Bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. Most of the
time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy
and the pay light. In physique he was improved almost beyond
recognition.
The large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained
the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. Much
of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling.
After Bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his
death. So, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her
new husband with two children.
Bositi was unreasonable about it. On being told that he was supposed to
be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his
wife. When her husband protested, he beat him too.
After he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from
it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of
the pretty marriageable girls of the village. In return he received much
strong beer. The beer made him drunk--too drunk to beat or insult anyone
else, but not too drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of
his precious box.
Next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but
he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size
of that blue-and-yellow tin box.
He also made friends with the men of the village--not excluding him who
had married his wife--by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco.
After a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in
his box and set out for the Chief's village. When there he showed off.
He wore his best clothes, and spoke bad English fluently and loudly in
the traders' stores. While his money lasted the traders suffered him;
when it was spent he was told not to come again.
The Chief soon heard of him and sent for him.
Bositi had never been presented at Court before. He was immensely
impressed. He squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to
the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. Immediately in
front of him was a long thatched building. Three sides of it were closed
in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. This, a lounger
told him, was the National Council House, or Khotla.
The Chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. It
consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. The
instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by
talking loudly as they strummed and thumped.
The Court Fool was aping birds. He had a bunch of feathers in his hair
and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his
make-up. For the moment he was imitating a crested crane. The bird is
beautiful, the Fool was hideous; yet such was his art of mimicry that
all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent.
The Town Crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and
then passed on his way.
Some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. The armed guards
drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips.
Bositi had brought as a present to the Chief a large blanket with a
realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and
a new brass tinder box. He mentally contrasted his gifts with those
brought by other men--mostly to the disadvantage of the others.
One old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. By the fuss
the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor
of ivory commanded very much respect.
Bositi had smuggled an old Tower musket across the border and knew where
to get powder. He promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than
those displayed by his rival.
Presently there was a stir. The Chief was coming! The orchestra struck
up energetically; the Fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the
hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the
long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the
sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands.
Bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his
right eye and annoyed him for days to come.
The Chief moved towards the Council House, preceded by a number of body
servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and
stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip.
Another carried the Chief's chair. This chair was strongly made on the
European pattern. The seat of it was covered with the hide of a Sable
antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. A rude face
was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. To this face men
do reverence when the Chief is not in his chair.
A third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica,
which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck.
Another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the Chief himself
had a smaller one in his own hand.
The sight of the Chief filled Bositi with awe. He paid no attention to
the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august
personage. He felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by
the common herd, was really very mean.
For the Chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. He
wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward,
disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. On his feet he had a
magnificent--in Bositi's eyes--pair of new bright yellow boots. In his
free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an
ivory and ebony handle.
In spite of his absurd clothes the Chief had a certain air of dignity.
He was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his
small beard was tinged with grey.
He stepped along firmly, however, and Bositi noticed with jealousy that
his eyes lit up as they rested for a moment on the two great tusks of
ivory brought by the old man.
The Chief entered the Council House and sat down. Immediately all
present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will
that the orchestra was not heard for a space. The Court Fool hopped
round with renewed energy. The official Praiser shouted:
The great lion!
The bull elephant!
The thunderer!
The greatest of all lions!
The salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again.
There is no hurry in a native Council House. The band played out its
selection and the Court Fool continued to gyrate. One by one the
Councillors took their seats in the Chamber. This was a lengthy
business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the Chief
and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his
skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed
seat.
At length quiet prevailed. One by one the visitors were marshalled
forward to present their gifts and state their case--if they had one to
state.
Many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the
Chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory.
"Who is this who brings ivory?" asked the Chief.
"It is Moyo of the Rivoswe country," someone volunteered.
"Oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. See, he brings two
tusks and they are large ones."
"Yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in
the Council House.
"Who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the Chief.
There was no reply. All knew their master's weakness for ivory.
The Chief addressed Moyo: "Tell me, old man, what mischief was in your
heart when last you left my village?"
Moyo pointed to the tusks. "I went to hunt elephants for the Chief. For
long I hunted before I killed. When I had killed, I brought my ivory to
my Chief. I am no law-breaker. Is it against the law for the Chief's
slave to hunt elephants for the Chief?"
"If," answered the Chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let
many break it. Who accused this man?"
As no answer was forthcoming, the Chief accepted the ivory.
As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days
gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and
skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now,
realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make
his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view
of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his
home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would
not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority.
At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief.
Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working
for many years for the white man."
"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?"
(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word
"steamers.")
"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas."
"Can you make good stemalas?"
"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make
them for many years."
"What does the white man use stemalas for?"
"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances
more quickly and greater than a man can travel."
"Could you build a stemala for me?"
Without hesitation Bositi declared he could build a railway for the
Chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few
axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber.
"Is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the Chief.
"Yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in
pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. He has no big trees in
his country. In the Chief's country iron is only found in little pieces,
but the trees are large and long."
"If you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your
village and the induna of your district. The axes and the adzes shall be
given to you. Go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the
stemala quickly."
"I will go, but the Chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to
make. Many men and many days are wanted for its making."
"It is well; I understand," said the Chief. Then turning to one of his
principal advisers, he directed him to see that Bositi had all the men
and all the tools he required.
That night much fuss was made over Bositi who was to become the headman
of his village and the induna of his district--when he had made a
railway for his Chief.
As for Bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man,
bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in
his high position.
In due course were settled such small details as where the railway was
to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted
from the Chief's store.
At length the party set out. Bositi was the most important member of it.
Next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the
Chief's representative. This man had power to requisition slave labour
in the Chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of
operations.
The spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the
Chief's village. This was fortunate for Bositi, for the distance freed
him from too much tiresome supervision. It was on the main river where
free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a
series of formidable rapids. For centuries travellers had been content
to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. The going was very
heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. The railway was to save this
labour. Canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so
transported to the quiet water below. A more useful railway, from the
natives' point of view, could not have been planned.
I was shown over the works by Bositi himself in the early days of
construction, before those difficult problems arose which sooner or
later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew."
If Bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that
importance to details which details have a way of demanding, I think his
railway would have been a success. But this is too much to expect of any
native.
He began well.
I found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a
dozen well-made wooden rails. Much labour had been expended on these,
for they were cut from large trees. They were perfectly straight and set
in true parallel. Resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each
pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either
extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the
wheels. The wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were
shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to
keep them from slipping off the rails.
Bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the
two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along
the short length of line, some sixty feet.
He explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only
to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along.
I asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. He
said six. I pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails
was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the
railway was ready for use. In the meantime, what about the ravages of
the white ant?
Bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. I think he put my criticism
down to the natural jealousy which a white man would feel upon finding
that a native is not incapable of great things.
He explained that the work had required some planning out, that the
local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the
Chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had
hindered progress.
I admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome,
and asked to be shown his working camp.
Bositi led me some distance into the forest. Here I saw a number of men
busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into
wooden rails. In very few instances were the rails in the making as
straight as those already laid. It was clear to me that the wheels would
somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and
I wondered how they would do it.
By no amount of questioning and patient explanation could I get Bositi
to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so I presently continued
my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next I passed that way
with my canoes I should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway.
* * * * *
That section of the Cape to Cairo railway was never finished. I
inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as I had
expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as
they were laid. I also saw that less trouble had been taken in making
them. The trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails
widened, there they narrowed. Here there was a hump, there a depression.
I made it my business to find out what had become of Bositi. He had not
been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but,
having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he
had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp,
where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear
as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun.