LANGUAGE AND ORAL LITERATURE
Structure of the Bantu languages. Riddles. Songs. Music and
dancing. Story-telling.
The languages spoken in British Central Africa belong to the great
Bantu family, which, as is now known, occupies (with a few exceptions)
the whole continent of Africa south of a line drawn from the Gulf of
Cameroons to the mouth of the Tana River on the east coast. Those spoken
within the Protectorate are Nyanja, Yao, the Lomwe dialect of Makua,
Tonga, Tumbuka, Nkonde, and a Zulu dialect spoken by the Angoni clans.
In Northern Rhodesia we may mention Bisa, Bemba, Luba, and Lunda as the
principal languages.
All the Bantu languages are as closely related together as English,
Dutch, German, and the Scandinavian dialects. There are several
points about them which are extremely interesting to the comparative
philologist. They have no grammatical gender—the same pronoun is used
for a man and a woman; and, accordingly, most natives who learn English
come to grief on this point, like Winwood Reade’s interpreter who asked:
‘What you say when him son be girl?’ On the other hand, nouns are divided
into eight or ten classes, each with its own plural inflection, and
adjectives and pronouns agreeing with it as they agree with each of the
three genders in Latin. This agreement extends also to the verbs.
The Bantu languages further differ from those with which most of us are
familiar, in that their inflections are indicated, not by suffixes, but
by prefixes—a fact which first meets us in the various and perplexing
forms assumed by the names of tribes and countries. Thus _Myao_ is ‘a
Yao’ (man or woman), _Wayao_ is ‘Yaos,’ and _Chiyao_ the Yao language.
Each noun-class has its own prefix (sometimes much atrophied or even
dropped altogether) for singular and for plural, and though these
prefixes vary greatly in the different languages, they are always
recognisable as having come from the same original, just as we know that
the English _oak_, the German _Eiche_, the Dutch _eik_, and the Danish
_eeg_ are all derived from one primitive form. The inflectional prefixes
of adjectives and verbs are derived from the noun-prefixes, though not
always identical with them in form; and the pronouns are modifications
of the prefix. In fact, broadly speaking, the prefix may be called a
pronoun, and the group of languages under consideration are sometimes
called the prefix-pronominal languages.
The careful reader may think that a somewhat Hibernian assertion has
been made above—viz. that the prefix is recognisable even where it has
been dropped; but this is in fact the case: the pronoun, which _must_ be
inserted before the verb, always shows what the lost prefix of the noun
has been. Thus we have in Nyanja the word _njoka_, ‘a snake’; it has no
prefix as it stands, but when used in a sentence we find it takes the
pronoun _i_: _njoka i luma_, ‘the snake bites.’ Now in Zulu, which has
kept its prefixes better than Nyanja, we find that ‘snake’ is _inyoka_.
This principle of agreement, by which all the words governed by the noun
repeat its prefix in some form or another at their beginning, is called
the _alliterative concord_, and may be illustrated by the following
sentences:—
NYANJA
_Mtengo_ _watu_ _u-li_ _wotari_, _u-dza-gwa_.
Tree our it is high it will fall.
The pronoun for the class to which _mtengo_ (anciently _umtengo_) belongs
is _u_, which is quite clearly seen before the verbs ‘to be’ and ‘to
fall.’ In the possessive pronoun and the adjective, it is a little
disguised, because it becomes _w_ before another vowel (_watu_ = _u_ +
_atu_).
The plural of this is:
_Mitengo yatu i-ri yetari, i-dza gwa._
Here the pronoun is _i_, or, before a vowel, _y_. _R_ and _L_ are
interchangeable; the verb ‘to be’ is usually _li_ after _a_ and _u_, _ri_
after _i_.
Another class is thus exemplified:
_Chiko_ _chánga_ _chabwino_ _chi-dza-sweka_.
Gourd my good it will be broken.
In the plural:
_Ziko zanga zabwino zidzasweka._
YAO
_Lu-peta_ _a-lu_ _lu-li_ _lu-angu_ _ngunu-lu-jasika_, _lu-enu_
Basket this is mine not it is lost yours
_’lu-la lu-jasiche._
that is lost.
Here the prefix is _lu_.
(‘This basket is mine, it is not lost; yours is lost.’)
In the plural: _Mbeta asi sili syangu, nginisijasika, syenu ’sila
sijasiche._ The plural prefix corresponding to _lu_ is _izim_ (_isim_),
or _izin_, and _p_ following this prefix changes to _b_; hence
(_isi_)_mbeta_ is the plural of _lupeta_.
There are very few adjectives in the Bantu languages; their place may
be supplied by a noun preceded by the possessive particle corresponding
to the word ‘of’: thus _chiko chabwino_ is literally ‘a gourd of
goodness.’ There are a good many verbs which can be used where we should
use adjectives, as _ku ipa_, ‘to be bad’ (_ku_ is the sign of the
infinitive); _ku uma_, ‘to be dry,’ etc.
Verbs can express, by means of changes in the stem, a number of
modifications in their meaning which we have to convey by separate words.
These modifications are usually called ‘forms,’ but are really extensions
of the principle of ‘voice.’ We have to be content with two voices—the
active and passive, with traces of a middle; Hebrew has seven; some Bantu
languages have as many as nine or ten; while, counting the secondary and
tertiary derivatives, and the compounds, the late W. H. Bentley reckoned
out over three hundred forms of one verb, _all actually in use_, in the
language of the Lower Congo.
The aspirate exists neither in Yao nor Nyanja, and when heard in English
words is often turned into _S_; thus the name Hetherwick becomes
Salawichi. But the people west of the Shiré use it in words and names
borrowed from the Zulus, and seem to find no difficulty with it. _L_
and _R_ are interchangeable, as already stated, or rather it would be
more correct to say that the sound intended is really distinct from both
and heard by some Europeans as _l_, by others as _r_. There are no very
difficult sounds, except perhaps _ng_ (pronounced as in ‘sing’) when it
comes at the beginning of a word. There are no clicks in any language
used in the region under consideration, except the Zulu spoken by some
of the Angoni, and in this they tend to disappear. The accent is almost
invariably on the penultimate.
The Bantu languages have, of course, no written literature—for we can
hardly count the translations, etc., produced by missionaries and their
pupils, or even the two or three native newspapers appearing in Cape
Colony and Natal. But like most primitive tongues, they are rich in
traditional tales, songs, proverbs, etc. Of the folk-stories we shall
give some examples in the next chapter. Here are some specimens of Nyanja
proverbs:—
‘If you are patient, you will see the eyes of the snail.’
‘Speed in walking in sand is even.’ (‘_Bei Nacht sind alle Katzen grau._’)
‘You taste things chopped with an axe, but meat cut up with a knife you
don’t get a taste of.’ (The sound of the axe directs passers-by to the
place where the food is being prepared—perhaps inside the reed-fence of
the kraal—when, of course, they must be asked to partake; had a knife
been used, they would have heard nothing, and gone on.)
‘If your neighbour’s beard takes fire, quench it for him’—_i.e._ you may
need a similar service some day.
‘When a man or a reed dies, there grows up another.’ (‘_Il n’y a pas
d’homme nécessaire._’)
‘Sleep has no favourite.’
‘Lingering met with liers in wait.’
Riddles, as already mentioned, are very popular. They are usually of the
simple kind which describes some well-known object in more or less veiled
and allusive language, something after the style of
‘Walls there are as white as milk,
Lined with skin as soft as silk,
Within a fountain crystal-clear,
A golden apple doth appear;
but much more crudely expressed.
‘I built my house without a door’ is one which has the same answer as the
above—viz. ‘an egg.’
Others are:—
‘Spin string that we may cross the river.’—A spider.
‘The people are round about, their chief is in the centre.’—A fire, and
the people sitting round it.
‘I saw a chief walking along the road with flour on his head.’—Grey hair.
‘Such an one built his house with one post only.’—A mushroom.
‘A large bird covering its young with its wings.’—A house—referring to
the roof with its broad eaves.
‘My child cried on the road.’—A hammer.
‘The sick man walks, but does not want to run, but when he sees this,
he runs against his will.’—A steep hill (which forces people to run in
descending it).
At Likoma they have a set form for riddle-contests, as thus: A. begins,
‘A riddle!’ The rest reply in chorus, ‘Let it come!’ A. ‘I have built my
house on the cliff!’ All guess; if their guesses are wrong, A. repeats
his riddle. If they still cannot guess right, they say, ‘We pay up oxen.’
A. ‘How many?’ They give a number. If A. is satisfied, he will now
explain his riddle—‘the ear’ being the answer to the one given above. If
any one guesses right, all clap their hands, and another player asks a
fresh riddle.
Another popular amusement might be described as a ‘debate.’ Boys and
grown men both delight in it, though with the former it is sometimes the
prelude to a fight. One of a party sitting round the fire, or wakeful in
the dormitory, will say, ‘_Tieni, ti chita mákani_’—‘Come, let us have a
discussion,’—and will start it, perhaps, by asking whether a hippopotamus
can climb a tree. The arguments for and against the proposition are then
advanced with the greatest eagerness, till the point is settled, amid
volleys of laughter, or the company tired out.
I have never, in Nyanja, come across any of the curious _itagu_
(‘catch-word compositions’) which the Yaos delight in, and which are
recited by two or more speakers. The following specimen of a duologue is
given by Mr. Duff Macdonald:—
First Speaker. Second Speaker.
Nda. Nda kuluma.
Kuluma. Kuluma mbale.
Mbale. Mbale katete.
Katete. Katete ngupe.
Ngupe. Ngupe akane.
Kane. Kane akongwe.
Kongwe. Akongole chimanga.
Chimanga. Chimanje macholo.
Macholo. Gachole wandu.
It will be seen that the second speaker repeats the word given by the
first (or something like it), and adds another to it, while the first in
like manner catches up his last word, or part of it, sometimes giving
it a different sense. It is almost impossible to translate this sort of
thing, but the following composition on the same lines may serve to show
how it is done.
A. B.
Ten. Tender and true.
True. Truth shall prevail.
Veil. Veil thy diminished head.
Head. Head of the clan.
Plan. Plant a new city, etc. etc.
Here, of course, there is no pretence of connection, but the _itagu_
are really connected stories. The language of these _itagu_ is very
difficult; either because they are very old, or because words are
purposely distorted.
Songs are numerous, and continually improvised afresh as wanted, though
many old traditional ones are current, some of which are embodied in
tales, and sung in chorus by the audience when the narrator comes to
them. Natives nearly always sing when engaged in concerted work, such as
paddling, hauling a heavy log, carrying a hammock, etc. They sometimes
sing in unison, but not unfrequently in parts. Very often one sings
the recitative, another answers, and others add the chorus. There is
no metre, properly so called, in the songs, but there is a sort of
rhythm, and they usually go very well to chants. Both Yao and Nyanja are
exceedingly melodious languages, and it is possible, though not easy,
to write rhymed verses in them, especially in trochaic metres, which
violate no rule of accent or construction. Many, if not most, however,
of the European tunes which have been adapted to native words in mission
hymn-books are hopelessly unsuitable, and the result, as regards the
accentuation of the words, is sometimes nothing short of grotesque.
No systematic study has yet been made of the native melodies by means
of phonographic records; a few of the Nyanja and Chikunda songs have
been written down, more or less tentatively by ear, and a good many
Chinamwanga tunes have been noted down by Mrs. Dewar, of the Livingstonia
Mission. These last, which are all associated with stories, come from a
district outside the bounds of the Protectorate, about half-way between
Nyasa and Tanganyika.
In general the character of all Bantu music is much the same; the
singing has a curious, monotonous, droning effect, which, however, is
not without its charm, when heard amid the proper surroundings. It is
sometimes said that all the melodies are in the minor key; but this is
a mistake. M. Junod, who has made a very careful study of the music of
the Baronga, says that the effect which gives rise to this impression is
produced by the songs beginning on a high note and descending; and this
turns out, on examination, to be the case with many of those collected
by Mrs. Dewar, though the height of the opening note is often only
comparative. As a specimen, I give the melody (as written down by Mrs.
Pringle of Yair) of the famous canoe-song _Sina mama_.
[Music:
Si-na ma-ma Si-na ba-bai Si-na ma-
ma Ma-ri-ya si-na ba-bai, si-na ma-ma.
Si-na ma-ma wa-ku le-wa na-ye, si-
na ma-ma, ma-ma ndi-we Ma-ri-ya.]
The meaning of the words (collated from two printed sources and my
own notes) is: ‘I have no mother, I have no father; I have no mother,
Mary, I have no father; I have no mother, to be nursed by her; I have
no mother—thou art my mother, O Mary!’ This song is often heard on the
Shiré; but, containing as it does, a faint echo of Romanist teaching,
probably originated in one of the Portuguese settlements on the Zambezi.
Another Shiré boat-song is _Wachenjera kale_, which, when I heard it,
I took for a very _à propos_ improvisation, having, I suppose, utterly
forgotten the following passage from Livingstone’s _Zambezi Expedition_,
which I must have read, but which struck me as quite new when I came
across it a few months later. ‘In general they [the men of Mazaro or
Vicenti on the Lower Zambezi] are trained canoe-men, and man many of the
canoes plying to Senna and Tette; their pay is small, and, not trusting
the traders, they must always have it before they start.... It is
possible they may be good-humouredly giving their reason for insisting
on being invariably paid in advance in the words of their favourite
canoe-song, “Uachingere [uniformity in spelling African words is, even
now, not much more than a pious aspiration], uachingere kale,” “You
cheated me of old,” or “Thou art slippery, slippery truly.”’ I prefer the
former rendering; and, moreover, my men repeated the _Wachenjera_ thrice.
There seemed to be no more of the song.
A very pretty corn-pounding song heard at Blantyre is as follows:—
Gu! gu! ndikatinka nkasinja.
Mai! tate! Zandia, gu!
Mwanawe uliranji?
Kuchenjera kwa amako,
Kundikwirira pa moto,
Kuti ine ndipsyerere.
It is not easy to get a satisfactory translation of this, though the
words, on the face of them, are not very difficult. ‘_Gu! gu!_ (the sound
of the pestle descending into the wooden mortar)—I am going to pound
corn; father! mother! Zandia! _gu!_ (I take Zandia to be a proper name).
You, child, why are you crying?—They are clever (or, they cheated me) at
your mother’s—to cover me up on the fire that I might be burnt—Zandia!’
The ‘child’ addressed is perhaps the corn in the mortar, which cries out
and complains of being crushed (‘burnt’), or it may be meant of some
maize-cobs put down to roast while the pounding is going on, which may be
heard popping and crackling.
Several songs I have taken down are full of allusions to local chiefs
and events of which I did not succeed in getting the explanation; they
show, at all events, how passing incidents are commemorated and kept in
mind. One speaks of ‘Mandala, who ran away from the flag’ (_mbendera_—the
Portuguese _bandeira_), and ‘Gomani (_i.e._ Chekusi), who died (or,
no doubt, “was kilt entirely”—he being still alive at the time of
recitation) in the _dambo_.’ This may refer to one of the many wars
between Chekusi and Chifisi, or Bazale.
Some of the songs are difficult to understand, as, even if not very old,
they abound in unfamiliar words and constructions, and also in local
allusions, which need explanation to outsiders. One I have written
down seems to be about Chekusi’s marriage, and brings in the names of
several chiefs. Another says that ‘I have seen Domwe’ (a mountain in
Angoniland)—‘Ntaja is dead,—we are ravaged this year.’ Another obscure
effusion, after stating that something or other is at Matewere’s (a son
of the famous Mponda), goes on to say that ‘I refuse (him or them) the
oxhide shield,’ or, maybe, the oxhide to make a shield.
These are ‘Angoni’ songs, and recognised as such on the other side of the
river, though the language is not Zulu, but ordinary Nyanja. The original
text of the last named is this:—
_Ta iye (?) zi ri kwa Matewere chinkumbaleza—Ga da o ho!_
_Ndimana ine, ndimana cha ng’ombe chikopa tu!_
The rhythm of the songs is rather indefinite; it resembles that of
some sailors’ chanties—_e.g._ the well-known _Rio Grande_. They often
consist of only a few words, repeated _ad infinitum_, with a refrain of
meaningless syllables, sometimes mere open vowel sounds—as: _e_, _e_,
_e_, _e_, _o_, _o_, _o_, _o_—_wo ya yo ho_, etc. In canoe-songs and the
like, time is marked by the beat of the paddles, the rise and fall of the
women’s pestles, and so on; at a dance, it is given by the drums. Some
soloist usually leads off with an improvised line, which is either taken
up and sung in chorus, or a response to it is so sung, and the principal
performer continues till he has exhausted his idea. If the song ‘catches
on,’ it is remembered and repeated, and passes into the common stock.
Some dances have their recognised songs, as ‘_Kanonomera e! e!_’ at the
Angoni women’s _kunju_ dance, and ‘_Leka ululuza mwana hiye!_ (Stop
winnowing, child!)—_e! e! e! e!—o! o! o! o!_’ at the _chamba_ dance.
[Illustration: THE DANCING-MAN]
Singing, music, and dancing, or other rhythmic action, are very much
mixed up together, as is always the case in the elementary stages
of those arts; and a combination of all three is practised by the
itinerant poet known as the ‘dancing-man.’ Of his instrument, the
_chimwenyumwenyu_, Mr. Barnes says that ‘performers on it are rare and
are most welcome guests in any village.’ It is a primitive kind of
fiddle, with one string and a gourd resonator, played with a bow, which,
when made, has its string passed over the string of the instrument, and
so can never be taken off. The man in the illustration, however, appears
to be playing on the _limba_, which has six strings strung on a piece of
wood across the mouth of a large gourd, and is played with both thumbs.
The gourd is hung round with bits of metal or of shells, to jingle and
rattle when it is shaken. The ‘dancing-man’ teaches the children the
chorus of his songs, and then, ‘carries on a dialogue of song with his
audience, with the excitement and rhythm of an inspired improvisatore.’
Another kind of _limba_ is that shown in the illustration, which was
obtained from some Atonga:—a shallow wooden trough with a handle at one
end, and pierced at top and bottom with six holes, through which a cord
is strung backwards and forwards, and tightened up by winding round the
handle. Like the other kind of _limba_, it is played with the thumbs. But
the word _limba_ is of wide application; it (or its plural _malimba_,
_marimba_) sometimes denotes the xylophone or ‘Kafir piano’ (Ronga
_timbila_), while natives use it for a harmonium, organ, or piano.
Other stringed instruments are the _pango_, resembling the dancing-man’s
_limba_, but played with a stick or plectrum instead of the thumbs; the
_mngoli_, the body of which is made like a small drum—it has one string
with a bridge, and is played with a bow; the _kalirangwe_, with one
string and a gourd resonator, played either with the fingers or a bit
of grass; and the very primitive one (_mtangala_) represented in the
illustration, which is played by women only, and is simply a piece of
reed, slightly bent, with a string fastened at one end and wound on the
other, so that it can be tightened up at pleasure. One end of this is
held in the mouth and the string twanged with the finger, producing a
very slight but not unpleasant sound, which, as Bishop Colenso remarked
of a somewhat similar instrument in Natal, ‘gratifies the performer and
annoys nobody else.’
The _sansi_ has a set of iron keys fixed on a wooden sounding-box, and
played with the thumbs; it has a piece of metal fixed on the front of
the box, to which are attached small discs cut from the shells of the
great _Achatina_ snail, so as to clash when shaken, like the bells on a
tambourine. A very similar instrument has the keys made of bamboo.
[Illustration: MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS
1. _Limba_ (Atonga)
2. _Sansi_
3. Reed (_mtangala_)
From Specimens in the Ethnological Museum at Cambridge]
A flute (_chitoliro_) is made out of a piece of bamboo about a foot long,
cut off immediately above and below the joints, so that it is closed at
both ends, and from three to six holes bored in the side, some of which
are closed with the fingers while playing. Bvalani, the boy with the
coronet, used to play on this flute a pretty, though somewhat monotonous,
little tune, consisting apparently of three or four notes, repeated over
and over again; but neither I nor any other _mzungu_ has yet succeeded in
getting a sound out of the one in my possession. It has one hole at one
end, to blow into, and three at the other.
Whistles, made out of a small goat’s or antelope’s horn, and used for
calling dogs and perhaps for signalling to each other on the road, are
worn round the neck by Angoni and Chipetas; and Pan-pipes are made of
reeds. Trumpets are made of gourds, sometimes fixed with wax on a long
reed; the same word, _lipenga_, is used for a horn employed in the same
way, or for a European key-bugle, or (in hymns) for the _Tuba mirum
spargens sonum_ of the Last Day. Some of the people near the south end
of Tanganyika have huge trumpets cut out of a large tusk of ivory, like
those used on the Upper Congo and elsewhere. One such is figured in Sir
H. H. Johnston’s book, p. 465.
The instrument above referred to as the ‘Kafir piano’ is, in a modified
form, very popular throughout the Shiré Highlands and on the Lake, and
may often be seen in the village _bwalo_. The Delagoa Bay _timbila_ is
portable (see the figure in M. Junod’s _Chants et Contes des Baronga_,
p. 27), with the wooden keys fixed on a flat frame—elsewhere, the frame
is curved into the arc of a circle, so that the performer can easily
reach all the keys when the instrument is slung round his neck. In both
cases, resonators, made of gourds, or the hard shells of the _matondo_
fruit, are attached to the keys. I once saw a very elaborately made and
beautifully finished specimen which had come either from Delagoa Bay or
Inhambane, and had polished iron keys padded with leather; but this was a
sophisticated _timbila_, scarcely the genuine article. The Nyanja form of
it, variously called _magologodo_, _mangondongondo_, _mangolongondo_, and
_mangolongodingo_, usually has to be played _in situ_, or, if removed,
must be carried away in pieces. Two logs of soft wood (banana-stems are
the best), perhaps a yard long, are laid on the ground a certain distance
apart, and on these are arranged six, or sometimes seven, cross-bars
(the Ronga ‘piano’ has ten) cut from the wood of certain trees, and
carefully trimmed to shape. Sometimes they are merely laid on the logs,
sometimes there are short pegs to keep them in place. The keys on the
Ronga instrument are carefully tuned, and each one is cut away underneath
in such a way as to make it give a different sound; but some of those I
saw at Blantyre seemed to be merely rough bits of wood which fulfilled
no condition beyond that of making a noise when struck. It is played by
striking the keys with two sticks; the performer holds one in each hand
and squats on his heels in front of it: sometimes there are two players,
who face each other; the first leads, and the second is said to ‘make a
harmony with the one who is playing.’
But the drum is perhaps the commonest and most characteristic instrument,
and the one which has been brought to the greatest perfection. There
are many different kinds, from the little _kandimbe_, a mere toy for
children, four or five inches across, and tapped with the fingers, to
the great _mpanje_ and _kunta_, five feet or more in length, or the
_mgulugulu_ war-drum, which is beaten with sticks to call the people
together. None of them have two heads; the body is made of a single piece
of wood hollowed out, and the head of goat-skin, or perhaps oxhide; some
small drums (more like tambourines) are covered with snake or lizard
skin. The sound of the large ones can be heard five or six miles away.
Some are beaten with sticks, some with the hand—either with the fist (as
the big _mpangula_, which is supported on a forked piece of wood), or the
open palm, or the fingers. Some of the smaller drums are held against
the chest and beaten with the open hands, which gives a peculiar, soft,
booming sound; one kind is held under the arm; another is laid lengthwise
on the ground, and the drummer sits astride it. Still another has legs
like a small round stool, and is beaten with two sticks as it stands on
the ground. The _mfinta_ drum (large, but not the largest kind) calls
the people together when the _mabisalila_ is investigating a case of
witchcraft; it is also used in a dance where the performers carry hoes
and strike them together. There is a wonderful variety in the notes; ‘the
smaller drums are made to answer the big ones, the rapid and slower beats
blending in the most perfect time.... There are skilled drummers who go
to the dances like a piper at a Scotch wedding’ (Scott).
Drums are tuned when necessary by leaving them in front of a fire, or
burning some grass inside them to dry the skin and draw it tighter. The
skin is fastened on by small wooden pegs, and has a piece of rubber
fastened to the middle of its underside.
Besides the drums, most dances require an additional sound-producing
agency in the shape of rattles. These are worn on the arms and legs of
the dancers, or shaken in their hands. The commonest kind are made of a
hard-shelled fruit called _tseche_, about two inches or less in diameter;
it is allowed to dry till the seeds shake about inside it, and then four
or five are strung on a stick, and several of these sticks attached
round the ankles of the dancers. Women never wear these _maseche_ at
their _chamba_ dance, above referred to; but men always do at their
corresponding one, called _chitoto_.
The subject of dances is a large one, celebrating, as they do, every
important event in life, from birth to death, besides ordinary
merrymakings which have no particular motive beyond cheerfulness and
sociability. In place of attempting to enumerate all the varieties, which
would be wearisome and convey no particular impression, I shall content
myself with extracting one or two descriptions from my notes. ‘Passing
through Mlomba’s village (near Blantyre) found a grand _masewero_[26]
going on. The dancing man was performing, but not singing—calico turban
on his head, leather belt under his arms, with a great bunch of long
feathers stuck into it in front, some falling down over his waistcloth,
others reaching to his shoulders, a wild-cat skin hanging down his back,
and dance-rattles on his legs. This dance is called the _tseche_. There
were also six drummers: one sat on the ground and beat his drum (the kind
with legs like a stool) with two sticks; the rest held theirs against
their chests and beat them with both hands, the drum being supported
by a piece of twine passing under it and looped over both wrists. They
were well-made, muscular fellows, and danced pretty hard while drumming:
this, it seems, is called the _nkonde_. Two younger boys came forward at
intervals and danced _pas seuls_, and at the end a collection was taken
up, chiefly in fowls.’ Sometimes the beads contributed by a gratified
audience are put into a hole in the gourd of the _chimwenyumwenyu_.
[Illustration: PREPARING FOR THE DANCE]
I remember the drums going all night long for the _chamba_ dance at
Ntumbi (which, by the bye, in spite of the name, has nothing to do with
the smoking of the pernicious Indian hemp), and the ball was still
in full swing between 7 and 8 A.M., when some of our boys and girls
requested permission to go down before school hours and ‘see the Angoni
playing.’
Another dance which I witnessed at a Yao village near Blantyre, I am not
sure whether to class as a diversion or a ritual solemnity. I think it
was the latter, but not (as I was at one time inclined to suppose) the
_chimbandi_, or ‘great _unyago_,’ which precedes the birth of a woman’s
first child (see Macdonald, _Africana_, i. 128), unless the latter has
been considerably modified. In the first place, my friend Chewilaga, who
appeared to play the principal part, had a baby about six weeks old; in
the second, so far from only women being present, there were three men
and a boy working the drums, and one man among a few casual spectators
who gathered from outside; and there were other points of difference.
Eight or ten women (two of them quite young girls) took part in the
dance, led by Chewilaga; they were all freshly anointed, almost dripping
with oil, and had on their best calicoes, and (apparently) all their
beads, and wore rattles on one leg only. The drummers sat in a row on
a form made out of a split log: the three men held their drums against
their chests and beat them with their hands; the boy had a four-legged
standing drum, which he beat with two sticks. The women—one with a baby
tied to her back—stood in front of the band in a semicircle, ‘marking
time,’ then formed in couples and ‘set to partners,’ then marched round,
in Indian file, then bent forward from the hips, and all danced together
in a kind of jigging step; then formed in semicircle again, and so _da
capo_. The song (sung by the dancers) consisted of a few words only,
which I failed to catch.
Some of the dances for amusement are confined to one sex; in others, both
take part. In one, partners are chosen and led out into the middle; in
another, the man who beats the big drum leaves it at intervals and dances
alone in the centre of the ring, while every one claps hands to fill up
the gap.
The war-dance of the Angoni—executed, perhaps, by hundreds of men leaping
into the air at once and beating their shields—is very striking; the Yaos
and Anyanja also have one, though the latter are not a particularly
warlike race. ‘One in the war-dance,’ says a native account, ‘comes and
stretches his leg, stamping down his foot, _di!_ and his gun, _di!_
before his chief, saying, “Chief, we are here, none can come to kill you,
for we are not dead yet.”’
The _zinyao_ dances have been already touched on in connection with the
mysteries, and the mourning dances in the chapter on funeral ceremonies.
The Rev. D. C. Scott thus describes the latter, and at the same time
successfully conveys the impression produced by all: ‘The heavy, deep
_di! di!_ of the great bass drum, with silence succeeding, broken by
the responsive wail and clapping of hands, then with the rapid call of
the small _garanzi_ drum, and again with the deep hollow bass, and the
never-ceasing circling of the dance, produces a weird sensation only
possible in Africa.’[27]