical thinking
4
Copyright © 2019 Pearson Education, Inc.
12) Based on the table below, at what world price would the country import the good?
13) Suppose the world price of a good is $4. Based on the table below, the country will
A) import 20 units.
B) export 20 units.
C) import 10 units.
D) export 10 units.
Answer: A
Topic: Imports
Skill: Analytical
Status: Old
AACSB: Analytical thinking
5
Copyright © 2019 Pearson Education, Inc.
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being decidedly in a minority. This alone would be sufficient to
stamp the festival as one belonging peculiarly to the women.
The structure where this ceremony was to take place was typically
African, not over large, but quite sufficiently so for the object in view.
The natives thoroughly understand the art of putting up buildings
admirably suited to the purpose they are to serve, and also quite
pleasing in style and shape, out of the cheapest materials and with
the simplest appliances, in a very short time. This hut was circular,
with an encircling wall of poles and millet-straw, between six and
seven feet high. It was about thirty feet in diameter, with two
doorways facing each other, and a central post supporting the roof.
The women were just entering in solemn procession, while the
tuning up of several drums was heard from the inside. The jumbe’s
hint as to the shyness of the women was abundantly justified; those
who caught sight of us at once ran away. The participants only grew
calm when we had succeeded in getting up unseen close to the outer
wall of the building and there finding shelter in a group of men
disposed to be sensible. It was, however, even now impossible to
sketch any of the women. I am in the habit, wherever I can, of jotting
down in a few rapid strokes every picturesque “bit” I come across,
and here I found them in unusual number. Since I left the coast,
labrets, nose-pins, and ear-studs have become quite hackneyed, but
hitherto I had come across no specimens of such size or racial types
so markedly savage and intact. When one of these women laughs, the
effect is simply indescribable. So long as her face keeps its normal
serious expression, the snow-white disc remains in a horizontal
position, that is to say, if the wearer is still young and good-looking.
If, however, she breaks into the short, giggling laugh peculiar to the
young negress, the pelele flies up with an abrupt jerk and stands
straight up over the ivory-white and still perfect teeth, while the
young woman’s pretty brown eyes flash with merriment, and the
weight of the heavy wooden plug sets up a quick vibration in the
upper lip, which is dragged out by almost a hand-breadth from its
normal position. Then the baby on the woman’s back (nearly all of
them are carrying babies), begins to cry piteously under the
searching gaze of the strange white man; and, in short, the whole
spectacle is one which must be seen to be appreciated—no pen can
describe it.
Our place was well chosen, and enabled us to survey the whole
interior of the hut without let or hindrance. I noticed three youths
sitting on stools of honour in a reserved part of the hall, and inquired
of the jumbe, who stood beside me, obligingly ready to be of use, who
those three little shrimps were? It appeared that they were the
husbands of the girls whose chiputu was being celebrated that day.
LAUGHING BEAUTIES
Now comes a new stage. “Hawara marre” mutters the jumbe. This
even Nils Knudsen cannot translate, for it is Kimakua, which he does
not know, but the jumbe, like all intelligent men in this country, is a
polyglottist. He says the Yao for it is “Chisuwi mkamule” (“The
leopard breaks out”). At this moment something unexpected
happens. The three young fellows rise quick as lightning, and, with
loud crashing and rustling, they have burst through the fragile hut-
wall and are seen retiring towards the outskirts of the village. I have
not yet clearly made out whether these youthful husbands
themselves represent the leopard or whether they are to be thought
of as pursued by an imaginary leopard. In either case, the leisurely
pace at which they stroll away is scarcely convincing and still less
imposing; less so, certainly, than the song of Hawara marre,
rendered by the women with equal spirit and energy, which rings out
into the sun-baked pori long after the three leopards have vanished
in the distance.
Now comes another picture; the hall is empty, but the open space
beside it, which has been carefully swept, swarms with brightly-
coloured fantastic figures. It is only now that we can see how they
have adorned themselves for the occasion. The massive brass
bangles, nearly an inch thick, which they wear on their wrists and
ankles, shine like burnished gold, and the calico of their skirts and
upper garments is of the brightest colours. These cloths, in fact, have
just been bought from the Indian traders at Lindi or Mrweka, at
great expense, by the gallant husbands, who have recently made an
expedition to the coast for the purpose. The white pelele seems to
shine whiter than usual, and the woolly heads and brown faces are
quite lustrous with freshly-applied castor oil, the universal cosmetic
of these regions. Once more the anamungwi take up a majestic pose,
and once more all the women crowd round them. This time the
presents consist of cobs of maize, heads of millet, and other useful
household supplies, which are showered wholesale on the recipients.
Once more the scene changes. The drummers have been tuning up
their instruments more carefully than usual, and at this moment the
fire blazes up for the last time and then expires. The first drum
begins—boom, boom, boóm, boom, boom, boóm, boom, boom,
boóm: two short notes followed by a long one. How the man’s hands
fly! There are more ways of drumming than one, certainly,—but the
art as practised here seems to require a special gift. It is by no means
a matter of indifference whether the drumhead is struck with the
whole hand, or with the finger-tips only, or whether the sound is
produced by the knuckles or finger-joints of the closed fist. It is
pretty generally assumed that we Europeans have an entirely
different mental organization from that of the black race, but even
we are not unaffected by the rhythm of this particular kind of
drumming. On the contrary, the European involuntarily begins to
move his legs and bend his knees in time to the music, and would
almost feel impelled to join the ranks of the dancers, were it not for
the necessity of maintaining the decorum of the ruling race, and of
keeping eye and ear on the alert for everything that is going forward.
The dance which the women are now performing is called ikoma.
[41]
Our eyes are insufficiently trained to perceive the slight
differences between these various choric dances, and so we grew
tired with mere looking on long before the natives, who are exerting
themselves to the utmost, begin to weary. In this case the sun
contributes to the result, and Moritz is already feeling ill, as he says,
from the smell of the crowd; though he certainly has no right to look
down on his compatriots in this respect. It is true that he has
improved since the day at Lindi, when I drove him before my kiboko
into the Indian Ocean, because he diffused around him such a
frightful effluvium of “high” shark, that it seemed as if he himself had
been buried for months. I am just about to pack up my apparatus,
when the uniform, somewhat tedious rhythm in which the crowd of
black bodies is moving suddenly changes. Hitherto, everything has
been characterized by the utmost decency, even according to our
standards, but now what do I see? With swift gesture the bright-
coloured draperies fly up, leaving legs and hips entirely free, the feet
move faster, and with a more vivacious and rapid motion the dancers
now circle round one another in pairs. I am fixed to the spot by a
sight I have often heard of, but which has never come in my way
before:—the large keloids which, in the most varied patterns cover
these parts of the body. The scars are raised to this size by cutting
again and again during the process of healing. This, too, belongs to
the ideal of beauty in this country.
Unfortunately, I was not able to await the end of the ikoma. The
performers, in spite of the small silver coin which I had distributed to
each of them, were evidently constrained in the presence of a
European,—a being known to most of them only by hearsay—and the
spontaneous merriment which had prevailed inside the hut was not
to be recovered. Besides, I was forced, out of consideration for
Moritz, who was now quite grey in the face, to return as quickly as
possible.
Akundonde’s junior headman is excellent as a practical guide, but
has little theoretic knowledge,—he is probably too young to know
much of the traditional lore of his own tribe and the Makua. Old
Akundonde himself keeps silence,—perhaps because he needs a
stronger inducement than any yet received. This, however, I am
unable to offer, especially as we ourselves have to subsist on our
tinned goods, the usual lean fowls and a few old guinea-fowl shot by
Knudsen. There is no trace of the liberal gifts of pombe which had
delighted our thirsty souls at Masasi and Chingulungulu.
It was, therefore, with light hearts that we left Akundonde’s on the
fourth day for Newala. The stages of our three days’ march were
Chingulungulu, where we had left a considerable part of our baggage,
and Mchauru, a very scattered village in a district and on a river of
the same name, in the foothills of the Makonde plateau. Mchauru is
interesting enough in several respects. First, topographically: the
river, which has excavated for itself a channel sixty, in some places
even ninety feet deep, in the loose alluvial soil, runs south-westward
towards the Rovuma. On reaching the bottom of this gorge, after a
difficult climb, we found no running water, but had to dig at least a
fathom into the clean sand before coming on the subterranean
supply. The deep, narrow water-holes, frequently met with show that
the natives are well aware of this circumstance. The vegetation in this
whole district, however, is very rich, and it is not easy to see at
present whence it comes, since we are on the landward side of the
hills whose seaward slope precipitates the rains. It is possible that
the soil here holds more moisture than in other parts of the plain.
Mchauru has not only charming scenery but abounds in
ethnographic interest. It possesses, in the first place, a fundi who
makes the finest ebony nose-pins in the country, and inlays them
with zinc in the most tasteful manner, and secondly, a celebrated
magician by the name of Medula. In fact, it was on account of these
two men that I halted here at all. The nose-pin-maker was not to be
found—we were told that he was away on a journey—but Medula was
at home.
From our camp, pitched under a huge tree beside the road, we—
that is Knudsen and I, with my more immediate followers carrying
the apparatus—walked through banana groves (which I now saw for
the first time), and extensive fields of maize, beans, and peas, ready
for gathering, in a south-westerly direction for nearly an hour. At
intervals the path runs along the bed of a stream, where the deep
sand makes walking difficult. At last, on ascending a small hill, we
found ourselves before an open shed in which an old native was
seated, not squatting in the usual way, but with his legs stretched out
before him, like a European. After salutations, my errand was
explained to him,—I wanted him to tell me all about his medicines
and sell me some of them, also to weave something for us. According
to native report, there are only two men left in the whole country
who still possess this art, already obsolete through the cheapness of
imported calico. Medula is one of these weavers,—the other, a
tottering old man, I saw, several weeks ago, at Mkululu. I was greatly
disappointed in him; he had not the faintest notion of weaving, and
there was nothing in the shape of a loom to be seen in his hut; the
only thing he could do was to spin a moderately good cotton thread
on the distaff.
MAKONDE MASKS
While the four masks are still moving about the arena—sometimes
all together facing each other, sometimes separating and dancing
round in a circle with all sorts of gambols—a new figure appears on
the stage. A tapping sound is heard as it jerks its way forward—
uncanny, gigantic; a huge length of cloth flutters in the morning
breeze; long, spectral arms, draped with cloth so as to look like
wings, beat the air like the sails of a windmill; a rigid face grins at us
like a death’s head; and the whole is supported on poles, a yard or
more in length, like fleshless legs. The little girls are now really
frightened, and even my bodyguard seem to feel somewhat creepy.
The European investigator cannot allow himself to give way to such
sensations: he has to gaze, to observe, and to snapshot.
The use of stilts is not very common in any part of the world.
Except in Europe they are, so far as I know, only used in the culture-
area of Eastern Asia, and (curiously enough) in the Marquesas
Islands (Eastern Pacific), and in some parts of the West Coast of
Africa. Under these circumstances, I cannot at present suggest any
explanation of their presence on the isolated Makonde plateau. Have
they been introduced? and, if so, from whence? Or are they a survival
of very ancient usages once prevalent from Cape Lopez, in the west to
this spot in the east, preserved at the two extremities of the area,
while the intervening tribes advanced beyond the old dancing-
appliances? My mind involuntarily occupies itself with such
questions, though, properly speaking, this is not the time for them,
as there are still many things to see.
That the stilt-dancer’s intention is to terrify, is evident from his
movements, quite apart from his disguise. In a few gigantic strides he
has reached the other side of the fairly spacious arena, and drives the
natives squatting there back in headlong flight; for it looks as if the
monster were about to catch them, or tread them under foot. But it
has already turned away, and is stalking up to the five novices at the
other end: they, and others near them, turn away shrieking. Now he
comes within range of my camera—a click of the shutter, and I have
him safe. I could almost have imagined that I saw the man’s face of
consternation behind his mask—he stopped with such a start,
hesitated a moment, and then strode swiftly away.
This dancing on stilts can scarcely be a pleasure. The man is now
leaning, tired out, against the roof of one of the huts, and looks on
while the four masks come forward again to take part in the dance.
But the proceedings seem inclined to hang fire—the sun has by this
time climbed to the zenith, and the stifling heat weighs us all down.
A great many of the women taking part in the
ceremony have already dispersed, and those
still present are visibly longing for the piles of
ugali at home. I take down the apparatus and
give the word to start, and once more we are
forcing our way through the thorny thickets of
the Makonde bush towards Newala.
MAKONDE STILT-
DANCER. FROM A
DRAWING BY OMARI,
A MBONDEI
This has brought us to about half-past six; and, quite ready for
work, I leave the tent at the moment when the soldiers are reporting
for the two hours’ daily drill, which I introduced at Masasi, to keep
them from becoming confirmed loafers. Hemedi Maranga comes up
to me to make his report. This smart fellow has already improved the
appearance of the company; he is a born soldier, while his
predecessor, Saleh, was more of a hunter. Saleh has been sent by the
District Commissioner to the Central Lukuledi Valley to get rid of the
lions which are still decimating the unhappy inhabitants, numerous
lives having been lost even since we passed through in July. All
success to him in his perilous task!
While I am amusing myself with my breakfast—cocoa made very
thick, and the usual large omelette with bananas—the corporal and
his division have marched out into the pori, to practise bush-fighting
or go through their drill. “Legt an! Feuer! Geladen!” The word of
command, strange enough in the mouth of a native, rings out from a
distance as clearly and sharply as if spoken by the smartest of
German non-commissioned officers. But I have no time to listen to
this reminder of far-off home scenes, for already my wise elders are
arriving with the slow, dignified pace of the old native. It was agreed
yesterday that they should be here by seven. This may sound
surprising, considering that the natives have neither clocks nor
watches, and would be unable to read them if they had; but it was
arrived at in the following way. When we stopped work at sunset
yesterday, all, white and black alike, too tired to sit up any longer, I
said to the fifteen old men, getting Sefu to interpret my words into
Kimakua and Kima-konde: “You are to come again to-morrow, saa”
(at the hour of), and completed my sentence by stretching out my
arm to the east at an angle of 15° with the horizon. The men watched
me attentively. In order to make sure, I had them asked whether they
understood, and each forthwith raised one arm and held it at exactly
the same angle. Fifteen degrees is the height reached by the sun an
hour after rising, and therefore equivalent to seven o’clock; if I want
them at a later hour, I enlarge the angle accordingly. This is no
invention of mine, but the universal custom of the country; and the
people can indicate accurately the relative position of the sun at
periods separated by the smallest intervals of time.
A couple of hours have sped quickly enough, filled up with
questions and answers relating to various points of custom and
tradition, and the old gentlemen are still squatting round me in a
semicircle, on a huge mat. On the first day of our work in common,
one of them was so far from putting any restraint on himself as to
send a jet of tobacco-juice, sailor-fashion, through his teeth just in
front of my feet. “Mshenzi!” (“You savage!”) I growled, half
involuntarily, and since then I have had no occasion to complain of
the smallest breach of good manners. It is true that they bring with
them a strong effluvium of perspiration and rancid oil, so that I feel
worse and worse as the hours pass; and they are accompanied by a
cloud of flies, which go on doing their level best to transfer to the
white stranger the ophthalmic affections from which the natives
suffer; but otherwise their behaviour is deserving of all respect. The
observation which I have made in all places hitherto visited, that
these savages have a strong natural sense of tact, holds good here
also. If we compare their behaviour with that of certain circles and
strata of our home population, we are forced to the conclusion that
we Europeans, though we imagine ourselves to have taken a long
lease of all the culture and tact on earth, are, after all, not very much
more favourable specimens of humanity.
But the shed has all this time been growing hotter, and the
northern style of clothing is no longer called for. Off with the heavy
boots, then, and the thick woollen stockings, as well as the warm
flannel shirt, waistcoat, and neckcloth, to be replaced by thin tropical
garments affording free passage of the air. At noon the khaki coat is
flung into a corner, and a thin silk jacket assumed instead of it. This
completes the negative process, which has to be reversed again as the
sun declines. The dreaded evening gale of Newala sets in with a
sharp, icy squall, and Knudsen and I, by a simultaneous and violent
sneeze, prove that our chronic catarrh, though latent by day, is as
vigorous as ever. There is no help for it; we must put on again, piece
by piece, our whole winter stock, and, moreover, by a habit which
has now become an instinct, wrap ourselves up in overcoats when
the gale, now arrived at its height, whirls clouds of dirt and dust
through our dwelling. In the course of the four weeks we have spent
here, we have had to close in this abode more and more. The mats
originally put up to protect the open side have long since been
replaced by a solid wall of thatch, which has swallowed up one panel
after another, so that now by the end of the month only one large
window remains to admit light. In the evening the carriers tie a large
tarpaulin in front of this opening, but even this complete shutting off
of the wind does not make the place comfortable. When, about ten, I
have finished developing my plates and come, bathed in
perspiration, out of the tent which serves me for a dark-room into
the baraza, I find my Norwegian friend a shapeless bundle, wrapped
in all the available blankets, but his teeth chattering all the same.
Each of us then makes haste to creep into his warm tent. The tents,
by the bye, have only become really warm since we have had a screen
of millet-straw, strengthened by strong stakes, built in front of them
to windward. Before this was done, they were in danger of being
blown over every night. These are the daily cares of clothing and
lodging: their amount is not excessive, but in any case they take up a
certain fraction of my precious time, on which still further inroads
are made by the necessary provision for food and health.
Next to the bush, the greatest peculiarity of the Makonde Plateau
is the fact that its surface is quite waterless; the soil, down to a
considerable depth, consisting of a loose stratification of sandy loam
and loamy sand. In the west these strata belong to the upper chalk
formation, and are called Makonde beds, in the east they are tertiary,
and are called Mikindani beds. Both are extraordinarily pervious to
water, so that all atmospheric moisture, if not evaporated or retained
by the abundant vegetation, rapidly sinks through them till stopped
by the impervious strata—the inclined plane of the Newala sandstone
or the primæval granite core (of the same nature as the insular
mountains yonder in the Masasi plain), which we must suppose to
exist in the depths of the Makonde Plateau. The water, flowing down
along these strata, does not, of course, come to the surface till it
reaches the declivity of the plateau, which, in contrast with the upper
level, is a region abounding even to excess in springs and brooks.
One might therefore expect to find the plateau itself uninhabited,
and all the people settled at its edges. That is the course which would
have been followed by Europeans like ourselves skilled in the
rationale of colonization. As a matter of fact, not a human being lives
below, but on the heights there are over 80,000 Makonde, nearly
5,000 Wangoni, thousands of Wayao and Wamakua, and a—to me—
unknown number of Wamatambwe. In recent times, however, the
tendency to come further and further down into the well-watered
lowlands, has been gaining ground. This has been caused by the
cessation of the Mafiti raids and the firm rule of the German
Administration. This tendency, however, only affects the more
progressive elements, the Yaos and Makuas, not the Makonde. The
latter follow the practice which has been usual with them from time
immemorial. So soon as the most necessary work has been done in
house and garden, father and son, or mother and daughter take on
their shoulders a pole, some yard and a half or two yards long, to
each end of which is fastened a large gourd, or perhaps two. They
hurry along at a rapid walk to the edge of the plateau, from which
their hamlet is inconveniently distant, scramble down a steep
declivity by a difficult path, remain for a while in the marshy bottom
and return with their load up the almost vertical ascent of several
hundred yards. At last, having accomplished the toilsome climb, they
draw a deep breath, and walk, or rather trot, back to their village.
The Makonde are said to devote the greater part of their lives to
tillage—which I find true as far as I have gone, though I have not
reached their main centre of distribution—but beyond all doubt the
second largest share of their time is absorbed by these long
excursions—so foolish a waste of time according to our ideas—in
search of water. If half the family has to spend two hours, or even
more, daily in bringing in, at the cost of severe labour, just enough
water to cook their pittance of ugali and allow every one a muddy
draught all round, it is surely an economic absurdity.