DRINKING THE MBOUNDOU.—HOW OLANGA-CONDO COULD DO IT.—HOW THE MBOUNDOU IS
MADE.—THE EFFECT OF THE POISON.
What a wild scene I beheld; one which had never been seen before by any
white man!
Olanga-Condo, a mighty _ouganga_ (doctor), was to drink the _mboundou_.
What an awful poison this _mboundou_ is! Nevertheless, Olanga-Condo
could drink it; yes, he could drink it by bowlfuls, one of which was
more than sufficient to kill any man or woman.
You will ask me, How is it that Olanga-Condo could drink this _mboundou_
and that other people could not? I suppose he accustomed his body to it
by drinking it little by little from his childhood, but of course he
would not tell any one how he could drink it without being hurt.
The strange scene took place at Goumbi.
King Quengueza had a dream, and in that dream he saw that there were
people who were _aniemba_ (wizards), and who wished to take his life. So
he rose in the morning possessed with the belief that such designs were
entertained against him. His already stern countenance became harsher,
and the good old chief began to dread those around him. It was useless
for me to tell him that there were no such people as wizards, and that
no living being had power to kill another by witchcraft.
He became suspicious of his dearest friends. His nearest relatives, he
thought; were those who wanted to get rid of him in order to get his
wives, slaves, ivory, and goods.
What a terrible superstition this belief in witchcraft is! The father
dreads his children, the son his father and mother, the man his wife,
and the wives their husbands. A man fancies himself sick; he imagines
the sickness has been brought upon him by those who want him out of the
way, and at last becomes sick through his fears. At night he fancies
himself surrounded by the _aniemba_ who are prowling round his huts, and
that evil spirits are ready to enter into him as he comes out; and if
this should happen he believes that disease and death are surely near.
So Quengueza covered himself with fetiches, and every day invoked the
spirits of his ancestors—Igoumbai, Ricati, Kombi, and Niavi (his
mother)—to protect him from the _aniemba_. How strangely his voice
sounded in the silence of the night! One could not but be awed by it.
Every morning he told the wonderful and frightful dreams he had—for
these people believe in dreams—and he was so convinced that the village
was full of wicked sorcerers, that at last the whole people became
infected by his fears, each one thinking that his life was at stake.
Hence the _ouganga_, Olanga-Condo, had been ordered by the King to drink
the _mboundou_, and then tell the names of the sorcerers.
The leading people of Goumbi had met, and protested that no one wanted
to bewitch their king; they all wanted him to live to the end of time.
Now they all sat in a circle on the ground; each man had a short stick
in his hand; and Olanga-Condo was to take his position in the centre and
drink the _mboundou_ in their presence.
[Sidenote: _HOW THE MBOUNDOU IS MADE._]
In the mean time I had assisted in the operation of making the
_mboundou_, an operation which the drinker does not witness. A few red
roots of the plant called by them the _mboundou_ were brought in, and
the bark was scraped off by several of the natives into a vessel; into
this a pint of water was poured, and in about a minute fermentation took
place, and the beverage effervesced almost like champagne. The water
soon became quite red, and was the very color of the bark when the
effervescing ceased. Two of Olanga-Condo’s friends were present during
this operation to see that all was fair.
[Illustration: DRINKING THE MBOUNDOU.]
When the mixture was ready Olanga-Condo came, went to the centre of the
circle, and the bowl containing the poison was banded to him: without
faltering for a single moment, but full of faith, he emptied the bowl at
one draught.
In about five minutes the poison took effect. He began to stagger about;
his eyes were injected; his limbs twitched convulsively; his voice grew
thick; his veins showed themselves prominently, and his muscles
contracted. His whole behavior was that of a drunken man. He began to
babble wildly, and then it was supposed that the inspiration was upon
him. The people beat regularly upon the ground with the short sticks
they held, and sang in a sort of doleful voice—
“If he is a witch, let the _mboundou_ kill him,
If he is not, let the _mboundou_ go out.”
Then at times Layibirie, Quengueza’s heir, and his nephews, Quabi,
Adouma, and Rapeiro, asked if there was any man that wanted to bewitch
King Quengueza.
Olonga-Condo went on talking wildly, not answering the questions, which
were repeated over and over again. At last he said—“Yes; some one is
trying to bewitch the King.”
Then came the query, “Who?”
By this time the poor fellow was fortunately hopelessly tipsy, and
incapable of reasonable speech. He babbled some unintelligible jargon,
and presently the inquest was declared at an end.
No persons had been accused, hence nobody was to be killed. But
sometimes these doctors do mention names, and one of these days I may
give you an account of murders committed in the name of witchcraft.
[Sidenote: _MURDERS ON ACCOUNT OF WITCHCRAFT._]
The _mboundou_ is a dreadful poison,[1] one from which very few escape.
Sometimes the veins of the victim will burst open, at other times blood
will flow from his nose and eyes, and he drops dead a few minutes after
drinking it. Hence the great power of the doctor. If a poor fellow is
supposed to be a wizard, or to have bewitched the King or somebody else,
he is forced to drink the _mboundou_ whether he likes it or not. If the
man dies, he is declared a witch; if he survives, he is declared
innocent, and those who have accused him pay him a fine.
Footnote 1:
This _mboundou_ pretty certainly belongs to a natural order that
contains many venomous plants, viz., the LOGANIACEÆ; and, from the
peculiar veining of the leaves, it is probably a species of
_Strychnos_, belonging to that section of the genus which includes _S.
nux vomica_.
The taste of the infusion is extremely bitter. I gave some of the
roots to Professor John Torrey, of New York. In the book published by
the Messrs. Harper, called “Explorations in Equatorial Africa,” I
published the letter this able chemist wrote me on the properties of
the _mboundou_.
The ordeal is much dreaded by the negroes, who often run away from home
and stay away all their lives rather than submit to it, and will often
rather enslave themselves to another tribe.
When the wizards are said to belong to another village, then wars
frequently ensue. The man thought guilty is demanded to drink the
_mboundou_, while his friends, who know that he will probably die,
refuse to give him up.
This belief in witchcraft is the great curse of Africa. According to
this doctrine, every man that dies has been bewitched by some one. Death
came into the world by witchcraft. For almost every man that dies
somebody is killed, and often several persons are killed.
The women being deemed of very little account in this part of the world,
it is very seldom that at the death of one of them any body is killed.
These poor heathen think no torture cruel enough to inflict upon a
wizard. Sometimes the accused will be tied to a tree and burned by a
slow fire; at other times they will bind him and put him in the track of
an army of bashikouay ants.
I remember the horrid sight I met one day; it made my blood freeze all
over. I shall never forget the scene as long as I live. I was hunting in
the woods for birds, when I spied two green pigeons (_treron
nudirostris_), which I wanted for my collection of birds. By dint of
great exertions I penetrated the jungle to the foot of the tree, when
lo! a ghastly sight met my eyes. It was the corpse of a woman, young
evidently, and with features once mild and amiable. She had been tied up
here, on some infernal accusation of witchcraft, and tortured with a
cruelty which would have done honor to the Inquisition.
The torture consisted in the laceration of the flesh all over the body,
and fresh Cayenne pepper had been rubbed in the gashes. A cold
perspiration covered my body; my eyes became dim; “Was it a dream?” I
asked myself. The devil himself could not have displayed more ingenuity
in torture. I approached the corpse. It was cold. The poor girl was
dead. What terrible sufferings she must have endured!
Will you think hard of me when I say to you that I felt I could go into
that village of wild men and shoot every one of them?
[Sidenote: _A SPECIMEN OF TORTURE._]
_Aniemba!_ What a terrible meaning that word possesses in the mind of
the poor African of Equatorial Africa! To be bewitched is almost certain
death. What an awful superstition! It leads to the most inhuman and
abominable acts of cruelty.
How many I have seen of these acts! what refinement of barbarism I have
seen displayed! what numbers of poor innocent creatures I have seen
slain! what numbers of families have in this way been made unhappy!
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]